A Parent's Silent Scream, Part 2 (A Year Later)

We're Silently Screaming less often these days

It's been over a year since I wrote A Parent's Silent Scream.  So much has changed, so much hasn't.  I've learned much, and I'm still learning.  Now I bet many of you are curious as to how my son Will is doing.  I'll save that for the end.  First, I want to share some of my insights since then, offer you some helpful advice when dealing with a child like my son (and their stressed but superhero parents), and then close with the update itself.  First what I've learned;

Not everyone loves a parade, or needs one

1. We've gotten better talking about autism, somewhat.  Let's be real, it's now "hip" to be involved with kids with autism.  They're the poster children of feel good stories on the news, their special skills have been highlighted with growing pride, politicians love to use them in their election TV ads (it happened in my state and it was pretty shallow, and it still worked), and now we have an Autism Awareness Month filled with pep rallies, parades, and more of the feel good stuff.  There are lots of good intentions here, and we can only become comfortable with what we are familiar with, but it's only a first step.  It generates a lot of sympathy, but sympathy can be cheap and forgetful.  These families need more than your sympathy.  Autistic disorders are terribly complex and extremely draining.  Some families have the courage to share about their struggles, others aren't.  There are many reasons why, and here's one reason why...  

My son is not a victim, he is a person.
Treat him like a person, with care, but as a person

2.  Autism is not a "disease," it's a disorder.  Like it or not, autism is not something you can fix like a broken leg, or you pump full of antibiotics to "cure."  And I'll say this, keeping your kid from taking vaccine shots will not prevent autism either.  That's a scientific fact (link here, and here, and here, and here (that last one is a great source at that!), there is nothing to debate.  My son is vaccinated and he's a better person for it).  Many people treat autism like a disease; for some people say that such a child was "normal" (I hate the word normal) before "the autism" came.  When the media describes autism as an epidemic I get angry, because it perpetuates this confusion and falsehood.  While autism is wide-encompassing with many varieties, this is simply part of who they are, for better or worse.  They have much to add to society (many are our mathematicians, scientists, engineers, authors, clergy, artists, and musicians).  We have to start making space to welcome these people and their gifts.  It doesn't mean these children can't receive therapy (for they can and they should), but it doesn't make them less of a person.  They're different, and while their challenges can be beyond the pale, they're God's children just the same.  Many families fear their child being labeled as broken or different, thus to be avoided, so they'll hide or minimize it.   Give them some space to be real.  

We are all unique, autistic and otherwise

3.  Not all autistic children are the same.  Not all are robots, or have Aspergers, or are silent computer programers.  They are as diverse as all the children and people of the world.  Some are savants at math, others aren't, and some are in the middle.  Some can talk your ear off, some cannot, and some are in the middle.  It's easy to shoehorn children, or people with false expectations (more on that in a minute).  Don't let those expectations become a barrier.  Right now 1 out of 58 children are being diagnosed with a condition in the autistic spectrum, with varying degrees of severity and quirks.  Get to know some of these children, youth, and their families; I guarantee you know one and you may not know it.  They're worth getting to know; they're lovely, odd, beautiful, different, and great teachers. 

I'm too cool for your anecdotes!

3.  Some people need a little advice about how to talk to a family with an autistic child.  When I've shared my son's condition with parents who have similar children it's freeing, encouraging, and empowering.  We all know the language, the worries, the science, and can real without pretending to be brave or wiser than we actually are.  When I've shared my son's condition with other people to whom autism is a stranger, I always brace myself.  I find people tend to be well meaning and want to help, but uy, sometimes too many words are said.  Here's a helpful hint; DON'T REPLY WITH ANECDOTES!  Why do people feel the need to share a story about someone they know with autism, or sort of know, or heard about, or read about (usually ending with a "they live a normal life now")?  They say them because well-meaning people want to connect, to show they care, to give hope, and it's a knee jerk reaction.  Let me clue you in, these stories don't help.  EVER.  These families have more anecdotes, reports, and stories than you can imagine.  For every story with a happy ending that you are dying to share, they have ten more to return back to you where the end is sad and depressing.  Such parents like me aren't pessimists, but we aren't dummies.  We keep our expectations realistic, our hopes within reason (reason learned from experience), and we will move mountains if it would help our children (and we move them often), but there are only so many mountains to move right now.  Sharing a story or anecdote can also force a parent to relive a time when they were working overtime to "fix" their child before they learned to accept the reality of what is.  Reliving that frustration and pain doesn't help, obviously.  What should you say then?  Here's a few suggestions;

• I love you and your child, no matter what. (this goes a long way, trust me)
• If there is anything I can do to help, just call (and actually mean it).
• Give a hug.  Lots of hugs.  Save the words for later.
• Ask questions (even the awkward ones) and don't judge.  Listen and learn.  These families are often shamed into silence but are willing to share if given the grace.  It's a great freedom you can give them.
• If you really want to share such a story, ask first to see if that family wants to hear it.  Don't volunteer it, ask permission, but for the most part save it for a much later date (especially if you just learned about it)

The first time my son was willing to meet Santa.
My church was willing to give my son the room for this meeting,
and he cried when Santa left because
he finally loved Santa.  That's what I'm talking about

4.  Oh wait, you offered to help, BLESS YOU, but you aren't sure how?  I get it, autism, it's as intimidating as hell.  So how can you help these families?  Give them a break.  Being a parent to an autistic child is beyond a full time job.  It's a full time life.  Sleepless nights, countless appointments, specialists, schools, meetings, all while constantly hovering over our child or children, it's a wonder we are able to function at all!  What's worse is the lack of space to go out in public because of their quirks and needs.  Going to a restaurant?  If the child is a picky eater, hates noisy places, is highly sensitive, and is a squirmer or a runner, forget it.  Dream on.  Or perhaps the child has had enough therapy to handle some of that; well the parents are on edge for most of the meal.  Letting your guard down is hard to do.  Going to church?  The parent(s) are likely going to spend the entire time with their child, a constant shadow, denied the chance to be with their own peers due to negligence or design.  They won't stay long if that's the case, because they can stay home for the same thing with less stress.  The toll autism wrecks on a family is that it is completely isolating.  The greatest gift you could give families with such a child is time to breathe.  Are you having a family gathering and an autistic child is coming?  Take the mom and/or dad aside and say, "Go get a hotdog and relax.  I'll take care of you child for a while, I promise."  If such a family is coming to church and Sunday School, tell the parents they don't have to stay in the kids class with them.  Instead say, "I got this, go to the adults class.  It's okay."  Give your cell number, offer to text updates.  Be willing to be educated by the worried parent who is craving such grace yet is scared to let go.  Sometimes all you have to do is be their shadow.  You don't have to become their best friend, just follow them around, keep them out of harm's way, and let them be.  They might show you cool stuff!  You aren't babysitting, you are just giving these parents a gift that is so often taken for granted which they rarely receive.  Give them this peace, and you'll gain allies for life.

I'm tired of smiling for the camera!
I don't want to be on Facebook today!  :(

5.  Social media is cool but it can fool.  When I shared my story on social media I was surrounded by love, which was very sweet, and something else happened.  People reached out who are also parents to autistic children and I didn't have a clue that they were!  People who post pictures of their kids smiling, laughing, playing, learning, and backed up by lots of parental bragging, say what?!  I also received messages of shock, words along the lines of "I had no idea!"  Most of these responses came from people who I love dearly but don't have the luxury of seeing very often (geography and time), but still, have I been creating a false image of my son?  Not intentionally, or wait, maybe intentionally, or maybe both.  Yeah, both.  Parents love to share and brag about their kids online and off, and I do too.  I call it, "Our Kid's Greatest Hits Album."  Like in a music album, there are great songs worth listening to, but there are always a few we prefer to skip.  Enjoy the hits, skip the misses.  Social media exasperates this habit.  Besides, who wants to share, "My child has been driving me crazy today, screaming and yelling more than usual, and I just want to hide in the bathroom and lock the door?!"  Or better yet, who wants to read it, or respond?  So we stick to the positive stories, which gets the positive feedback, and becomes a revolving door where the illusion of perfection must be maintained and is rewarded with accolades and well wishes, even though it's not a truthful image.  

Now does this mean we should be sharing everything?  Dear lord no, some people overshare, way too much!  Perhaps we should seek to be a little more honest.  There are glimpses of this here and there.  Don't you find yourself smiling at the pictures of almost-perfect family portrait gone wrong (a screaming child, squirmy adults, rolling eyes, falling props, etc)?  It's honest, and thus refreshing.  My sharing of these blogs is another step in that direction, positive vibes and angry disappointment in one, real life instead of an incomplete image that misdirects.  So treat social media as just a small window into a life, and be willing to not only hear some bad news but to be brave enough to share some too, and for the right reasons.

I wouldn't trade him for ANYTHING.
The world is a better place because my son is part of it

A Year Later; So then, how's my son, a year later?  You'll just have to come and meet him to find out!  Okay, just a few teases; his language is slowly coming along, way behind compared to other kids his age but there is progress.  You can literally watch his mind process out a small sentence, 3 or 4 words, and it's amazing to watch.  He doesn't sing as much as he used to (except at Christmas, he LOVES Christmas for the music, and now so do I), but has a real knack for music itself.  I love watching him play piano, with care and deliberation, carefully trying to play cords and in rhythm.
A great future for him may be there.  He's mostly self taught.  

I've been amused at church when he goes to a piano and carefully plays, and then another kid will join him and start banging.  He lets them, kind of tolerates it, but you can see the look in his face, "You're doing it wrong."  

He's still extremely happy and affectionate, and still gives the best hugs.  It's still a very uncertain future for us, but one that has a little brightness.  I hope these insights and suggestions prove helpful to you.  Peace!

PS, we still love singing Blurred Lines together.  Don't judge!  ;)  It's really one of my favorite things to sing with Will!  :)

A Parent's Silent Scream

The Scream of Nature by Edvard Munch, 1893

I wrote this in the spring of 2014, but only recently shared publicly in April of 2015 in honor of Autism Awareness Month.

In the spring of 2013, a terrible realization occurred in my family.  I should have seen it coming, but I kept my eyes shut.  My son was a little over 3 years old and still he wasn't talking.  His language mainly consisted of grunts, cries, certain "uh uh uhhs" that my wife and I had deciphered pretty well.  Sure he knew, "mommy, daddy, grandmom, pappaw," certain favorite foods, objects, barnyard animals, and dozens of songs, but as for sentences, conversation, it wasn't happening.  I had the knowledge that I was also a silent child at his age and I gave my parents lots of worry, and look at me now, I'm a pastor, talking is what I do!  My son will grow out of it, give it time I constantly reassured my worried wife.  Then my son's church preschool teacher took me aside; my son wasn't interacting with the other kids, wasn't talking, was very removed, distant, and now they were worried.  Okay I tell my wife, let's take him to our local child psychologist, let her examine our son, and we'll get this fixed!

That's the story I told, but truly in the depths of my heart I expected a confirmation of what I already believed; this was a phase.  He'll grow out of it.  This is normal with other children... the children I would watch play together, run together, craving social stimulation, run to me and ask questions while my son had nothing to ask unless it was for food and remained a loner.  But that's what my heart counted on.  That Saturday after his examination we all went to the park and I took this picture.  When I look at this picture today I call it, "The Last Good Day."  We were so happy and carefree that day.  Ignorance can be bliss.  Then the phone rang.  Our child psychologist had diagnosed my son with Pervasive Developmental Delay, or PDD.  It's in the autism spectrum, "mild" but very very real.

Immediately our lives were turned upside down.  My son is immediately pulled from his lovely church preschool to a 5 day a week preschool with specialized care (and we were extremely fortunate that there was an opening at the time).  He was very angry with the disruption of the routine he loved and counted on.  He began occupational therapy once a week to help him with his easily overstimulated mind.  More stress for my son.  Speech therapy came into his life twice a week.  A specialist doctor put him on a very strict diet of gluten & casein-free food with tons of supplements, which he all but promised curative results.  My wife and I immediately hit the books, blogs, and clinical trials quickly becoming semi-experts on PDD and autism.  I figured by Christmas, my son will have "caught up" and we will wake from this nightmare.  It's a phase, and phases pass.

That line, "It's just a phase," is b#@$%&*#.  It's what well-meaning people tell themselves or others suffering, to not worry and that somehow everything will work out, even though you can't promise that.  I say this because it's the lie I told myself often, as I wrapped the "phase" sentiment within my hopes to stand against fear.  Christmas came and went without the hoped results.  Sure he's "better," he copes with outside stimuli and loud social places much better, he's potty trained (Thank God), can dress half of himself, follows directions, and still loves to laugh and sing.  However, he's not there yet, wherever "there" is.  Ask him what he did today and receive a blank stare, or he'll repeat you without knowing what he's asking himself.  Take him to a new environment and watch him meltdown in front of strangers (such as when we went to an art-show last Friday).  I brace myself for the meltdowns in new environments every time, and it's exhausting.  While other children will speak to me about their pet dog or what they ate for lunch, my son...says nothing.  Before I believed it was because he was shy and withheld the info he would otherwise share.  Now I know, he lacks the capability.

To be in this dark place is very lonely, very dark, and you find yourself treading water against a sea of guilt.  Had I heeded my wife's warnings so long ago, would my son be as he is now?  Had I done something to him that caused him to have this impairment?  What could I have done?  What should I have done?  What responsibility is on my shoulders?  Is this my fault?  Thinking back logically with a cool head, I know the answer is no, this is simply, life.  But my heart is broken, it aches, and it cries out, screams for healing at best, or at least understanding.  When my son has a bad day and makes a scene in a public place I feel the accusatory eyes, even if they're not there.  "Control your child, you're ruining my day" my heart hears.  Trust me, I want the same thing every day.  Someone leans in to kindly speak to my son and the reply is gibberish at best or loud cries for retreat at worst.  I want to explain my son is different, my son has special needs, but an embarrassed and sometimes hasty retreat is the only option.  I want people to know, but I don't want him treated differently, but he's already being treated differently.  A little understanding would be so very sweet without having to go into a 10 minute speech of explanations.  It's just the same family members, doctors, and specialists who truly get it while we live in a culture that values the outgoing, social, charismatic person.  My silent scream goes unheard.  Too often those screams have been directed to God, crying for mercy, healing, or an overdue explanation, and they fall silent.

My son was completely in my thoughts when I journeyed to the Pool of Siloam in Jerusalem this past January (2014) with fellow clergy pilgrims.  I'm not sure why, this isn't Scripture that I had really connected to before (John 9), but my son's struggles were felt keenly there.  Together we read John 9, and the words cut me to the core.  Those accusatory voices who have seen and heard my son and his autism at its worst were spoken again by Jesus' disciples.  The disciples see a man born blind and ask, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"  Or, "Rabbi, this child with autism, why is he like that?  Did the child or his parents do something wrong?"  I have enough guilt thank you, PLEASE, I don't need you piling on Peter and John!!!  Leave my son alone!  Just love him, as I do, even though it hurts!  Well I didn't read or hear the next verse while I was there (that came later), but I prayed.  Oh did I pray.  I knelt down in the dirt of the excavated pool, gripping the ancient soil, and begged God to please heal my son!  Take my voice if you need it God, whatever it takes, whatever price, heal my boy!  I'm not sure if you have been listening to me so far, or ignoring me, but I'm here in your land so you better hear me now!  Hear my cry for my son, please!  I'll pay!  This entire year has been about paying and getting mixed results; I'm desperate now!  As I stood after my prayer, my thought was immediately, "I bet that won't do a thing."  I think in this the blind man's parents and I have much in common.

Upon my return I preach John 9 on March 23rd, 2014, almost a year since the world of innocence and ignorance died.  In my studies I reread John 9, verse 2, again I read the disciples asking the dumb question that often I fall prey to myself.  Then, I HEAR verse 3, Jesus' reply, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him."  What works?  Well read on and you know that Jesus healed the man's eyes and it's a wonderful story, but that's not what Jesus said to the ignorant disciples.  This man was born as he is so that God may be revealed in him.  God will reveal Himself in my son as he is.  Since I heard Jesus answer me as he answered his disciples, I look at my son differently now.  Consider this; My son knows and sings over 50 songs by heart.  I'm not exaggerating, he has 5 music CDs of different nursery rhymes and he knows them all (with a few words mixed together of course).  He also has several Sesame Street songs memorized.  He sings loudly and boldly with perfect pitch and rhythm!  He also has a CD of kids singing classic Christian hymns (thank you Grandmom).  He will smile, look into my eyes, and we will sing together in chorus "Oh Happy Day" and a dozen more hymns.  He's also fond of Mumford and Sons "I Will Wait," Radiohead's "Creep," and Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines."  My fault there, but I love it.  He also works incredibly hard in tasks that other children handle with ease, like doing a puzzle, handling multiple directions in therapy sessions, or simply fighting to take off his shirt over that giant head of his.  He is also incredibly happy.  Even with all of the intense stress of doctors, new schools, and loud places he's settling down and finding peace.  He smiles and laughs often and its infectious.  

So where is all of this going?  Is this a surrender, that I shrug and say, "It is what it is?"  (PS, I HATE that line).  Did God make my son autistic just to prove a point?  I can feel the ice underneath me cracking with these preconceived heretical notions trying to plunge and drown me again.  I put these questions alongside, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"  I used to go there, but it led me into the dark deep, where I screamed and drowned often.  Instead, I have found myself silently screaming less often.  Now I'm discovering that God is revealing Himself in my beautiful son.  We will keep taking him to therapy, lessons, preschool and such to give him helpful tools he'll need for this loud and noisy world ahead of him, but he already has so much to offer and the world is richer with him in it, as he is today.  Sometimes I kneejerk and revert to "he'll grow out of it" sentiments or feel hopelessness creep back in, but when I do I hear the Son of Man's voice call to me, and I fall to my knees in gratitude as he pulls me out of the pool of despair.  As the blind man told Jesus, I tell him, "Lord, I believe."  And I feel my son wrap his little arms around my neck as he staggers out the words, "Love you....daddy."  I get it now.

I suppose God heard my silent scream after all.  It wasn't my son's voice he healed, it was my blinded eyes.

2015 Update Post is up now if you are interested, just click the sentence (it's a live link thing).

Valentine's Day, bah humbag!

When Renee and I first started dating; summer of 2005

Once upon a time, before I was married, I was single (duh!, I know), and I hated Valentine’s Day.  All the flowers, hearts, sappy movies on cable marathons, the jewelry commercials, especially the jewelry commercials, it just made my blood boil!  Why?  Because it felt like the world was hosting a big party, couples only, and I wasn’t invited.  I would feel envy and anger seep inside my heart, and I would wear it like a cloak.  How?  On the 14th I would dress in black like I was in mourning and gleefully call the 14th, “Happy Singles Awareness Day!”  Once I began dating Renee I figured the 14th would suddenly become a new holiday, my invitation to a great party!  …instead of a party though, I found out Valentine’s Day was an obligation to uphold.  I must get a present, must get a Valentine, must go out on a date, as if I wouldn’t do these things on any other day.  For some people I suppose it is a motivator, but my lack of love for this holiday continues (talk about irony).  What gives?  Am I just a grouch?  I can be, but here are my two main concerns;

1.      It’s another saturated commercial holiday.  So is Christmas, so is Halloween, and to a lesser extent Easter, but this one goes way overboard.  “This Valentine’s Day, show her how much you care by –.”  You don’t love your mate unless you show it, and what better way than to BUY THIS.  If you don’t, are you letting your mate down?  You may not think so, but wait till you gather with friends or family, maybe even Sunday School and you get asked the question, “What did you two do for Valentine’s Day?”  If the answer is nothing, you get awkward silence or an awkward reply and you have to live with the unspoken shame.  Also note that the single person or persons in the room are left out of the conversation too, imagine how they may feel.  They may not care, or they may care deeply.  Or perhaps there is someone in the room who has gone through divorce, or is widowed, or is experiencing a nasty breakup?  There is a lack of sensitivity here, and while people can be unaware it can cause unnecessary pain during such small talk.  This “holiday” often brings all the disappointment, heartbreak, and lack of self worth to the surface in a glaring, unkind light.  There is the cultural expectation that you must comply with the demands of the holiday, else you’re a deviant.  Did this expectation become before the commercial push (a $17.3 billion in sales and services last year), or after?  It doesn’t really matter, both exist.  This leads me into my second concern with Valentine’s Day;

2.      We have an unhealthy relationship with love and relationships.  You want to "be" somebody in our culture?  Have a boyfriend or girlfriend.  If you are single, something is wrong.  That’s the warped message our society sends.  Our music, fiction, and general storytelling (Hollywood) both feeds this beast as much as it gives it back.  I remember in my single adult days in my early 20s, I was regarded with curiosity for being single, and sometimes as being broken.  It was by choice, I didn’t feel like dating, but it made me a relative outsider.  I sensed it for a while, but after I started seriously dating my future wife Renee, the change was jarring.  Now I was welcomed in conversations I didn’t have a voice in.  Now I was welcomed into circles that were distant before.  It wasn't malicious, but I could see that I suddenly became an insider.  That access to people increased when Renee and I were married, and even further when we had our son Will.  Perhaps it’s relatability, that now we have something in common?  Maybe, but it’s deeper than that.  I was a regular guy now...as if I wasn't before.  This is real people, just look at our language for couples if you don't see it.  For example, the word “soulmate.”  If you have a mate, you may feel that’s who that person is to you.  But what of the people who are single or are separated from their mate for various reasons?  Are they “soulless,” or just a half of a whole?  No, but we do create a void here.  The term soulmate is descended from Plato, who described that Zeus, the king of the gods split the original humans in half into men and women, who would only become a whole person again unless they bonded (and the god Apollo helped with that, it’s complicated).  Of course we don’t worship Greek gods, but we did inherit their language and philosophies and wear them like a cloak.  If that’s how we look at love and marital relationships as meeting a need for self worth, we are in deep trouble, and already we are.

         Here’s the truth (and I’m bolding this because it’s important); whether you are single, dating, married, divorced, estranged, widowed, or it's complicated know this; YOU ARE A CREATURE OF WORTH AND VALUE.  You MATTER.  You are loved, worthy of giving love, and are worthy of being loved.  You are made in the image of God who loves you, and indeed you are created to be a creature of love.  Does that mean in a marital relationship?  It can be.  It also can be having love for your friends, your family, your co-workers, your fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.  You don't need a mate to become worthy, God already sees worth and value in you and loves you!  (With that said, let's try harder to keep a lot of the love language on that level.  It's more holy).  We have been made to experience and return that same beautiful love God gave us.  He showed us that love through Christ.  As beautiful beings of worth we can give love as well as receive it to both God and fellow people, and it can be romance, family, community, holy love, and we should embrace it all!  Seriously, Christ died for our sins not because he had to (no Valentine's Day obligation), but because He loves you by choice!!!  John 3:16 is all about the love!  Take this into account; those same Greeks who gave us the term “soulmate” had many words for love too;

 

·        storgē (love for parents and children),

·        philía (love in friendship, among equals),

·        érōs (romantic love, the one we westerners are stuck on),

·        agápē (charitable love, sacrificial love, love given without expectation of return). 

            

           Agápē is the highest, most pure form, and is the love we need to value the most.  It goes beyond romantic love (which in ways can be very selfish on it's own), it is the love that brings out the best in humanity, the love that the church is built upon, and the love that many of us have forgotten.  So how should we approach this coming Valentine’s Day without getting sucked into the dark hole of outlandish expectations and warped thinking of personal value?  Here are a couple of humble suggestions;

1.      Write a Valentine’s Day card to your parents or children, or a dear friend.  School kids write Valentine’s for their parents, siblings, and friends.  Grown kids can too!  It doesn't all have to be romantic stuff.  People need to know they're loved, so tell them!  

2.      If you do have a significant other, show that love of a date or gift on a random day.  Surprise them.  Doing something on the 14th is nice, but true wonderful surprises in life are rare gems and you might do well to follow that path.

3.      Give agápē love.  You can do that a number of ways; give a charitable gift, volunteer a day in a local mission, give love to those who may be feeling lonely on this 14th like a Valentine card or gift (we gotta live with the holiday after all, we might as well improve it). 

My church at Liberty UMC makes and gives Valentines to our shut-ins.
Here are some my wife Renee made, she's amazing!

         While Valentine’s Day can bring out the misguided in us, we can also use it as a call to bring out the best in us.  This Valentine’s Day (those three words are the lead-in to almost every Valentine’s Day gift commercial, but I use them for a higher purpose now), let’s make a special effort to live out what Christ said was the greatest of commandments;

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with

all your strength and with all your mind'; and, 'Love your neighbor as yourself.”

                                                                                                                       Luke 10: 27

Top Ten Favorite Movies

The ONLY time I watched a movie in 3D, which was Guardians of the Galaxy.  Great movie, overpriced glasses

A few people know me as a movie buff. I'm not just a lover of the films themselves, I love the "behind the scenes," the creative processes, the cultural influences they absorb and produce.  I also like all kinds of movies.  If a "romantic comedy" is good, I call it a good movie!  If a scary movie is good, I call it a movie!  And so on.  Movies are awesome!  And they can be garbage too.  My parents realized early on what impact they had on me and sought to educate me on their favorites, and I picked up a few of my own.  So here's my Top Ten Favorite Movies!  I said favorite, not best.  Sometimes the best isn't the most enjoyable, so no Citizen Kane here (definitely one of the best).  So here they are, and you can tell me how wrong I am in the comments section!  ;)

10. Amadeus (1984). You may claim to hate classical music, but I bet you know and even like Mozart. His music has been part of our lexicon for centuries, and the music is the star of this beautiful period piece. Here the wild and brilliant Mozart isn't the star, his antics and genius is observed with delicious and heartbreaking envy by his wannabe rival Salieri (played by F. Murray Abraham). I sometimes find myself even sympathizing with the devious and very-human villain of Salieri, while letting the soaring soundtrack and beautiful 16th century Vienna wash over me. It's a masterpiece, and I highly recommend this Oscar winner.  (A footnote, the sad decline of Mozart who died young freaked out my sister when we watched it together at a young age. The memory still tickles me...siblings you know).

9. The Wizard of Oz (1939).  Kids watching the Wizard of Oz is like a rite-of-passage.  You have the amazing musical score, those lavish colors, a delightful cast of characters, a million catch phrases we repeat to this day, a classic story, and.....its scary!  This movie scared me as a kid!  Not the whole thing mind you, but there are many images in this film that I can recall the kid in me that frightened me; the Wicked Witch of the West (I mean Come On!, what a no nonsense embodiment-of-evil villain, I could talk hours and hours about her), those freaky flying monkeys, the Wizard of Oz, "the Great and Powerful version," those bully apple trees, and the fantastic tornado bringing terror and chaos to the Kansas countryside, even watching Dorothy's terror as the red-sand hour glass ticked by.  A countdown done right can really add the tension.  Heck even certain scenes in the movie produced terror within me, the cruel Miss Gulch taking Toto (that poor dog, and poor Dorthy's helpless tears), the charging armies of the flying monkeys to the Witch's army, the disemboweling of Scarecrow in the Haunted Woods, to the Witch taunting Scarecrow with fire constantly, yeesh!  I had seen it enough times to know there's a happy end, still I would feel the urge to look away but couldn't.  It's a darn good story that's beautifully crafted, and when my son is ready to watch, we'll cringe and laugh together.  (And for the record, I do not like musical Wicked, at all.  Prequels ruin good villians.  See below at #1).

8. Ghostbusters (1985).  This movie still has the ability to make me laugh.  It's Bill Murray's best movie, and all you have to do is look at the guy and you'll crack a grin.  Also, who doesn't like busting ghosts?!  For me this made Halloween fun.  You know, when there's something strange in the neighborhood, so who ya gonna call?  You see, Ghostbusters in a way taught me that those creepy-crawly scary things can be defeated!  Ghostbusters had a curious draw on me growing up.  As a kid I loved the ghosts, the proton beams, the amazing comical team of Winston, Ray, Peter, and Egon, the NYC setting, and the Staypuff Marshmallow Man, it just reeked coolness!  Now grown up, I watch it now and realized how the "adult" jokes went over my head back then, especially scenes between Peter (Murray) and the Ghostbuster's first customer Dana (Sigourney Weaver).  That helps keep the movie fresh and timeless for me (and by the way, when Dana is first taken to be possessed by the monster Zuul [you know, the chair], it scared the crap out of me).  It's a fun, exciting, and funny movie, a rare combo that I love it dearly.

7. Rear Window (1954).  I had to get Alfred Hitchcock in here, and this is (I would argue) his best movie.  The story is simple, a photo-journalist Jeff played by Jimmy Stewart broke his leg on the job and is stuck in a wheelchair for months while his leg heals.  To pass the time he has taken on the habit of watching his neighbors in the apartment high rises across from his own.  They're strangers to him, but he loves watching them, giving them names, and giving them stories.  We have the dancer he calls Mrs Torso, a lonely single woman he names Mrs Lonelyheart, the traveling salesman with the sick wife, the couple who lowers their little house dog in a basket to the ground for restroom breaks, and the sculptor whose work changes as the movie moves on.  Well one rainy night Jeff hears a scream across to the other apartments and one of his neighbors goes missing.  Jeff is convinced there was a murder, but only has his peeping observations to share, which isn't good evidence, or ethical.

"Jeff's" view becomes the audience's.  It's clever, funny, and tense.

The movie picks up from there as he tries to convince his friends that something is wrong but here's the lovely catch; the movie never leaves Jeff's perspective.  There are no "cuts" to the other building, no scenes at the other apartment, or cuts to his friends talking out in the hall debating Jeff's sanity; we the audience are in the same boat as the bedridden Jeff.  We also become voyeurs with Jeff, which in our world of social media, over-sharing, and gossip carries a certain commentary today.  We share in Jeff's curiosity over his neighbors and this possible murder mystery, and we plead with Jeff for his friends to believe him.  It also doesn't hurt that the goddess Grace Kelly plays Jeff's wise and affectionate girlfriend "Lisa," who humors Jeff as he tries to work her into the role of detective.  It's an amazing movie, funny and tense, and is a wonderful ride!

6. The Shining (1980).  Every time I watch it, I get drawn further in.  It's like diving into the deep end of a pool, trying so hard to reach the bottom, getting deeper every time, but you have to stop and come up for air or else you drown.  You might get deeper everytime, and while you long to reach the bottom, you kind of hope you never do.  The Shining is like that, you long to understand it, but realize the journey to understand is much more fun than any explanation.  It's also darn frightening, which I love.  I like to be scared in movies, and most "scary" movies today just can't do it.  The scares are too predictable, the stories are done over and over, and to compensate the lack of scare in "scary" movies, today studios rely more on gore and torture to compensate.  #eyeroll.  It's not the "scares" that make a scary movie great, it's the story and the slow rise of tension.  The Shining is all about rising the tension, slowly and methodically (like Hitchcock), as we journey deeper down the rabbit hole with the Torrance family in this classic retelling of the "haunted house" scenario.  The movies starts out as Jack Torrance played by Jack Nicholson is a struggling writer, who with his wife and son agree to be the sole caretakers of a giant hotel in Colorado during the winter while the snows make it inaccessible.  The hotel has a history of death and violence (shocker), but what works is that the "ghosts" aren't like the ones in Ghostbusters.  It's clearly implied that the ghosts may be no more than figments of the imagination of each family member.  Whenever Jack speaks or interacts with a "ghost," you'll find a mirror in the room, like he may be talking to himself.  And Jack's son Danny has mental powers that allow him to hear the thoughts of others, or see traumatic events from long ago, so the "ghosts" he sees may be in his own mind...maybe.  We watch Jack's sanity slip down and down, we watch this broken family break down and down, it's like watching a train-wreck, and we can't look away.  We feel like we should look away, but we can't help ourselves.  Many people have tried to make sense of this movie and explain its confusing plot.  That may be a fools errand, but it's half the fun.  It's not so much a story as it is a place, like the cursed room 237.  We can't help ourselves but to return again, and again.  It's my favorite scary/horror movie.

I love the original poster; it matches the mood
of the film better than the "boxing" ones

5. Rocky (1976).  Don't laugh!  The original Rocky is wonderful and sweet!  The sequels, not so much.  The first Rocky has a close place in my heart.  It's a lonely movie, the lowly boxer Rocky (played by Sylvester Stallone who wrote the story) walking the city streets of Philadelphia that appear deserted to him most of the time, which for a city is weird but fitting here.  Rocky could have been great, but the world judged him to be a bum (today we would use the word loser), and he agrees with the world.  He fights forgettable local grunge boxing matches, works as muscle for a seedy local loneshark, and lives a meaningless existence.  Despite his rough exterior, his heart aches for the extremely shy girl Adrian who works in the pet shop.  Rocky buys pets there just so he can talk to this girl who feels as lowly as himself.  Adrian's brother Paulie wants Adrian to date his friend Rocky, but is hurt and lashes out as she withdrawals from Paulie's own anger and self-loathing.  Rocky's trainer "the rough cranky old man" Mickey also first appears like a cartoon, but in one scene at Rocky's lonely and empty apartment we find him feeling aged, tired, and burdened with regret.  These people feel real, and we root for them to crawl out of their holes and into the light.  Que the classic story of luck as Rocky is given a chance to take on the boxing champion of the world Apollo Creed, a Muhammad-Ali figure of equal charisma, arrogance, and skill.  You can enjoy the parts about the training and the fight, but I'm drawn to the quieter moments; Rocky begging Adrian for a kiss, Adrian finding her voice against her abusive brother, Mickey sadly walking down the street as Rocky screams his own frustrations at him, Rocky exhausted and broken after his first long morning run of training, Rocky confessing to Adrian that he doesn't want to feel like a bum anymore.  It's those emotional cornerstones that make the boxing match at the end so satisfying, as we are cheering for each of these characters to discover their own self worth.  When I'm feeling down and lowly I often dream, and in my dreams I sometimes find myself in a place that looks like Rocky's apartment, disgusting and empty, longing for someone to come and end my loneliness.  I guess what I'm saying is that I empathize with Rocky.  That may be why I love it so, just as Rocky discovers how awesome he really is through the person that knows him best, Adrian, I look to my wife whom I allowed myself to be vulnerable to and helped me discover the champion within.  I can still hear Rocky explaining to Paulie why he wants to date his depressed and quiet sister, "I don't know, she fills gaps.  I got gaps, she's got gaps, together we fill gaps."  (A little disclosure, my wife is not quiet or depressed, she's confident and freakin awesome!  I may be like Rocky in some ways, but she is NOT Adrian!)

This promotional poster captures
the spirit perfectly

4. The Little Mermaid (1989).  This is an inspired film.  If you didn't know, at the time Disney Studios was on the ropes.  They were out of money and out of ideas, and were debating closing its cherished animation studio.  Out of that desperation they sought new creative minds, and from that came The Little Mermaid.  What a breath of fresh air it is.  I can remember sitting in the theater, riding on Prince Eric's massive sailing ship, atop the mighty ocean, and then following one lucky fish into the sea, down, down, down into the depths.  Gliding past glowing jellyfish, massive giants of whales, schools of glistening fish, and the music rises, and then soaring past the camera are the mermaids!  Brilliant!  We see a world we want to explore, to enjoy, to just see, and we think we'll get that chance through the eyes of the protagonist Ariel, the daughter of the ocean ruler King Triton.  And then the story flips us around; Ariel isn't interested in this marvel of a living ocean at all.  Ariel longs for the wonders of the world "up above," ours.  As an audience we get to marvel at both, long for both, and do we ever.  Add onto that a brilliant cast; the worried but wise crab Sebastian, Ariel's nervous best friend the tropical fish Flounder, the dimwitted but lovable seagull Scuttle, the honorable and caring prince Eric, and the entertaining and crafty villain the sea-witch Ursula, and you have a classic.  I love that the villain has a brain, so many movies have dumb or shallow villains and it's annoying.  And the music, dear God it's powerful, memorable, and engaging.  I also have enjoyed my changing perspective on Ariel as I've gotten older.  At first I pulled for her with all my might as I empathized with her youthful passion.  Then as I got older I found her gullible and shallow.  Today I've grown to appreciate her street-smarts and drive.  Everything that Disney has produced since then was built on the brilliance of this original.  While I love much of what they've made since, this remains my favorite of the Disney animated films.

3. Pulp Fiction (1994).  I wish I could explain it, but I adore this movie.  I think the best word I can use to explain it is the word "cool."  This is a "cool" movie.  Now the people in it are not cool; hitmen, drug addicts and dealers, gangsters, armed robbers, a violent boxer, and an annoying coffee drinker, but man, Pulp Fiction just gets better with every viewing.  The dialogue is the key, it's a joy to listen to.  Every conversation is filled with rich and awesome conversations.  A cheap movie would have characters say something just to move the plot along.  For example, at the beginning as two hitmen are headed toward their next assignment a cheap movie would have them explain why they're in a car, why they have guns, what they're supposed to do, and then they would arrive.  Not here, the writer and director Quentin Tarantino wisely knows the audience will figure it out, and instead uses that car ride establishing who these guys are using funny and witty dialogue about hamburgers and hamburgers in France.  And what does that lead to?  At their assignment, the men they meet are eating hamburgers, and they talk about it.  An easy and enjoyable payoff that keeps repeating.  Every piece of dialogue sets up the next part of the story.  Sometimes is overt.  Sometimes it's extremely subtle (I don't want to spoil it), and every new discovery is a joy to find.  The story in of itself isn't all that original, but it's delivery (also done out of chronological order) elevates it above itself.  Every viewing this movie just gets better and better.

2. Ben-Hur (1959).  When mom told me we were watching a 3+ hour movie I cringed.  The last time she suggested that was Gone With the Wind, and I wasn't a fan of it.  Not here, Ben-Hur has everything!  Roman armies, naval battles with fire, a chariot race that is just about perfect, a great story of revenge and redemption, boo yeah!  This is also the movie I point to as my favorite "Jesus" movie.  Why?  You never hear Jesus speak, you only see him from the back of the head, and occasionally you hear people talk about him.  Why would I say this is the best Jesus movie?  Because the director William Wyler understood something most Biblical filmmakers then and now don't; it's not trying to recreate the Divine in art that draws us closer to God, it's our stories and retelling of our own experiences with the Divine that draws us to closer to God.  Take for example the Sermon on the Mount and the words, "Blessed are the peacemakers."  Most Christians have heard those words dozens of times.  I can hear the latest Jesus actor try to take it on and try to make it sound godly, and all I can hear is a British accent over hushed tones.  Been there, done that, over and over again, blah.  Instead in Ben-Hur we get the vengeance-driven fallen prince Judah Ben-Hur (played perfectly by Charlton Heston) forced to hear those sacred words delivered by his loving fiancee Esther who we see earlier waiting to hear Jesus' sermon on the mountain.  Which version sounds more authentic?  I think B.  This is the standard that I judge all Biblical epics, and almost all others fail.  I watch it almost every Easter as my personal tradition.

"Ben-Hur" meeting Jesus.  It's not Jesus' face that sells a scene (which you never see in the film), it's the reactions of everyone else.  Much like us today.

1. Star Wars IV, A New Hope.  Surprised?  Now I would say that the Empire Strikes Back is the best of the trilogy, A New Hope is my favorite.  As a singular film, it's perfect, as Empire builds on top of it (to perfection too, but this is my favorite.  The prequels are garbage as they ruin the greatest villian ever Darth Vader, and from here on I will not reference them again).  As a child I dreamed of going to these places.  I wanted to walk the sands of Tatooine, sit at Han Solo's table at the cantina, sit at the feet of Obi-Wan Kenobi, marvel at the giant mechanical marvels of the Jawas' landcruiser, see a Star Destroyer, or fly into the Death Star.  I wanted to ride with Luke down the long trench of the Death Star.  I wanted to intervene and save Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru.  I wanted to chat and giggle at C3P0 and R2D2.  I wanted to be in the same room as Darth Vader and just feel his commanding presence.  I looked upon Princess Leia with awe and respect (she's no shrinking violet, breaking the "princess" cliche!).  I wanted to scream to our band of heroes, "There's a monster in the trash water, and you're in a trash compactor!"  I wanted to duel with lightsabers, darn the consequences of lost limbs!  Since I was 5-6 years old this is still the place I find my imagination going back to.  It's why I have this movie memorized completely (and 99% of Empire Strikes Back and 95% of Return of the Jedi).  Even to this day kids find inspiration and excitement in this movie.  It's timeless.  The special effects STILL look good!  Heck at the time it came out it was received as a message of hope and optimism to a nation trapped in a decade of war and scandal.  To this day, I am able to pretend that I am seeing it for the first time when I sit to watch it.  Here's what happens when I do;  

I can feel my pulse quicken as Luke races down the trench of the Death Star, Vader in hot pursuit, Luke's friends on the moon planet below in peril.  He's all alone, and it looks hopeless.  Then comes Han Solo, "You're all clear kid!  Now let's blow this thing and go home!"  Then the musical score turns to building pulses, and I freeze.  The proton torpedoes hit their mark, but the Death Star charges its planet-destroying weapon, I find myself holding my breath. Then at the last possible second, the Death Star explodes, and our heroes triumph, I hear the voice of our beloved Obi Wan, and feel tears glisten my eyes.  Movies don't get better than this.

Star Wars IV is my favorite movie of all time, and the best.

Honorable mentions that didn't make my FAVORITES list, listed alphabetically;  Alien, Blade Runner, Cool Hand Luke, The Dark Knight (which might make my top ten list eventually), Die Hard, The Exorcist, The Godfather, Groundhog Day, High Noon, It's a Wonderful Life, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Princess Mononoke, Psycho, Seven, Silence of the Lambs, There Will Be Blood, Up, Vertigo.  Did I miss any?

Daring to Pray for a White Christmas

Yes, that's me from long ago

 You know the song "White Christmas?"  I assume you do, or just turn on the radio or Google it.  It's a beautiful song.  It was written by Irving Berlin in 1942.  As for the story regarding its origin (and it's debated); Irving was staying at La Quinta, California and it was a warm day (as most California days are).  In the midst of the heat he stayed up throughout the night penning this song, which I am sure spoke volumes to him considering the environment he was writing in.  When he was finished he told his secretary it may be the best song he had ever written.  The song was sung by Bing Crosby that same year and was fairly successful.  When Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” film debuted in 1954 the song went “viral,” and since then it is the best selling single in the world to this date (50 MILLION copies!  Simply amazing!).

I heard this song a lot growing up, and listening to the lyrics you can’t help but to think back to your own memories of a White Christmas.  “I'm dreaming of a white Christmas.  Just like the ones I used to know…”  The trouble for me is that I've never experienced a White Christmas in my lifetime.  There have been several close calls, but not one for December 25th.  One of those close calls is where I begin this reflection;

It was about 2-3 weeks before Christmas.  I was 6-8 years old, riding with my mom in the car on a Friday afternoon.  I asked her if she had ever had a White Christmas growing up (undoubtedly asked after hearing this song on the radio).  She said that she had a couple of times, but I remember seeing a look of sadness on her face as she reflected.  There was a time that you could hope for a White Christmas, but not anymore.  Not here, in the warm South.  I wanted to take that frown off my mom’s face, and frankly I wanted to see a White Christmas too. 

That night before I went to bed I went on my knees to pray my nightly prayer.  Usually I prayed the same prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep…”  Mom taught me the prayer, and she conveniently skipped the part about, “…if I die before I wake...”  Well, on this night though I took a different route, broke my nightly routine, and did something audacious…I prayed something different.  I remember this because it was different, and because of the audacious nature of my prayer.  It went something like this; “Dear God, please make it snow on Christmas.  My mom had snow on Christmas and it made her happy, and I want it to snow for her.  Please make it snow on Christmas, God.  Amen.”  Now don’t think I am some pious saint just yet; I also wanted it to snow on Christmas for myself!  I left that out of my prayer...how convenient.  But I went to bed and kept hoping, dreaming, and wondering.

This picture probably is from the same Christmas

Saturday morning I woke up to see a strange glow coming from the blinds on my window.  I knew what morning light looked like through those blinds, but this looked different.  I sat up in my bed, looked out the window, and saw that the entire yard was covered in snow!  A respectable 4-5 inches. 

I was ecstatic of course!  Snow is awesome!  Almost immediately I recalled my evening prayer the previous night, and I could only come up with one conclusion.  I went back down on my knees beside my bed like normal, bowed my head, and prayed, “Dear God, you messed up.  You got the date wrong.  I said Christmas!  Not today.  Please try again.  Amen.”  I remember that prayer verbatim.  I figured I needed to pray to God daily to make sure He got the snow on the right day, like reminding your parents about something “important” you also know they are likely to forget!  So I did!  Every night up to Christmas Eve.

My sister Dana and I

On Christmas Eve night, when we left my grandparents house from our Christmas Eve family gathering I saw it beginning to flurry!  I was excited!  I was proud of God, and proud of myself!  A White Christmas was in order!  On Christmas morning I looked up at the blinds.  The light looked normal.  Sure enough, all I saw out the window was brown grass and bare trees.  I figured God used all of his “snow power” on that miscue, but that miscue snow day was still a great day, and it was still a great Christmas.

So would I pray that prayer today as a grownup; full of knowledge, life experiences, and more tools at my disposal?  No.  I am certain that if I started an investigation I could look back at meteorological records and study December weather reports from the mid-to-late 1980s and find my snow day (or God’s snow day) and how its appearance was all but certain.  Back then I wasn’t watching the news or weather reports or learning weather patterns.  Now I do.  Today I have apps on my smartphone that can answer these weather questions in amazing detail.  I would never pray a prayer again…or should I?

Throughout the Gospels Jesus says that to enter the Kingdom of God our faith must be like a child's (Mark 10: 13-16, Matthew 19:13-14, Luke 18: 15-17, same story but referenced multiple times).  Why is that?  Don’t wiser, older, more seasoned adults have a place?  When it comes to children, (especially in the first century), to be like a child is to be needy, weak, a nobody; but that’s whom God favors.  The Kingdom of God doesn't have room for those who already rule their earthly mini-kingdoms; who have no need or desire to depend on God.  It is not a call to be ignorant, but it is a call to let go, give to God, and to dream.  Kids are good at that.  They dream, they imagine, they wonder, they see infinite possibilities where as adults we are seasoned to dampen expectations, to be cautious, and worry.  I think as adults we let our knowledge and experiences create barriers so we can protect ourselves from the unexpected.  Adults stop themselves from growing up further, and that's a real problem.  Kids deal with the unexpected constantly, as growing up is full of change and new experiences.  Those are the people God wants in His Kingdom; people who are ready to grow, to change, to experience, and are ready for a miracle that CAN’T be explained.

Advent is a time for miracles!  It began with the greatest miracle since the creation of the universe, when God became Incarnate through Jesus Christ, our newborn King!  This is the season to expect a miracle, and it will be one that God will give you that you don’t see coming.  Maybe God didn’t intervene with the weather when I was a kid, or maybe he did.  We can debate it, but I do think that God gave my heart and my imagination a tug to think of the possibility, and in turn make me more aware of the possibilities of the Divine in the every day. 

Advent is a wonderful time to let our guard down, to become open to the possibility that God is at work in subtle and awesome ways in our lives.  The first Christmas began in the same way.  God’s faithful lived in fear, in worry, with the future looking very dark.  They were worried grownups, but with good reason.  They prayed, dreamed, and wondered, “When will the Messiah come?”  They asked God specifically for their Savior, and many had clear expectations of what that messiah would look like (a warrior, monarch, superhero-like).  On an unexpected day in the small town of Bethlehem, the impossible happened!  Some of those same people who prayed saw this miracle years later, listened to the man from Nazareth, and prayed, “God, you messed up.  You got the Messiah wrong.  Please try again.”  Other people listened to the man from Nazareth, even as skeptics.  They dared to dream, to wonder, to believe, and followed this unexpected answer to an honest prayer.

I loved my pterodactyl shirt!

I pray that during this season of Advent, of waiting for God, or snow, or any miracle; you can let go of your fear to dream, to wonder, and that you boldly lift those prayers to God.  You may not get the answer you are looking for, but it will be the answer you need.  I assure you the answer will be as beautiful as a White Christmas!

Never Forget...For What Purpose?

Look back on years of this wretched anniversary on my Facebook feed, and unless I'm mistaken I have never written one thing about Sept 11th. Sure I have read a bunch, given some "likes" and applauded the more thoughtful and inspiring messages and essays, but not me. Why? Am I a heartless, wretched man? I don't think so. Am I just trying to ignore the pain of that day? No, I feel it every time I see a bomb drop or detonate on the news and people are shredded and children are orphaned. Why should this day be special? Because we make it so. I'm still seeking a way to honor such a day and until today I haven't found it. For 13 years we find ways to make ourselves miserable over and over like a broken record, and I wonder, "What is it good for?" (Yes, I'm quoting Edwin Starr's song; "War, huh, Good God y'all! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!")

I was in seminary 13 years ago, and now it's a blur. I remember the tears, the anger, but there was something else; an intentional move by all these clergy in training to move to the Cross. To see sin and brokenness washed clean by the blood of the Lamb. To make this violent act the last one. There was a hope for a rebirth, a resurrection. Since then, we've waged wars, dropped our own bombs, wage violence in our own homes and streets, and have killed our own share of innocent people. Those churches swollen to the brim with people crying for mercy and healing 13 years ago have emptied. Those bended knees now stand straight, busy judging others and asking in turn not to be judged. The hypocrisy makes me nauseous. If anything we have become more fearful, suspicious, and angry. Partisanship is the symptom of this disease. It's like a national PTSD. The resurrection was teased but we are definitely still buried in the ground; weighed down by burdens of guilt, vengeance, and blood. Our chase for security has led us away from the Cross and the Tomb. Perhaps that's why so many of us seek to "remember" by reliving the horror, it's the only way we know how to feel, or should feel.

I look at my son, so happy and cheerful and blissfully unaware and I think to myself, "Thank God you don't have the emotional baggage the rest of us are carrying." I think it crassly, but maybe that's the way to go. Instead of trying to teach him everything about 9/11 every year, seeking to draw him into my own collective sense of guilt and shame, I'm going to teach him to be kind. Keep hugging, smile to friends and strangers, give high-fives, to love mightily and love God. This will not be a day of weeping and gnashing of teeth. This will be a day of joy. Remember the innocent who were murdered (today and EVERYDAY) by showing mercy and grace. I also try to do this but it's an effort. The stranger, the other, the people whom the false lessons of 9/11 teach me to hate or simply avoid, God died and lives again for them too. -Fight it Brad, shake the hand, nod, smile, befriend, offer the Peace of Christ! -But it HURTS! ...yup. And there is my son, free from such baggage and brokenness. He offers the love anyway, willing to give a high-five to any who offer. He finds joy when others smile with him. There's the narrow path I've heard so much about. 

So for this day, and any other painful anniversary, I'm going to force my knees back to the hard dry ground, pray for mercy and grace, and share that blessed light as it has been given to a sinner such as I. And for my son, who has a better world in front of him because I haven't given him my own brokenness (so much as I can help it, you know, parenting), I have more hope for him than fear. This is a choice, and in spite of my own bad instincts and what the world would have me feel, I chose hope. 

9/11 will be a day of joy and hope! A good day. I'll show joy and hope till it hurts!...and it already does. Thank you Jesus for loving and hurting for me too, and our children.