Enjoying My Time Off

I can finally enjoy my unemployment.

I've got a job and will begin working on November 16th. So until then, I'm posing as a starving artist. Im writing in my Pjs and reading over a cup of tea.

(when I'm not watching Fox News Channel and CMT)

Writing helps me understand God

This month I've undertaken the challenge and joined NaNoWriMo. (National Novel Writing Month) basically its a contest where you write 1600 words a day and by a month, you should have a rough draft of a novel. The operative word is "rough draft" you are going to re-write and re-write until you can't stand your novel anymore, but as Mark Twain once said: "Great novels are never written, they are only re-written"

Anyhow, I find myself amazed by God in my writing. I am having such a hard time figuring out the life of one character. From this one character spring forth other characters I must also create and understand. I am the God of my book. I create the world and its rules. I create my character with its temperaments, and I orchestrate the events which happen in their lives.

I realize there really is a plan. Before the characters came into existence they were in my imagination. Literally... before the foundations of their world, I knew them! I know my characters before they are ever born. I have a good plan for my character though I see the pain they will go through. Even the hideousness of life will be used by me to bring about beauty. Consequently I am learning that I can trust Him.

There is an old story about an encounter Tolkien had with C.S. Lewis. Lewis was once having an argument with Tolkien about God, C.S. Lewis was then an atheist. Tolkien made the following analogy. "Suppose you created a whole world in a story, you grew your characters and loved them. Supposed now that you wanted to introduce yourself to your characters? you are totally outside of their time and space. Your reality is completely separate from their reality. How would you introduce yourself to them? simply, you write yourself into the story." Tolkien was making the analogy that the only way we can know God is through the person of Jesus Christ who is God and became man like us.

I am blown away by how much I've learned about God in these past two days. Truly God is so far outside of my understanding, my reality, my realm and space that there is no way conceivable that I would know Him unless He wrote Himself into my story. He does have a master plan and I should rest in it knowing that I am part of a beautiful story. Even the darkness exists to contrast with the light. There is a hope in the fact that the master author is writing the story. He finishes on sentence, rereads it and smiles because he knows how the book is going to end.

A new leaf?

There once was a man named Eric Blair. He was a Briton and was very unhappy with his life, in fact no one ever really thought he'd make anything of himself. Unsure of where he was headed and with no direction or ambition to speak of, young Blair decided that he would join the Indian Imperial Police (remember, India was ruled by Great Britain then.) After retiring from the Indian Imperial Police - which he hated - Blair went back to his family's home in England and locked himself in his room.

Barely anyone saw him for the span of a year.

By years end, he emerged from his room declaring that he wanted to be a writer and would then go on to write some of the best English literature by the name of George Orwell.

I've been lounging around in my room this week... I think I want to write. I don't really need anything to be published, I doubt I ever will. But I think I want to write fiction. I want to write about people. I want to write stories of redemption. I want to write tragedies. I want to hear the *tlak, tlak, tlak* of my keyboard. I just want to create.

I've gotten four books on writing this week. Books on how to build plots, how to set up scenes, how to write dialogue and create characters. I am reading this weeks novel "Less than Zero" with new eyes. I never understood how much work went into the book, and how real fictional characters must become before they can be put on a page.

I was reading an interview with the author of "Pop Salvation," Lance Reynald. He created a whole playlist or soundtrack for his novel. How brilliant! I looked over the list and I kid you not, though no songs were mentioned, I heard each song throughout the book! I'm learning about character profiles and how much you have to know your character to get him right. I have to know every little detail such as his favorite smell, is he a dog or cat person? lefty or right handed? even though I may never write a single sentence about his favorite smell being play-doh and crayons, I must know this to make him real. He must be a real person to me if I am ever to convey him in a real way. I stand amazed.

I was having a discussion with a friend of mine about words. I love words. I love how some words sound. I love how some words just fit perfectly. Like behoove. I love the word behoove. Its a perfect word. I could say:

"It would be to my benefit if I took physics this year, instead of the next"

or

I could say: "It would behoove me to take physics this year, instead of the next"

Perfect word.

she said I have a writer's mind. I also like the word snarky and aloof. They sound just like what they are. lets see if anything good comes out of this little foray into writing?

Thoughts on Pop Salvation by Lance Reynald

I was kind of in a frisky mood the other night. I love books, and typically I know which ones I want to read. I either know of them because they are classics like 1984 and Atlas Shrugged or perhaps from notoriety and fanfare like the DaVinci Code. But its safe to say that I usually know the plot line of the books I am going to read before I purchase them. 

In any case, I was in a frisky mood. I wanted to go into Barnes and Noble and pick up a book I'd never heard of and get lost in a story. I wanted to meet someone new and have them hold my hand and guide me through a story worth hearing. I wanted to fall into a story rather than intentionally show up. I knew it would be fiction and I didn't want a period piece. (I'm still working through Les Miserables, and wanted to at least return to the familiarity of the 20th century.)

Then I came across a hot pink cover in a sea of mauve, browns, and burgundies. The book went by the title of Pop Salvation and claimed to be a coming of age story set in the 1980's. Not too much information, I just knew its a fictional coming of age story set in the 1980's. It was also 239 pages and didn't seem too intimidating. This would do for today. (Just in case, I also picked up a biography on Golda Meir in case my little foray into obscure literature proved fruitless.) 

I got lost in the book from its first chapter. Written in first person omniscient, I almost lost sight of the book and the words in front of me. Rather it was more like I was sitting in a room with a stranger and we just happened to pick up a conversation. He was telling me of his childhood and growing up. I almost sensed the inflections of his voice as he would pause to reach back and grab another memory. 

His name was Caleb Watson a Texas boy who moved to Washington D.C. with his father at the age of 12. Extraordinarily gifted but also ostracized by his classmates. His only friend a teacher who helps him with enunciation to get rid of his southern drawl. On a field trip He comes across an Andy Warhol painting of Marilyn Monroe's lips and is mesmerized by the sheer beauty in it. His teacher recognizes this and suggests to Caleb's father to enroll him in an art school for the summer. There he learns technique as well as comes in contact with other artistic outcasts like himself and learns how to be different with a purpose. He begins to bleach his hair and emulate his icon, Andy Warhol in speech and dress. 

His father and teachers become concerned at his non-conformity. Not wanting to be bothered with the actual task of parenting, his father places young Caleb in therapy in hopes the therapist will straighten him out. This is all just the beginning of the book. I could recount the plot but then I might as well just transcribe the book onto this blog. 

Caleb turns out to be gay (or at least bi-sexual.) I thought it was crafty of the publishers to hide that fact from me until I was well into the book. I typically don't make a habit of reading gay fiction. Mainly because it is more often than not mislabeled fiction, when in reality its erotica. Secondly because in this day and age gay characters seem too politicized. People make a gay character not because it adds to a story but because it makes a social/political statement. Personally, I don't enjoy homosexuality being rammed down my throat (if I may put it so bluntly.) 

But this was different. Caleb was gay, not because the author wanted him to be gay to make a statement, but because thats what Caleb was. It was the only way Caleb could have been in this story. He was the complete outcast. It wasn't a story about a gay kid. It was a story about a kid who happened to be gay. Under these circumstances I could stand to keep reading it. 

Caleb radiates an innocence and naivete about him. Through the book he is constantly taken advantage of by those who should have protected him. Either through the neglect of his father, or the misguiding of his elders. He suffers though his teen years what few suffer in a lifetime. In one chapter he walks the city streets and says "I was one of those people you ran into and wondered, what had he been before he gave up?"

That line stuck out to me, because throughout the whole book I wondered What might he have been had life turned out different? what would life had been like if his father paid him attention. What would his life had been like if he never met that transvestite? or perhaps if he'd never been exposed to drugs? what would his life had been like if people affirmed him when he was Caleb rather than when he pretended to be Andy Warhol?

Nearing the end of the book I commented to my roommates "I understand the pop in the book but I'm still waiting for the salvation part." Thankfully, Reynald does wrap the book up at the end with almost a sigh of relief. Perhaps a bit hurried in some regard but more than adequate. His pain is not resolved, but finally Caleb finds strength to stand on his own again and face the world. But it is not without the loss of a few friends and loved ones along the way. 

I'd give this book 4 stars (out of five.) because though I thoroughly enjoyed it and got lost in the story, I reserve the fifth star for books of consequence. Books like 1984 or Atlas Shrugged which are not just stories about people, but are stories about societies. This book was a great story about a person, and it was worth every penny. I loved it. I read it in one day, but at the end of the day I put the book on my shelf and reminisce on what a great story that was and go to sleep. 

The League of the Unemployed

Its been slow. I know. Perhaps I will have more time to update my blog now that I am unemployed and make sense of these seemingly random revolutions around the sun. 

For one, yes I have now joined the league of the unemployed. Hopefully its a stint that won't last for too long, but one can never tell. It just wasn't working out at my job. I am unsure as to whether God lead me there, (I always thought He did) but I am thoroughly convinced He orchestrated my being let go. I needed to resign but my pride would not let me do so. I thank my boss for letting me go, firing me when I didn't have the strength to quit. Perhaps I'll be angrier when I have to skip a meal and my lights are turned off... but I still love my boss. Most of all, I am looking forward to being friends rather than co-workers. 

Carrie Prejean

I'll spare you my thoughts on Carrie Prejean's loss of the Miss America crown. Oh what the heck, its B.S. she's beautiful and was a shoe in. She might have even won Ms. Universe but of course Perez Hilton came on with the Gay question and then demonized her. Sure, she was nervous and kinda fouled it up (opposite sex marriage?) but she stuck to her guns. I'm more upset at how utterly demonized she was by the media after her response. Its sad to see that this is the level of discourse today isn't it? A professor of mine calls it the Springer effect. Much like in Jerry Springer, the person who screams the loudest is the one who wins the argument? how sad. there is no actual educated debate. But I'll end that there.

I am sad though that she is suing now and getting media attention again. She is suing for religious discrimination. Its funny because all the clips of her are in a bikini. How religious is she really if she's strutting her stuff for men like that? Doesn't Christianity talk about modesty?

"9likewise also that women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel, with modesty and self-control, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly attire, 10 but with what is proper for women who profess godliness—with good works." -1st Timothy 2:9-10

I'll just leave it at that...

Thoughts On Exodus 2009

It has been roughly two weeks since I have returned from the annual Exodus Freedom conference. This year it was held at Wheaton College in Illinois. Some thoughts:

One of my favorite things about the Exodus Conference this year was being able to hang out with the youth from the Living Hope Youth Forums. (www.forums.livehope.org) Living Hope is a ministry based out of the Dallas/Ft. Worth Tx area that ministers to people coming out of homosexuality. Though the minister to all ages, it is a beautiful thing to see how God is ministering to youth in particular through that ministry.

I fell in with them my first year at Exodus in 2004. All the youth were in a large room and Scott Davis said "This half come with me, This half go with Ricky" I was with the half that went with Ricky, though I do remember some people on my side went with Scott and some on the other side came with Ricky... so perhaps I just wasn't paying attention. It worked to my benefit though. That year I met about 20 youth my age who were coming out of homosexuality. They loved Jesus and were passionately pursuing him. They were laying down everything just for the pleasure of knowing Him more. I came to my first Exodus conference a very disillusioned, angry 19 year old, and they were instrumental in giving me hope. After my first conference I came home, signed on to the forums and shared my heart. Finally, there were people my age on the same journey as me.

Five years later I get to hang out with them again at my fourth Exodus. Some of the people that were there my first year are still holding strong. I have never met a group of people so vulnerable, so open to love and so bold in their pursuit of holiness. They are some of my role models. In a world that would force us to hide the messy parts of our lives... they boldly live open vulnerable lives. If all I get to do at Exodus is hang out with them... its well worth it.

Another highlight for me was that I was asked to facilitate a table discussion with the youth this year. It is nothing of too much noteriety, but I took it seriously. I didn't see myself as just facilitating a discussion... I saw myself as mentoring these five young men for the duration of the week. It was a surreal experience because all week I was reminded of myself at my first Exodus. As I mentioned before, I was a completely different person that July of 2004. I had given up all hope of finding freedom from homosexuality. I was just recently ending a "fling" I had with a friend that was the most tumultuous relationship I'd ever experienced. I was depressed and above all believed I was abandonned by God. I didn't want to go to my first Exodus, but rather some donors paid for me to go. I was going to give God one last chance. For the first couple of days, I thought everyone was crazy. I thought they were lying to themselves, but slowly hope crept in. And as I met more and more men and women who were walking successfully for 20-30 years some married with kids, I thought "wow, this is possible" and more importantly they taught me that God very much does love me.

It was so surreal to know the person I was in 2004, and yet understand that I was given the responsibility of pouring into these men. It was so beautiful to see God meet each and every one of them through the week.

On the first night, protestors showed up. The chapel was right on the edge of campus, and so the protestors needed only to stand across the street and shout to be heard. While inside we could hear the protestors shouting their chants about homophobia to us. And yet, Alan spoke only love about them in his message that night. If only they knew that they are loved. What a difference would it make?