Novel

I've finished five chapters of my novel. The themes of my book spring from an experience I had in Seattle a few years ago, working for a charismatic Christian organization. I let the novel sit for a bit, and reread it today over lunch. I was suprised how much I enjoyed it.

I still cannot fathom any kind of market for this book, but I do enjoy the process and my wife likes it. (At least she says she does.) Twenty or so more chapters to go.

A few of the themes are: How do we engage others? How does God respond to prayer? What happens when we begin to open ourselves to those around us? One of the central themes deals with how we often require that which we struggle to give.

And so, between diaper changes and corporate videos, I'm going to try to finish up this autobiographical, self-aware, and painful cliche' of a first novel.

Then I can move on to the second, less autobiographical, less self-aware and not-so-painful cliche' of a second novel.

Shots and dead birds

We took Silvi for her shots last night. Four of them. I don't think I'll ever forget the look in Silvi's eyes when the two nurses simultaneously pierced her fragile, beautiful skin. Annie and I each held a hand. Her fingers are so small. She was nervous about being held down. As the needles reached their mark, her look of suprise seemed tinged with betrayal. Then sorrow. I, a helpless father, had to betray my daughter. This is where the seeds of distrust are born.

On the drive home, Silvi asleep from exhaustion, I hit a bird and killed it. Two birds, flying together, tried to make it in front of the car. A moment of hesitation by one bird, and then the other was alone.

Some days are just sad, you know?

Dams of Heaven by Tom

When the dams of heaven burst, will you still venture into the night, into the torrent, to follow that small voice calling from the edge of the storm?

As the waters rise, push on. Follow the sound of His voice. He won't stop calling your name.

Back in the game

I played soccer during my teens in southern Florida. Those afternoon practices were so hot that I prayed to be benched during scrimmages. Inevitably, the coach would signal for me to get back in the game, and I would peel myself off the hot aluminum bench to stammer back out onto the field.

That's kind of what it's like to go back to work after a vacation.

Vacation

We had a great time away. Our first vacation with Silvi. We picked a fantastic hotel overlooking Lake Superior, with views of beautiful sunrises over the water each morning. The first day was so foggy that we literally could not see more than a few feet in front of the car. We drove around the bluffs, exploring what we could. The next day was gorgeous, sunny and warm. We kicked back on a boat ride along the coast, where we were dwarfed by the huge ocean freighters from all over the world. Silvi slept on my lap, the wind blowing her hair that is always sticking straight up. She wasn't too impressed with her first boat ride.

We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting down by the water and wandering through bookstores and eating ice cream. We capped the day off at an Omni Theater showing of the Mysteries of the Nile, where Silvi sat and watched wide-eyed. Sometimes, when I swing Silvi a little too high, she throws her hands out to stabilize herself. She did that a few times during some of the helicopter shots. I'm just glad she didn't get sick.

It was one of the best times we've had in a while. We weren't sure in the beginning when the lightning struck the transformer down the street, knocking out our cable tv for an afternoon. But as Trading Spaces suddenly lit our screen, we knew all was well in the world.

North Shore

We decided to drive up to the North Shore along Lake Superior and play at a water park (if it will stop raining). We've booked a room with a balcony overlooking the small beach, and are just going to swim in the pool and eat and watch some cable tv and eat some more.

See you in a few...

I am Free by Tom

Free
by Tom

I am bound. Yet I am free.

I am a lowly slave. Yet I am free.

I am a drowning debtor. Yet I am free.

I am weak and I am powerless. Yet I am free.

I am a small link in a very heavy chain. Yet I am free.

Come, you enslaver, you idolater, you chain-maker, you greed monger.

Packin' it in

It's 10pm and I'm waiting for a graphic to render. Then I'm heading home. Thirteen hours in front of a computer is enough for one day. Two more long days then a four-day weekend. Trying to figure out where to go with Anne and Silvi. Corn fields to the west, wheat fields to the east, Iowa to the south and wilderness to the north. Chicago just out of reach for a two-month-old.

Ideas?

Cain and Abel by Tom

What furious hunger compels us to try to find a synthesis between two irreducible opposites! We are consumed with winning both this earthly life and the Kingdom of the horizon. Flesh and bone and spirit in bloody battle.

Cain fighting with Abel.

This earthly life of pigs and dust and weeping mothers cannot be reconciled with the world of angels and devils and gods born of virgins.

Rest. One is coming who will shatter the divide between earth and heaven. And Cain will feast with Abel.

The verdict is...

Right now the client is in with my boss, watching the video I spent all weekend editing. I rarely watch the finished product with the client; some kind of client relationship thing.

So I'm sitting here, blogging and biting my nails, listening to the program next door. And the verdict is...?

[Updated] Our parking lot looked like a Lexus dealership as the President and Ceo and all the other upper management crowded into the viewing room. I could hear the video next door, and heard them laugh when they were supposed to laugh and cry when they were supposed to cry (well, maybe not cry.) Anyway, they liked it. A few minor changes last night and cut it to a DVD. It'll be shown to a group of 400 tonight.

Reality tv

I find that one of the hardest things for me to do when I'm creating a video is to leave my ego and own way of doing things behind. This short historical program that I've been editing has created some tension between my boss and me. I've been trying to make a real dramatic piece, and he is always asking me to tone the mood down. Less dramatic, more "corporate."

Yesterday I caught a few mintues of a PGA golf tournament and one of their human interest stories and realized that my boss was right. The two-billion dollar corporation I'm creating this program for doesn't want the history of their company portrayed as it really was (I'm having to airbrush out some employees pictures who made problems). They want a glossy showpiece to motivate and inspire, without the dirt.

And so I will give them what they want. They are my client and they should get what they pay for. The world doesn't want the truth. And I have to admit; it makes my editing alot easier.

Saturday at work

Saturday morning. I'm editing a historical documentary for one company and another video for a trade show. A little overwhelmed. Pablo P. said that boundaries are the playground of creativity. I don't think he ever worked in the corporate world.

Back to it.

Chained to the desk

The perfect storm. Projects all due on the same day. Enjoy your hamburgers and your bratwursts. Remember me as I sit in the cave of editing Inferno. Save me a hot dog.

Addicted

I've got yet another addiction. Silvi has really been responding to my voice the last two weeks, giving me huge smiles when she hears me call her name.

I'm addicted to those smiles. More powerful than a line of coke or slice of strawberry cheesecake. Now I understand why parents will humiliate themselves to no end; they're chasing the smile.

I've got to have my morning fix.

Rainy, cold weekend

Annie and I have been hanging out in the house all day, playing with Silvi and watching movies. In addition to the Metallica documentary, we watched "National Treasure" with Nicolas Cage. Not his best film, but entertaining for a rainy saturday afternoon. If you're in the mood for a Cage film, though, I would recommend "Amos and Andrew."

Whisper

"Some people will believe anything if you whisper it to them," says Spanish philosopher Miguel de Unamuno.

A whisper is intimate.

It requires that your mouth be next to the ear of the other. Close enough to smell the other, to see the beautiful imperfections that make her human. A whisper requires one person to be still, to allow the other's muted words to float in the silence.

A whisper requires trust.

Trust to allow the other to penetrate sacred space. To chance an embrace.

Walk with me, weary traveler, to stand next to Elijah on that holy mountain, and listen to the whisper of God.

Unsatisfied

"Love seeks with fury, through the medium of the
beloved, something beyond, and since it finds it not, it
despairs."

Miguel de Unamuno

Spring fever

Wicked busy day. Everyone in a foul mood. TV commercials are late. Radio spots are missing. CD training project is two weeks behind schedule.

I just want to go for a walk around the lake.

Maria and Michael Moore

Michael Moore needs to learn something from first-time director Joshua Marston. I watched Maria Full of Grace last night, and was impressed with Marston's careful handling of such a sensitive subject as the drug war. Marston graduated with a degree in Politial Science, and could have easily made a preachy, in-your-face anti-American drug policy film. What he created instead was a subversive story that slowly seeps in and changes you without your being aware of it. He gets you to lower your defences enough for his message to be remarkably effective.

Failed to summit

Annie and I failed to summit Mt. Everest yesterday. The first trip to the mall with Silvi. We thought we were prepared. We had all the gear: Diapers? Check. Wipes? Check. Little hat? Check. Emergency flask of Jack Daniels for dad? Check.

We had trained for this day. Last week, we climbed El Capitan, with an outing to a French coffee shop. It was a flawless evening out. Silvi slept, well, like a baby. Annie and I thought we could go anywhere. We were ready for Mt. Everest. And we nearly perished.

It was that blasted little hat. As Silvi sat in her car seat, riding backwards, that little hat worked itself down over her eyes. And she absolutely hates that. From our angle, we couldn't figure out Silvi's frustration, so we continued to climb, hoping she would eventually fall asleep. That was not the case. We finally pulled over to calm her piercing shrieks, where we discovered her wicked hat. Exhausted, we got drive thru at McD's and headed back to base camp. Maybe next weekend.

Or the one after that.

Sing your song

" We were all born to sing - let not the contrary be said. But it is not a question of being born for the purpose. The fact is that whoever was really born in spirit, and not only in the flesh, sings, and sings because he was born in the spirit; if he does not sing, it is because he was born only in the flesh."
Miguel de Unamuno

How are you going to sing your song, in flesh and in spirit, today?

A Dad

How glad I am to be a dad.
Glad to sit and read to little Silvi, her blue eyes searching for the voice reading The Power of One to her in the darkness.

How sad I am to be a dad.
Sad to hear my daughter cry, while I - helpless - can only rock her and whisper that the sun will soon return.

How glad I am to be a dad. How sad I am to be a dad. Mostly, glad.

Contradiction

I've been reading Spanish philosopher Miguel de Unamuno between diaper changes and making up very cheesy songs for my daughter. He frustrated many of his readers because he usually refused to reach final conclusions. He defied labels. He saw himself as someone full of contradiction, as one who said one thing with his heart and the contrary with his head. For him, this internal conflict was the very stuff of life.

I'm still trying to figure out what God meant when he said to come to him, that he would give us rest. I believe that it is possible to live in the tension of contradiction and be at rest at the same time, but because of our nature, we swing from one extreme to the other. This conflict, says de Unamuno, unifies our lives and gives it its practical purpose.

The wrong questions

I live in an age of wrong questions. Everywhere I turn, it seems those in charge are asking the wrong questions. Abraham Joshua Herschel says that philosophy may be defined as the art of asking the right questions. So what are the right questions when it comes to talking about community, about what it means to be the Church?

I'm more than a little hesitant about addressing topics like community and the Church. They're being talked about everywhere. The reason I feel like I want give my two cents is this: None of the answers that are in abundant supply in countless books, sermons, blogs, and websites answer the questions I am asking.

Can I trust you? Will you trust me?

There's a reason not many are addressing these questions. It's much easier to discuss theology, form and function, worship techniques. And those who do address the questions I am asking often provide ethereal, fluffy answers that don't touch me in my day-to-day life. I've got a little too much Charles Sanders Peirce in me to embrace Thomas Merton. I've got too much Merton in me to embrace Francis Schaeffer. I've got too much Schaeffer in me to embrace Jacques Derrida. And I've got too much Derrida in me to embrace, well, anything.

I hate my questions. So, touchy-feely. So, narcissistic. I want to be satisfied with sitting around talking about things like perichoresis and interpenetration and postfoundationalism. But I'm not. At least not right now. As the Church struggles to redefine itself, I, a branch on the vine, ask: Can I trust you? You, sitting next to me on the pew, on the thrift store couch, across from me in the coffee shop: Can I trust you? Do you trust me?

Trust is the springboard of love. And love is the greatest witness to our age. But if all this touchy-feely stuff is boring you, we could just talk about a great article that I read on theology and science without dualism.

More wrong questions

I've been sitting here, editing a TV commercial for the Minnesota Better Business Bureau, thinking about my post on trust. The MN Better Business Bureau exists because there is no trust. We need an organization to tell us who is trustworthy and who is not.

Am I trustworthy? Would you find my name in the MN Better Business Bureau guide? Hmmm...Back to editing.