Well I completed two more stories for my Creative Writing project, and with Reading Week upon us, my goal is to have a lot more writing completed by the end of it. (Between going to Sarnia for the weekend, and working at that good old crepery.)

So when it came to posting my new stories I had a bit of a dilemma, it occured to me that for some people there may be confusion/ misunderstanding about who I am as a person, and as a Christian, and what I write. Personally, for me it doesn’t seem much of an issue for these stories in particular, but it occured to me that this could arise at some point.

The possiblity of this made me think about my opinion about literature and art, and morality. So I thought I’d share.

1) I think it’s important for Christians to understand that good writing is a reflection of the human condition, not what we’d like the world to look like. Some people will think a book is bad because something happens in it that they don’t agree with. However, good writing is honest writing; you can’t make a character do or say something just because it’s what Jesus would do.
Even when I’m reading something I disagree with, I remember that I am reading something written by someone who, like every human being, is searching. If I can gain some insight into another person’s struggle, this will only help me.

2) This becomes interesting when I write. I certainly don’t limit myself to writing about people and situations that I agree with. I write about what I see, and what I understand, and even what I disagree with. The voice of the writer in a particular story, is not necessarily me. That’s important to understand, and also something I’m really pushing myself to explore. So much of writing is about language, something I wish I had a greater grasp of.

3) I think my faith gives me insights and wisdom into things that I wouldn’t understand on my own. I am part of a faith tradition that challenges me to think critically. I love being able to write from this persepective, and as I grow as a writer and a person, I hope that I can write many things that reflect my ideas of God, and faith. That would just make my day.

Anyways…after that long and rambling disclaimer, I’ll leave with you with my latest stories. If you have any comments I’d love to hear them. I spent a good day in the St. Jeromes library bringing these two stories to their current state, and I hope to revise them extensively.

The beach swarms with people, and the midday heat makes the sand blistering. The group breaks from the beach house in a dead run down the side of the dune, and through the beach grass that grabs at their legs as they pick up speed. “My feet are on fire!” Alice shrieks as she jumps on David’s back. Everyone laughs; Marilyn laughs.

They all reach the edge of the lake and the girls shriek and giggle as the guys kick the cold water at them, and the waves chase them up and down the shore line.

Later, Marilyn sees David pick up Alice. Her hand that clutches his wet shoulder slips and he throws her. She falls with a splash. He looks over smiling at Marilyn on the shore. She laughs, again. David comes running back to her side and sprawls out breathless beside her. “Come swim with me,” he whispers in her ear.

“I don’t feel like it. The water’s so cold today.” Her voice sounds too high.

She can tell it’s only a polite request, though; he is immediately distracted, and runs back to the water without protest.

In the late afternoon the group returns to the beach house. In the evening, long after the crowds have scattered and the sand has cooled, Marilyn closes the door of the beach house and walks towards the lake. The laughter and the light from the patio slowly distance themselves from her.

Nobody will notice she’s gone for about forty-five minutes, and even then it won’t matter. David is entirely enraptured with Alice. Marilyn anticipates being informed of this, in a sheepish and apologetic manner, shortly after the weekend is over, hell, maybe even before.

She can’t blame him. Alice is impossibly beautiful, and her affection is cheap and easy, if not a little tacky.

Marilyn reaches the lake. It seems like a new person, subdued and thoughtful in its solitude. The waves timidly explore the shore, carrying the small stones back and forth. She slips out of her cotton sun dress and peaks the lake’s interest with her toes. It’s cold, for sure. She swims far enough out that her body hangs weightless in the water.

With no one around her; no one above her; no one below her, she feels like she’s met someone nobody has ever known before, and lays down with her face to the sky.

Eventually, she allows herself to drift to shore.

The next weekend she returns to the beach house alone. She sleeps through the daytime rush, and sits by the lake in the evening drawing sedimentary hearts in the sand, that the waves will carry away.

Mrs. Wellington

“She always was a slut,” Mrs. Wellington spits out the word, holding the photograph in front of her at arm’s length.

She squints her eyes and scrutinizes every detail as if it were a piece of evidence in The Inquisition.

I shift awkwardly on the side of her bed, suddenly aware of my polyester skirt against my sweating thighs . This was certainly my supervisor’s revenge for sleeping through last week’s staff meeting. Helping Mrs. Wellington move rooms was the most accurate depiction of hell on earth available at Meadowview Nursing Home.

“Yes, a first class floozy.” She emphasized every syllable of the word. “You’ll never imagine the exhibition she pulled at my grandson Matthew’s graduation, arriving a full half an hour late, like the Whore of Babylon, wearing this red dress that made a Broadway production of her breasts. The family has never recovered from the shock.”

I grabbed a shoebox from the bed, picked up the photograph that she had now placed on top of the dresser. I took a look at it, before placing it in the box, she didn’t look all bad to me.

I’m in Sarnis this weekend for Temple Baptist Church’s “Missions Fest.” I was asked to speak about Ruth and Sinakekele Children in South Africa, and a third of the proceeds from the weekend are going to Ruth! I get to talk for 10 min on Saturday night. (And I’ll certainly take anytime I can, to be able to share about this, and raise awareness.)
This is pretty exciting.
I’d appreciate your prayers, that I’d chose the right words, and that I’d be able to connect new people with this exciting mission.

A continuation of previous thoughts:

Folks, I think this is going to go on for awhile. (The more we know, the less we understand.) This may be worrisome to many people, questioning, uncertainty. But right now, it feels pretty darn good. (As good as it can.) Someone once said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness.” These days, I feel famished, and blessed.

I was studying for History of Christianity in the Dana Porter library on Tuesday (in my cubicle, on the sixth floor.) I loved it. I read and read. (I accidentally read right through my Criticism class I was supposed to go to.) Then I wrote the midterm, and did pretty darn good. But the point is, I wanted to learn about the church. I wanted to know about all these complicated issues, I stopped feeling threatened by them.

All of a sudden it was like, “Alright. Let’s do this. Bring it on.” I don’t want to hold onto anything that I shouldn’t. I want to release everything, and pick up the pieces of truth that I should hold onto. Letting go is scary, but I think its freeing too.

People with an agenda can’t grow. When you want everything you learn to bring you to a certain conclusion, are you really listening at all?

Example: A girl in my history of Christianity class. We’ll call her, “Da Vinci Code girl.” Its funny, and sad all at the same time, but I think this girl has come to learn about Christianity to prove that Dan Brown was right. The Gnostics affirmed the “sacred feminine” and that the church is hiding the truth about goddess worship and the freedom of pagan sex rituals. (Ok. I’m exaggerating…but barely.) It’s so ridiculous that someone is basing her understanding of life on a novel that has been proven to be factually incorrect. (But it happens.)

This girl did two things for me: annoyed me to pieces, and let me see myself. She absolutely blew my mind with her ignorance. (This is not her fault) Still, it’s so frustrating, as a Christian, to have people around you think they have your religion figured out, but in reality they know next to nothing about it. What they have learned has come from cheesy television, twisted news stories and bad childhood experiences.

“Da Vinci Code girl” asks, “Do you think these female deacons that Paul mentioned could have been Jesus other lovers?” She smirks whenever she thinks she has learned something that will prove her theories, and basically ignores evidence that would take her in another direction entirely, evidence that suggests that perhaps things aren’t as black and white as she had hoped.

When I stopped wanting to throw my desk across the room, I paused long enough to learn something. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to hold on so tightly to everything I think I know that it is impossible for me to learn something, maybe even something God really wants to teach me.

I don’t think that God needs to be defended. The only thing that will fall apart in light of Christian history are things that have been manipulated by people or culture, for political or personal reasons, intentionally or not. I guess it’s not too bad if these things crumble under the pressure.

I went out for coffee with Sarah Kivell today, and she said something interesting. She said it is probably easier to think the Bible or the church and tradition just sort of fell from heaven one day because that gives us some sense of control. It makes Christianity neat and tidy, and thus we feel like we have more of a handle on it. When we really engage the history of Christianity, the canonizing of the Bible, the philosophers that shaped our understanding of Jesus and the Bible, things get more complicated.

Then it’s scary that things that I’ve taken granted for my entire life may actually be so culturally driven, that they are peripheral to who God really is. But shouldn’t I welcome that? The only reason I’d hold onto these things is my own comfort. Knowing and understanding God is far from comfortable. (But won’t the truth set me free?)

Next Post: What Eastern Christianity is starting to make me think about.