Of Caterpillars and Death: Oh My!

I don’t usually do this, but I’m copying my post from my website for today’s ink*well. I hope you enjoy. Bruce Hennigan

Steel looked away. “I feel like I’ve only lived for two years, Claire. I can’t remember most of my life. I’m not ready to die.”

He felt her hand on his cheek. “Silly, I don’t want to die, either. I said I’m not afraid to die. Imagine you’re a caterpillar.”

Steel raised an eyebrow. “A caterpillar?”

“Just go with it, Jonathan. Your whole life is spent crawling along a leaf and eating. That’s all you do. You have no appreciation of where the leaf is. You have no idea of how far you are from the ground if you were to fall. You never see the bird that swoops down to devour you. Your appreciation of the universe is limited. And then, one day you feel this horrible sensation of dread. You feel a change coming. You’re going to die. You dread it. You fear it. You go on eating and crawling pretending it’s not going to happen. It happens. You spin yourself into a cocoon of death and know no more.” Claire’s eyes were wide with emotion. The night air grew still and close, thick with humidity. Time seemed to slow.

“And, then Jonathan, you awaken. Your body stirs and you realize you’re no longer dead. Your cocoon falls away and you spread out huge, luminous wings. You crawl away from your death shroud and you take to the air! You’re no longer a caterpillar. You’re a butterfly! You fly through trees and fields of flowers. You see the sun and the stars. An entire universe you never could have imagined is yours to appreciate. And suddenly, you spy a caterpillar crawling along its leaf. You watch your former self and you wonder how you could have ever wanted to stay like that.”

“That is death, Jonathan. We’re fat, clumsy caterpillars waiting for the day of metamorphosis. We fear the cocoon. But, when we emerge on the other side, we’ll look back from God’s eternal perspective and wonder how we could ever have wanted to stay like this.”

I’ve been overwhelmed at the response to this one passage in “The 13th Demon: Altar of the Spiral Eye”. Some say it is “profound”. Others say it is “comforting”. But, why?

Just yesterday, we learned from a very moving testimonial to the life of Steve Jobs by his sister that his last words were “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow.” What did he see? Did he emerge from a cocoon and see his new form as a “butterfly” free from the confines of this earthly shape? Or, did he see the Creator in all of His splendor, majesty, and grace? No one can say for sure. But, he did see something.

This weekend, I also watched “The Captains”, a documentary by William Shatner interviewing all five actors who have played a captain of a starship in the Star Trek franchise. The most odd person was Avery Brooks who spoke in lilting metaphors and piano riffs and made very little sense whatsoever. The most concrete was Shatner himself, taking every opportunity to tell his own story of his life and how it was affected by his stent as “Captain Kirk”. But, what was most disturbing, most troubling was the answers he elicited from those he interviewed about God and what happens after death. Most answered, “I don’t know.” And, Shatner’s answer was his final lines as Captain Kirk in the ill fated “Generations” Star Trek movie that bridged the gap between the classic Star Trek universe and the Next Generation universe. As Captain Kirk lay dying his final words were, much like Steve Jobs’, “Oh, my!” I guess Shatner was expressing his desire that he hoped something was out there and whatever it is, he will be surprised.

Recently, the Discover channel premiered a show “Curiosity” and the opening episode answered the question, “Did God make the universe?” The physicists and cosmologists on the show were emphatic. There is no God. We don’t need God. The universe made itself. Even Stephen Hawking proclaimed there is no God and heaven is a “fairy tale”.

How then to put all of this together? I would say that each and every person listed above is nothing but a fat, clumsy caterpillar. Of course from our limited perspective, we can say there is no God; no transcendence; no afterlife. After all, what is our greatest desire? As a caterpillar it is to eat more leaves. In fact, give me a rain forest of leaves without predators and all of eternity to eat leaves! Wouldn’t that be the best existence? And, to defend such a Choice, for it is ultimately a choice; a worldview; a personal decision what to believe; yes to defend such a Choice we must say there is no butterfly! There is nothing beyond the cocoon. That makes all of THIS more important; more desirous; more under MY control. For the butterfly lies beyond my control in another dimension of reality that many would called the realm of “fairy tales”.

Steve Jobs triumphed the adage, “Think Different”. It is time for us to think different; think beyond the leaves and the clumsy state of existence and realize there is something beyond us; something that brought all of THIS into existence and something that has prepared an existence as fantastic and unimaginable as a butterfly is for a caterpillar. We are destined for that far country where we will fall at the feet of our Savior and say “Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh wow!”

. . . From My Front Porch Swing

By Marilyn Fain

We love because he first loved us.  Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.  And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister.

I John 4:19-21

I am sitting here …on my front porch swing, savoring remembered moments from the weekend, past.  A family get-together with my husband’s people (and now mine too) in the home of a cherished niece required travel across state lines…worth it, so worth it! 

As I observed “our folks” from different vantages points in and out of her welcoming home, the members of this large and lovely family – young, old, and in-between – ebbed and flowed.  Captured images, digital and mental, of our day together allow vignettes in my mind’s eye this morning, accompanied by the vivid memory of loud laughter and whispered sharings and good food…lighting my eyes, tickling my ears, caressing my heart, still. 

And quietly - oh, so quietly - in the corners of my heart, those no longer with us made their presence known that day and inspired the stories we always retell of moments we treasure and of gatherings like this one from days gone by. 

Families…each so unique unto themselves; this one especially so it seems to me. The soul of this family is marked by its openness, the way it embraces anyone invited by any member to be a part.  This day my own brother and sister-in-law, as well as the mother of a great-niece by marriage, were warmly welcomed.  How grateful I am to belong.

 Later in that same weekend, I rested in my brother’s home, worshipped in his church, sat under his teaching, visited his children and grandchildren, broke bread with him and talked…and talked and talked.  This same brother, six years younger than me – my only one, for many of our formative years frequently drove me to distraction…as siblings often do.  Even in adulthood we have had times of discord. 

What a delight to discover through it all a best and trusted friend!  The joy of seeing my precious husband and this dear brother bond in brotherly love, in addition to the longstanding friendship I share with his wife, is boundless.  This brother of mine nourishes my soul with wise advising regarding shared joy and loss and life’s difficulties and broken hearts and God’s will.  I long for our godly parents to know how mightily our Lord uses him…perhaps they do.  How grateful I am that we share the same Savior.

 Family…one of God’s most excellent, most praiseworthy ideas!  Easy to maintain?  No.  Like anything of worth in this life, God-designed family requires effort, time investment, perseverance, sacrifice, a forgiving spirit…intentional – on purpose – creative caring.  How grateful I am to be part of that plan.

Best lecture I’ve heard lately on Storytelling

Thanks to Luke Lee for sending me this link. I watched this video back in the spring and it inspired me to go ahead with the ink*well. Everyone should watch it!

Tomorrow by Bruce Hennigan

 

The old woman’s face was lined with deep, dark wrinkles like the powdered surface of a prune. She hummed gently to herself as she rocked ever so slightly in the big chair on the porch. Her white hair was pulled up into a bun on the back of her head. The sun was just rising over the eastern ridge of mountains and the bright, orange rays of warmth played over her face.

She gasped and stopped rocking and opened her eyes. Brown as deep as dark chocolate rimmed with white her pupils constricted with the brightness of a coming day and she shook her head.

“Lord, ain’t it a wonderful day you done given me. Lord, ain’t it beautiful!” She whispered hoarsely and smiled.

The door into the cabin opened and Gerald peeked out. His face was shiny with sweat and his short, dark hair was peppered with gray. He wore a stained thermal underwear shirt tucked into black pants held up by suspenders. His breath streamed in the morning air.

“It is sure cold out here. Don’t you want to come in by the fire?” He shivered.

“I want to sit here until it’s time.” The old woman said and commenced to rocking again. “Until it’s time.”

Gerald shook his head and disappeared through the door. It opened again and he stepped out onto the porch into the orange and red flames of the morning sun. He wore a dark green coat and had pushed a worn felt hat over his bare head.

“Mamaw, I can’t keep leaving you out here. It’s so cold and if you’d just come in by the fire.”

Mamaw shook her head and frowned. The wrinkles deepened on her face. “He cain’t find me in there. He can only find me in the light, son. You know that.”

Gerald leaned against the rail on the porch and sighed. He stared into the rising sun. “That’s what you said yesterday. And, the day before. And, the day before that.”

“And, I’ll keep saying it today and tomorrow and tomorrow and the tomorrow after that.” Mamaw tapped her finger on the arm of her rocker with each word. “I’m not going until He comes for me.”

Gerald turned and stared at her. “You are one stubborn woman.”

“And, He is one stubborn God. He made me a promise, son. He came to me in a dream.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ve heard all about the dream. Jesus came to you and said you wouldn’t die before He came again.” Gerald shook his head. “There’s those who’d think you was crazy. There’s those who think I’m crazy for letting you sit here day after day waiting for the trumpet to sound.”

Mamaw smiled. “Thank you for having faith, son. I’ll be waiting right here until tomorrow. You’ll see. One day He’s coming back for all of us and I’m living to see that day!”

Gerald shook his head and glanced once more at the sun rising over the far mountains and hills painting a new day in crimson and fire. “How long you going to wait?”

“Long as it takes. Been here 125 years. Figure one more day won’t hurt. He’ll come for me someday. Some tomorrow. You’ll see.” Mamaw said and pulled her dark shawl around her shoulders.

Gerald shook his head in dismay and went back in the house. Mamaw rocked gently in her chair and hummed.

“Some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away . . .”

. . . From My Front Porch Swing

. . . From My Front Porch Swing

by Marilyn Fain

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”

Lamentations 3:22-24

This day.

This very day is simply taking my breath away…here on my front porch swing, and I am remembering.

Was it the foggy, dampish beginning, reminding of autumn seasons past & sure to come again; or the forecast of much needed rain in tomorrow’s early hours; or is it just the now familiar, warm green-glow of this mid-day, carried over from an ever-lasting summer, with a few private moments of reverie that cause this breathless melancholy?

The birds are strangely silent, as if keeping a secret.  The leaves rubbing together produce  a crispy crinkle, stroked by a gently pronounced breeze…melodious in their way.  Feels as though we are on the cusp of season change, and I can hardly wait.

Anticipation brings memories of bygone autumns:  wood walks, pumpkin choosing, leaf-hunt rides, first fires, smoke smell, ghosts of laughing conversations on patios and porches and pathways.

Memory…fertile memory, that brings longing and wisps of nostalgic pain, but a giddy inner joy and hope too.  I can taste the state fair’s candy apple and hear the first bite crunch, hear the barker’s call, see his garish antics…remembering across years.  I once again lift flower flats from the car’s trunk, turn fresh dirt in heat worn beds, place bright colored mums to cheer the coming cool.

I can smell my mother’s vegetable soup, bubbling on her stove top – and now mine, and lay a fire of oak and cedar, seasoned to perfect burn, cut by caring hands from our own farmland.

Remembering and today’s reality blend into a type of asymmetrical symmetry.  God’s gift of memory often breaks my heart again, yet softens harsh moments of this present day.  And His new mercies each morning blend then and now into a whole harmony.

Thank You, Father.

Next Meeting of the ink*well!

November 11, 2011 in the Well at Brookwood Baptist Church we will meet for the second meeting of the ink*well. We will not have a speaker but this meeting will be more intimate and will allow you to voice your vision of what we can do as a group of Christian artists.

We will meet from 630 PM to 8 PM on that Friday night.

See you there!

 

You may want to sign up for notifications on meetup. Check us out on meetup.

 

 

 

Local Writer’s Conference

 

Christian Writers Conference 2011

 

WHEN:

Friday and Saturday

October 28 & 29, 2011

Friday

2:00 p.m. to 9:30 p.m.

Saturday

8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.

WHERE:
Ornelas Student Center – Bennett Student Commons – Marshall Hall – Scarborough Hall
East Texas Baptist University
One Tiger Drive
Marshall, TX 75670

SPONSORED BY:
The School of Humanities
Dr. Jerry L. Summers, Dean

CONFERENCE ORGANIZERS
Dr. Jerry Hopkins, Chairperson
Mrs. Vickie Phelps (Barron’s Bookstore)
Dr. Linda Prewett
Dr. Sarah Watson

Ms. Brenda Allums

Mr. Don Burton

Dr. Samuel W. Oliver, President of ETBU
Dr. Sherilyn Emberton, Provost and Academic Vice President

Link

Be Courageous Through Art

There is a fascinating and interesting post at this link. It posits the idea that the church should be making art in order to change culture. Here is one excerpt from the post by Timothy Dalrymple:

 It was once common, of course, for churches to commission sculptures and frescoes, portraits and plays. There has been no greater patron of the arts in the past two millennia than the Christian Church. Yet this is less frequent today, when art is commonly seen as a secular pursuit. So there are at least two points worth celebrating, according to Andy Crouch, author of Culture-Making, in the efforts of Sherwood Films. Whatever the artistic merits of the movies themselves, he told me, “it’s better to create something worth criticizing than to criticize and create nothing,” and the movies “open the door to a cultural creativity the church should never have lost in the first place.” Talented young Christians may watch the movies, “get the sacred-secular dichotomy knocked out of them,” and find the inspiration to invest the time and training that are needed to create enduring and redemptive works of art.

Wouldn’t it be awesome if we, the church, the body of Christ, in mirroring the Creator’s creativity were to make something so profound, so moving, so awesome that it reflected the nature of the Creator to a world that is moving through profound darkness into even deeper shadows of despair. I love this passage from his post:

To be clear, I hope that Christian films will continue to raise their standards in screenwriting, cinematography, acting, and the like.  There is an important witness to be given the world in the commitment to excellence, to thoughtfulness, to the freedom and well, courage to penetrate the most profound and painful aspects of human experience.  How astounding it would be if Christians could be known — again — for supporting and producing the very best works of art.

Should the church be involved in making art? Art discloses truth and who better knows Truth than the church? One more excerpt although I suggest you read the entire post:

Yet what I find so fascinating here, and so encouraging in the example of Sherwood Films, is the very concept that churches — and not merely individuals — can be culture-makers.  The church as the filmmaker.  The church as the artist.  There’s interesting biblical precedent.  The scriptures tell us that the ancient Hebrews not only brought their treasures for the tabernacle and the Temple, but that craftsmen of all kinds gave their talents and expertise.  Perhaps churches can marshal their resources as well as their people and all their gifts to create world-changing works of art.

I’d like to hear your thoughts on the importance of art to the Christian endeavor. Please send me your comments.

Pots of Pansies — From My Front Porch Swing

From My Front Porch Swing

By Marilyn Perry Ramsey Fain

This day – even midmorning – is all shimmer and shine, light and shadow motion…sweet breeze.

From my front porch swing I can see the pansies I just planted in large pots on the steps.  My father-in-law’s favorite flower was the pansy.  Always they remind me of him…and friendly, bright-eyed beagle puppies.  He liked beagle puppies too.  He comes to mind today, all these years later, for no other reason than the flowers that he loved.

 

He was a good man – no, great…who left a simple legacy of devotion to our Lord Jesus Christ, a commitment to those he loved, a reputation for honest dealings with his fellowmen, and a work ethic of excellence.

The pansies are like that:  simple, straightforward, uncomplicated, hard workers that bloom and bloom in their season.  So did he.

Cave Diving by Bruce Hennigan

We were 60 feet below the surface of Vortex Springs in fifty degree water more pure and clear than thin mountain air with the deep rocky spring spreading out below us like a dark canyon. There in the depths of the spring I made out the cleft in the rocks that led deep into the caves beneath the springs. Through my foggy mask I watched my buddy, Chuck motion toward the huge gaping mouth of another cave. I knew he was beckoning me to certain death. My life passed before my eyes.

In the fifth grade, Brandon was the terror of my life. Although we were both ten, he was a foot taller than me and already had hair under his arms. His bright, mischievous eyes revealed his inherent meanness and his unquenchable desire to hurt me as much as possible. He would assail me at recess and punch me and push me down in the dirt and once tried to make me kiss his sneakers. He had around him a covey of feckless cold hearted bully wannabes who licked their lips in anticipation and balled their fists in anger and malice and tried to be the devil that was Brandon.

When I entered the sixth grade, Brandon’s family pulled him out of the public school and put him in a private school where desegregation had not “polluted” the waters. And so, I lost track of Brandon for a few years until one day he showed up in high school in my math class. We were both in the ninth grade by then and our new math teacher knew nothing about algebra or geometry or any subject requiring more than a sixth grade education. She had been moved to our high school to “balance” out the “inequality” in teachers. The only thing she could say consistently that made any sense whatsoever was “Close your mouths.” in a rolling somnolent tone that carried no weight of discipline or correction.

After the first nine weeks, she picked the four brightest students, of which I was a reluctant member, and we were placed in desks facing the rest of the class. It became out job to teach the class. And so, throughout the rest of the year, the four of us split up the lessons and taught algebra while our teacher lounged behind her desk and spouted, “Close your mouths.” over and over. Brandon showed up halfway through the year. His private academy had gone out of business and he was woefully behind on his math so he asked me to tutor him. Really? Tutor the guy who used to shove my face in the mud and call it chocolate?

But, I helped him mainly because his mother and my mother were good friends and I had the sneaking suspicion I would go to hell if I didn’t help a fellow brother in Christ. Brandon was surprisingly humble and not at all snarky. I wish I could say we became friends, but we didn’t. At best, we reached an uneasy impasse and he moved on to the field of sports while I hung back with the rest of the nerds who were not yet known as nerds since the word had yet to be invented.

Fast forward many years and I am now a radiologist in private practice. At the first department party who should show up but the husband of one of the secretaries, Brandon! Here he was a fireman and I was a doctor. Where did all the mud shoving get you, huh? I really wanted to rub it in his face, but I was afraid my lack of humility would send me to hell.

Over the years, Brandon and I grew to like each other and a casual friendship arose. He would call me for advise in teaching Sunday School or being a good deacon. It was an amazing growing friendship. And then, one day, we got to talking about scuba diving and he stared at me with horror. I told him we were going to Vortex Springs to dive the next week and I was really excited.

Brandon sat down and his face was as white as milk. This is what he told me.

My buddy and I have been diving in Vortex Springs many times. There’s a system of caves inside the mouth of the spring. It is amazing! You have to take your tank off and send it in first and then squeeze through the entrance but once you get inside the caves are unbelievable. They’re huge and the water is crystal clear. You can go on and on for hours through those caves. But, the problem is you can turned around very easily. And as your air is running out, you realize you don’t remember which cave you came in through. If you’re smart, you leave a rope trailing behind you to follow back to the entrance. But, if you stir up silt and sand and your hand gets off the rope for one second, you can drift away and never find it again. My best buddy and I went diving and I lost him. I made it out just as my air ran out. The firemen and medics got there and I told them he couldn’t have much air left. They said they were going to wait at least an hour. Wait an hour? He would be dead by then! They said that was the point. If they went down while he only had a few minutes of air left, he would panic and kill himself and his rescuer. Best to wait until you knew he had drowned before recovering his body.

I just looked at Brandon and I didn’t know what to say. Where was the mud shoving, bullying bravado now? Where was the mean, mischievous kid that poked me and pummeled me? Who was kissing whose shoes now? I couldn’t breath and my face was cold and clammy. Brandon stood up and headed for the door out of my office. He looked back at me once.

“I never went diving again. Don’t wind up with my friend. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Chuck was gesturing toward the cave again and I glanced down once at the mouth to the killer caves. The cave Chuck was in front of had an opening you could drive a van through. So, I followed him into the cave. It was about the size of a two car garage. Chuck had pulled out his slate and written “eels” and motioned toward the back of the cage. We swam deeper and deeper into the dark and I looked up. Bubbles had gathered along the rock ceiling above me. Suddenly I realized I could not swim straight up if a problem occurred. I’ve never been claustrophobic but the fear gripped my heart and lungs and squeezed them tight. I couldn’t get any air! Chuck looked at me and I motioned to my mouthpiece. The regulator supplying air had frozen up on me! Chuck took his own mouthpiece out of his mouth and looked at it thinking I was talking about his mouthpiece. I grabbed it and shoved it into my mouth and sucked in wonderful, cold air. Chuck took my malfunctioning mouthpiece and couldn’t get it to work. We buddy breathed all the way back to the surface and I left that hideous cave behind. When I broke the surface, I took the regulator off my tank and threw out into the middle of the springs. I would never go scuba diving again.

A couple of years passed and I waited for the chance to tell Brandon my story. But, I never saw him again. Two years almost to the day I last saw him, he went to answer a call for help while off duty at a trailer park and the occupants, three drug addicts in their early twenties stabbed him to death just to watch a man die.

Perhaps there had been a time in my life when I would have welcomed such an end to a bully who made my life miserable. But, in reality, when we develop a victim mentality, we often invite such treatment. That doesn’t in anyway condone his actions or the actions of any of the myriad bullies who tried to subjugate me over the years. But, it does say a lot about our character and our ability to stand up for ourselves. One of the myths I bought into about Christianity was that Jesus was a coward. After all, He said to turn the other cheek. But, a psychiatrist friend of mine in medical school cleared up the myth for me. What Jesus was advocating was not cowardice, was not don’t fight back, it was to do the unexpected. To turn the tables on the assailant and respond in a way that totally blew their mind. Don’t react, respond, he would tell me. It was a revelation that changed my life and turned me from a risk avoider to a risk taker. Thus, the brief journey into scuba diving.

Brandon did not deserve the way in which he died. Neither did his friend who drowned in the deep, dark loneliness of a water filled cave. We are all sojourners on a long, arduous trek through a world that is not our own. We belong to another world, a far country where the air is clearer than clear and the water is sweeter than honey and the sun never sets and Brandon and his friend are waiting to greet me with open arms and true love. It is in this world we should make each moment count, whether it is to reach out in friendship to the bully who tries to harm us or to pause and reflect on the beauty of a sunny day and the momentary lightness of laughter and love. I have discovered that vengeance poisons one’s soul. Like the cave and its alluring attraction, we get pulled into its dark, heady embrace until all of life and all of air and all of connection with God are squeezed out of us and we gasp for relief now so far away from the loving light of God. I’ve learned to put all of that aside and to try and look at the assailants and bullies in my life with the eyes of Jesus. They deserve love and understanding, too. They deserve a response, not a reaction.