Play With Me, Daddy

“Play with me, daddy.”

I must hear that a couple hundred times a day. Sometimes, I’m ready to play, and it’s tickle fights, wrestling matches, Avengers figures, cars and trucks until we can’t stand it any longer. Other times, I’m not so ready to play, and I try to beg off. If you’re a parent, I’m sure you can relate.

But lately, I’ve noticed something. When Jon says “Play with me”, he’s using the word play in an entire different way. In fact, it may be an entirely different word.

I hear play and I think interaction, me and him using our imaginations to create scenarios and worlds where the toys we use and the time we share transport us together into another place. But it’s a separate togetherness: we each act independently within the game, each one doing what we imagine our characters should do. I think play, and it’s really all about collective yet distinct imaginative effort. Me and him as two.

When Jon says play, it’s less about imagination or collaborative effort. It’s more about him doing what he wants to do while I sit in the same room with him. Sometimes he’ll hand me a truck and tell me where to drive it. Other times he forgets I’m even there. The only thing he really needs is for me to remain physically present; my mind can be a thousand miles away as long as he can still use my arms as bridges and my belly as a mountain. I am another toy for him to use.

It’s ugly, but sometimes I get frustrated by this kind of play. My son has some cool toys, and the idea of just running the same four trucks over my stomach for an hour and a half makes me feel a little…I dunno, bored maybe? I want to line up action figures and trucks and Lego castles and create our own fantastic battles and worlds. I understand on a deeper level what play can really be, and I want to explore that deeper level.

My son, who’s only four, doesn’t get that yet. So he’s content to play at his level, happy to have a few small toys and a daddy who will simply sit with him for as long as he needs. He doesn’t know what he’s missing because he hasn’t learned there’s anything to miss. Developmentally, he’s right on schedule and I have to stop and remind myself that, as his father, I have to work with him where he’s at and gently expand his world a little bit at a time.

I bring all this up because it’s sort of where I’m at with God right now. For a long time, I’ve been content to play at my level, which is to do what I want to do while having the security of His presence. But God’s been gently expanding my world; He’s calling me out into places of much deeper meaning and discovery, not because I’m special, but because He has something He wants to show me. I still want to play with a couple of trucks.

He wants to help me build worlds.

Like my son, I’ve been content to just do my thing. But also like my son, I’ve learned to put my hand into my daddy’s and let Him lead me into something else. It requires trust and faith that He won’t lead me into situations where I’ll be hurt; it requires me loving Him enough to surrender to something that stretches me, pushes the envelope of what I think I can do. And when I find I’m at my limit, He lovingly picks me up into His arms and lets me rest, reassuring me that we’ve done enough for the day.

Sometimes, I worry about what other people might think of what He’s teaching me. But He doesn’t. And I trust Him.

Because He loves me.

God In The Whirlwind?

I haven’t been keeping up with the devastation in Moore, Oklahoma. From what I’ve read, it’s a sad and horrifying natural disaster, and the response of countless people with donations of time, money and supplies has been heartening. Sometimes, we forget that people are capable of tremendous acts of sacrifice and kindness. It’s a shame that we only remember when something like this happens. In fact, there are a lot of things that we don’t think about until something like this happens. The value of human life, the need for community, the presence – or absence – of God in everyday life.

Depending upon where you fall on the religious spectrum, you might have very strong feelings about that last one. Some people will tell you that the tornado is a message from God, a statement of destruction to wake us up to the various moral failings of our country. Some people will tell you that God wasn’t in the whirlwind at all, that nature just strikes at random and we are all held hostage until Jesus returns and reboots the universe for God. Others take a middle road.

And there are a great many people who will simply say they don’t know.

Why is it that we only look for God in times of tragedy? I’ve heard a lot of preachers expound on the topic, and the consensus seems to be that we’re selfish by nature; that human beings, by default, will seek only those things that satisfy themselves. Therefore in good times, there’s no need to seek God, because the circumstances of our lives dictate Him as unnecessary. Since we have what we need, we obviously don’t need Him. It is only when the universe becomes cruel, when we see rubble piled atop the tiny hand of a child, that we seek out God for accountability. Where were you? How could you let this happen?

The problem, this view suggests, is that we don’t see the world correctly.

I think there’s truth in that idea. But I don’t know that I agree with all of it anymore. I think we are self-seeking creatures, but for some folks that means seeking God in good times as well as bad; I think we do tend to take the good times for granted, but I think we often look harder to see the evil in the world than we should; I think we do turn to God in times of trouble, often in anger or despair, but we do so seeking for some sense of answer, some idea that the things that scare us can also offer us wisdom for healing.

We turn to Him for hope that we might not otherwise see.

Sure some might turn Moore into a referendum on God’s character, but they assume that God is capable of the evil found in the destruction and not the good that comes from the people who respond. They suggest that God is an impersonal force, and thus cannot be present in the humans who are there to help rebuild. They give Him credit only for those things that would discredit Him, as if His only purpose is to be the cosmic bad guy, a reverse deus ex machina that gives us a target for a rage we otherwise wouldn’t know how to express.

It’s funny, but in denying God, they embrace a big part of what makes Him God: His ability to absorb our anger, fear and frustration, yet still love us all the same.

I suppose I should answer a few questions before I close this post out. Do I think God caused the tornado? No, I don’t. Do I think God could have diverted the tornado? It’s possible, sure, but that line of thinking is usually a zero-sum game. Do I think God was present with the victims? Yes. Do I think God is still present in the aftermath, working through the people who will rebuild – both physically and mentally – the town and people of Moore, OK?

Without question.

In the Old Testament, an ancient prophet of Israel went up on a mountain to see God face to face. There was an earthquake, but God wasn’t in it. There was fire from heaven, but God wasn’t there either. There was a great whirlwind, but still the presence of God wasn’t there.

It was only after those events, only after the cataclysmic natural phenomena that left the prophet still searching for the presence of God, that the prophet found Him. The Bible says that God came in a still small voice that the prophet heard. And when he heard it, he knew he was in the very presence of Almighty God.

It is a story well worth considering.

Writing Without Being a Jerk

Just a quick tangent:

I posted earlier about my new book, and I mentioned in the post that it has language that some people will find offensive. I felt that, creatively, the language was justified because of the genre, the characters, and the general tone I was trying to create.

But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with it. In fact, one of the sweetest ladies I know just bought my book and I immediately sent her a Facebook message to let her know it wasn’t going to be an easy read. In fact, her opinion of me might drastically change by reading the book.

Part of me struggles with that; I don’t want to hurt people, intentionally or otherwise, but at the same time, I can’t always write what people expect me to. I’m not trying to offend anyone with the things I publish, but that chance is always out there. I’m learning that I have to make my peace with my inability to be everything that people expect me to be, and that’s hard.

I love the people that I have spent the last fifteen years around, and I want them to feel like the time and love they invested in me was for the better. I know some people will be bothered by my choices in the book, and I acknowledge that their perception of me may change. But I ask those that do read it to understand the difference between the person who wrote the book and the characters contained therein.

Hopefully, that might make a difference. If not, then let me say, from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry if you’re hurt.

Truly.

Bulldawg: How I Published a Book in a Day

Yesterday, I had a sudden burst of energy and a surplus of time. The end result? I now have a new book available on Amazon (both Kindle version and in paperback).

Before you get all impressed, let me clarify:

The book is a collection of short stories that I wrote a few years ago. I labored over them quite a long time, enjoying the act of creation, enjoying the chance to invent and inhabit a new (though familiar) world. They’re detective stories, inspired by the works of Raymond Chandler, creator of the famous P.I. Phillip Marlowe. Set in Athens, Georgia, they’re about a detective who comes back to the last place life made any sense – UGA – trying to start over again. Through five different, strange cases, he discovers that being a detective in a crazy college town is very interesting. They’re dark, gritty, punchy and, for better or worse, some of my most favorite things I’ve written.

Are the wholesome? No. They’re hard-boiled detective noir. They’re not for kids, people who dislike detective stories, or people who object to the use of ugly language and uglier portrayals of life.

Are they good? We’ll see. I wouldn’t have published them if I weren’t proud of them, and if a friend of mine didn’t convince me that they were worth putting out into the public sphere.

Are they cheap? As cheap as I could make them. Well, I suppose I could’ve given them away free, but they were the perfect set up for testing the digital marketplace as an independent author. If you don’t have to go through the gatekeepers, why should you?

Do I expect to make a lot of money? Not a bit. But I hope to be able to get some good feedback as a writer – I want to know what the people who read this blog might think of the experiment in fiction. I want to know if I have the kind of range necessary to tell bigger stories than just my own (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

I’ve already sold a few copies (thanks to my brother, my friend Ashton, and my friend Sarah) and that’s a nice feeling. It helps with the transition from my old life to my new one. God is sovereign, and He’s able to do more than I would’ve imagined.

Heck, He might even be pleased that I’m trying to stretch more than I’ve ever done before. Who knows?

So, as any self-published author is required to do, I’m gonna remind you one more time that my new book, Bulldawg: Detective Tales from the Classic City, is now available for Kindle or in paperback at Amazon. If you’re a Bulldog fan and know anything about Athens, especially Athens circa 1994-2000, then you’re in for a treat.

Help a fellow Dawg out by getting your copy, will ya?

Falling Down

I fell through the ceiling in my hallway tonight. I was carrying a stupidly heavy box of books from my packed up office (a box that was so I heavy I actually thought to myself: I should probably just leave these downstairs), and since my attic doesn’t have decking (but does have a high number of obstacles to easy walking) I missed one of the joists and my left foot came crashing through the ceiling below.

It’s a good thing my butt already has a crack in it – as it is, I almost gave myself a second one. Luckily, nothing sensitive got injured, and all I ended up with was a three foot square hole in my ceiling and a baseball sized contusion on the right side of my butt (which was helpfully treated by my sitting on an ice pack for 20 of the most awkward and least attractive minutes of my life).

For someone who just quit his job and has a limited income right now, this was not a welcome experience. Doubly so since I also have the handy man skills of a six month old.

So now I’m sitting here, staring at the massive hole in my ceiling, and all I can think of is Michael Caine. Specifically, this clip:

I love that clip for a thousand different reasons, not the least of which is Michael Caine’s accent. The man just sounds cool. But I also love it for the truth it contains: we fall down so we can learn to rise. Life has its way of asking us to go backward in order to go forward; we’re not fond of that fact, but it’s true all the same.

I had coffee with a friend tonight (well, now that I think about it, I had coffee; he never drank a thing) and we talked about life and the changes that it holds. For me, the changes with my job and career track; for him, the adjustments to fatherhood and how his writing/creative life has been put on hold for the moment. As we often do, we reminisced about life in high school and college, and we each were able to identify a specific point, or a specific thing, that – if we could do it all again – was the one thing we’d do differently. We talked about that for a second, and then my friend said something like this:

“But you know, by not taking that path, we’ve become the men we are today. So in some ways, not making those choices taught us to make them when they counted.”

We fall down, so we can learn to pick ourselves back up.

I know plenty of people who’ve fallen down lately (and for some, it’s more accurate to say they’ve been shoved down cruelly or kicked to the ground). There are people who are simply looking for enough hope to make it through the end of the week, or the day, or their particular shift at work. They wonder if things will ever be in their favor; if they’ll ever reach that point where life feels like it’s moving forward more often than it feels like it’s going back. The dream is still out there, but they’re tired of it being beyond reach.

All I can say is that falling down isn’t the worst thing in the world. Going backward isn’t always bad. It’s staying there that’s the issue.

If we fall down, we must get up.

That’s the path of reward – that’s the life worth living. Even gaping ceiling holes can be patched and made good as new. But sometimes, we have to live through those moments to believe that.