IMPORTANT NOTE

My brother asked me to post the rest of this on his blog:

tacodave.blogspot.com

Since we are beginning a project together, I decided to go ahead, and converge with him.

I will be back here, from time to time.

In the meantime, check out his site for more info.

Introduction

"Ever since they allowed Clark Gable to say, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn," in Gone With The Wind, every new movie seems to have to have a hell or a damn in it." - quoted from an article discussing viewpoint in the late 1950's

1977

I was three years old when it came out. When my mind searches through the mists of memory, a few things pop out with such sweet nostalgia that I sometimes think that I could close my eyes and just travel back there. I remember the feel of the old velvet chairs, the taste of the butter and salt on the popcorn, and the smell of strength and masculinity, and . . . Right Guard?

Any one of these memories may be false, changed and clouded by myriads of past experiences that forced themselves into this one snapshot of time. But I think that they are as accurate as any three year old could capture. The point is that I was there, with my father! It is one of the earliest memories that I possess, and one of the most cherished . . . Star Wars.

That's right. Star Wars. I saw Star Wars with my father when it first came out. This was before my brother, before my two sisters, before I even learned to brush my own teeth or tie my own shoes. It is funny how we grasp on to various experiences, deeming them worthy of catalogue. For me, there was not even a question. This experience was to be held on to for later examination. I do not remember much of that first cinematic experience. There are really just flashes. The only part of the movie that I distinctly remember was the final scene as Darth Vader's Tie-Fighter gets knocked away, swatted like a fly, by the Millennium Falcon. Other than that it is just flashes of emotion, and a feeling of intense love that my dad would take me to something like this, without even taking my mom. It was just us two guys.

Right from the get-go, I want to get something straight. I am a product of the media. I was raised as a child of the 80's, and fully embraced every sweaty-sweet pop culture drenched part of that decade. And it seemed innocent, watching shows like Silver Spoons and Different Strokes, and Family Ties, and The Cosby Show, and old reruns like The Brady Bunch and even Donna Reed and Dennis the Menace. IF there were slight innuendos, or a few off-color words, I didn't even notice.

From my earliest memories movies, television, music, computers, comics, games, magazines, billboards, books, and the rest, molded me, shaped me, and enthralled me. It was my media that gave me comfort that I was normal, let me escape the real world, and let me completely dive into a better world, where I would win in the end, because I was a good guy, and everything could be worked out in an hour and a half. And when it couldn't? Well, at least I wasn't alone. Somebody out there understood me.

People talk about the media like it is some separate thing, some "out there" force that is completely apart from the consumer. But for me, life was media. There was no such thing as separation. I was raised on innocent love of all things flashy, and had no concept of how it could shape me, or change me.

What about my family? They raised me with a fear of God (in a good way). I went to church on Sunday mornings, Sunday nights, and Wednesday nights. I said my prayers each night, and knew all the theological answers to all the theological questions. I tried to contemplate eternity at age 4, and got so frustrated picturing a never-ending circle that I burst into tears. I knew that good, decent people did not cuss or swear. They did not have premarital sex (once I discovered what that was), they did not drink alcohol. They didn't do drugs, or steal or kill. I knew the ten commandments, and the golden rule. Families were a father and a mother, and they ate dinner together after praying over it. Most of all, I knew that Christianity was true and real, and the only way to get the most out of life.

An early prologue . . .

So, as my brother and I begin a new adventure, I have decided to post a little more recollection here, to clarify my thoughts. Starting today, I will be writing a brief history of my experiences (and addiction to) media. I am going to discuss how this media has influenced my own thought processes and actions. I am a little concerned about what this will tell others about my character. But I feel that there are enough of you out there that are dealing or have strongly dealt with some of the same things that I have. Hopefully, this will help you see that you are not alone.

It's a girl!

Jessica Lee was born on Tuesday, July 29, at 12:28 p.m. She was 8'8 and 19 inches long. Both mother and baby are great.

Waiting, waiting, waiting

Well, my sister-in-laws are here. We have the nursery done. Now, we are just waiting for the baby to arrive. Yep, kid number three is on the way. She was due yesterday, so. . .

I don't know what she is waiting for, but I wish she'd show up.

Proof I can Ride. . .

Nothing profound, just some thoughts.

When I look back at the trek my life has taken, I can not help but see a pattern and a stacking of the deck. Now some psychiatrists and skeptics would say that I see the pattern because I am looking for it. That I am projecting my own sense of cosmic intervention into my life because that is what I wish to see.



Alright. That is a perfectly valid assumption, especially if you doubt anecdotal/experiencial evidence for faith. But there comes a point when one must question the sanity of calling a string of coincidences (each, in and of themselves extraordinary) merely coincidence. How many weird, strange, completely impossible things must happen in a row before we are to wonder if maybe something, somewhere is trying to tell us something.



Now, at this point, we are not even talking about God, here. All we are saying is that sometimes in our lives, something seems to be moving us along, taking us from point A to a completely indistinguishable point B (or C or D or Z, for that matter). Sometimes, the stars seem to line up and the path becomes clear.



For me, this last few years have added up to one gigantic turning point, an attempt to try and figure out if there was really any validity to this thing that people call faith. My premise was simple. If I came to the conclusion that faith was a fairy tale, and God was nothing more than Santa Claus and the Easter bunny, then all bets were off. Everything that I had been taught about how the universe worked would end up being a lie. There were several times, over the years, when I bought into this mindset, and it devestated me.

However, if I came to the conclusion that God was real . . .

. . . well, that would have some consequences, now wouldn't it? The idea that Christians were somehow called to normal lives of peace, prosperity, and selfish pursuits of the American dream already seemed wrong to me. I have read enough Scripture to know that the Christian life calls us to something much more noble than the mere pursuit of capitalism. It calls us to sacrificial action. It calls us to regeneration by the Holy Spirit. It calls us to a number of theological terms that I (much like the rest of the pagan world) was beginning to view as cheesy. But unfortunately, there are no other terms that are appropriate. Christians need to have their own vocabulary, because their experience of the world is vastly different than a non-Christian. It is just a shame that terms such as redemption, edification, born again, and whatnot, have been coopted and become a pale comparision to the power that they once held.

but I regress . . .

The point is that I was searching for truth for fifteen years. I didn't want to know security (although I must admit that sometimes I wanted to settle for it), but I wanted to KNOW truth. For me, what this life is all about, is the most important question any of us could ask. It should effect every area of our being. I can not understand a mindless person that goes about every day, and gives absolutely no consideration to why, who or what.

I searched in the science lab. I searched on foreign soil. I searched in philosphy, in art, in politics, in capitalism. I searched.

Finally, I found . . .

A new beginning . . .

Alright. I am back. I have a few things with which I wish to discuss, so, hopefully I will have the energy and time to fully disclose.

Before we go on with anything else, however, I wanted to make sure that everyone knows that my wife and I are expecting within the next few weeks. We have two strapping young lads, and now are being blessed with a little girl to round us out. It is exciting and a little scary. We have already painted the nursery a very nice shade of lavenderpink. I know the picture above makes it look a little . . . overwhelming, but it really is a nice shade.

Anyhow, her name is to be Jessica, and we are very thankful and feel incredibly blessed.

She is a part of everything that has happened in the last year. I know that some of you have been wanting me to continue the story that I began. I have wanted to keep blogging, but I have been in the thick of it, and have needed time to process.

Now, I have decided to go ahead and keep updating for several reasons. Not the least of these is just the need to record my events so that time will not have a chance to diminish their significance in my choices.

Anyway, thanks for checking back in, and regular posts should begin again, immediately.

Alright

Ok, I am posting here, again. Recent developments have forced me to come out of retirement. So, if any of you randomly stumble upon this, check back. I will update again, very soon.

Hey guys

I am currently contributing to my brother's blog over at:

tacodave.blogspot.com

You thought the postings here were sporadic before . . .?

Obviously I can not really do two or three blogs at once so I will probably not be on here very often. (doesn't really matter when your entire reading audience is three)

If you want more, go to my brother' site.

Peace

Sometimes you just gotta laugh at the cruel hand of cold fate . . .

So, the last few weeks have not been good. To illustrate, I share with you just one of the events that seems to some up the entire time span. . .


My buddy Leif's wife is pregnant, just like mine. It is our third, and their first. The other night, I arrived home to see the minivan pulled into the center of the garage, so that I could not pull my car in. It was rather exasperating, because we had held this discussion on numerous occasions, and after a day of forty plus patients with their forty thousand problems, I really did not want to have it, again.


I went into the house, thinking FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT. But immediately, I could see that my wife was not feeling very well. She said she was depressed, and just felt like crying. Instantly I took off my boxing gloves, and put on my handyman’s hat. I could fix this. The evening would still be salvageable.


The problem was there was absolutely nothing that I could do to cheer her. I tried making faces. I tried telling jokes. I tried telling her that I loved her. Now I realize that this is enough to make most normal people cry even harder, but it usually works on her (hey, she's warped, but you already knew that, she married me). This time, however, no amount of cheesy pun, or sloppy kisses were gonna work.


I figured that I would pull out the big guns, so I did what any other loving husband would do, in my position: I called Leif and told him to get his wife over to my house, PRONTO. After all, what would make a pregnant, emotional, hormone besieged woman feel better, than having a kindred soul to gripe to?


Leif and I agreed that we should show a movie (I was excited to show off my new blu-ray) and order pizza. The weather was too cold to go out, although I was silently thanking the Lord that there was no precipitation; pregnant women do not seem to like to leave the house when it is cold and damp, and I needed them there. I asked what kind of pizza they wanted, and it was unanimously agreed upon by the wives that they needed a supreme pizza, but hold the green peppers. Green peppers are great and all, but they were not in the mood for them and you couldn't just pick them off, because they have some kind of weirdly potent chemical in them that taints any food it comes into the slightest contact with.


I ordered the pizza, and we began to wait for them (Leif, Sam, and the pizza guy) to show up. Almost immediately after I got off the phone, my wife came up to me, rubbing her belly. For those of you who do not know, this is pregnant code for "I need something."

"What's up?" I asked her.


"I am really hungry," she said. "Is the pizza here, yet?"


"No," I replied. "I just ordered it."


"What?!" her mouth hung open. "Why? I need food, doggonit!"


"I know, honey," I placated. "It'll be here, soon."


"Well, you better have ordered it without green peppers."


"I did. I promise." I answered her, but she was gone, having stormed off, banging cabinets, looking for a stray Cheese-It or some loose Fritos to snack on. I knew enough to know that I had better skedaddle.


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Thirty minutes later, I was sitting on my couch, enthralled in the mythical world of Arrested Development (on DVD), when the doorbell rang. The pizza was here! Oo-de-lally! That meant that Leif and Sam were shortly to follow. I rushed upstairs with our Cairn terrier, Jack, close at my heels. He was barking like a fiend, but I knew that with me there, all he really wanted to do was lick the Pizza Guy's leg off. I wrangled Jack into his kennel, and swung open the door.


"Man," I said when I spied the Pizza Guy in his red shirt and black apron. "I am glad to see you. Come on in out of the cold"

He lowered his head, and climbed through my front door. He was older than I expected, probably in his early forties, but he had the illusion of being much younger as he shuffled his legs, nervously giving the impression of my five-year-old when he has drank too many Shirley Temple's at the local Benihana's. He seemed to want to say something, then he choked it back. Then he sighed, and opened his mouth.


"You may not be," he said, in a small voice.


"What?" I asked.


"I hit your car, sir," he said.


It did not compute for a moment. After all, I was still thinking of cheese, and sauce, and happy wives, and Blu-Ray movies, not busted GMC Envoys that were not even paid off, yet.


"What?" I asked again, rather redundantly.


"I hit your car." he re-uttered. Then he added, "I heard a weird kind of scraping noise, but I didn't know what it was, so I kept going. I didn't see your car."


"Oh," I said, simply. I just had wanted some freakin' pepperoni. "How bad is it?"


"Well, it woulda been better if I had not tried to back up."


I sighed. To be honest, as sad as this sounds, at this point I was not really very worried about the car. I was more worried about the fact that I was supposed to be sitting downstairs, shoveling hot Italian-esque food into my mouth and marveling at the HD clarity that was blooming forth in 1080p.


"We'd better go check it out," I said. At this point, my doorbell rang. Jack began to whine and bark from his kennel, and Mandy's voice rang from the basement, "Derin, is the pizza here?"


I yelled for Jack to shut his pie-hole, and answered the door. It was Leif. He and Sam entered the house. "Dude," he said. "Who hit your car?'


The Pizza Guy began his shuffling dance, again: back and forth, back and forth. If you don't stop that, you're gonna have to buy me new carpet, too, I thought. I also thought of many witty, blistering comments that I could make. Instead, I just pointed at the Pizza Guy.


"Oh," Leif said. The Pizza Guy sniffled, and for a moment I thought he was gonna start crying.


I turned to Sam. "You might as well go downstairs, and start eating the pizza. This may take a while, and I don't want it to get cold."


"You sure?" she said.


"Yeah. Besides, if you do not feed my wife, she may eat one of the children."


Sam gave me a small, sympathetic smile, but grabbed the pizzas with a greedy swipe, and rushed down the steps like she thought I may change my mind.


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I walked out of my house, followed by Leif, and the reluctant Pizza Guy. I am not sure if Leif was coming out of moral support, or morbid curiosity. All I know is that it was dark, but as the powerful January wind cut through my face with iron talons of ice, I realized that I didn't need the light of the sun to see what there was to see. The damage was very evident.

A long black scrape traveled a strange, drunken pattern from the rear driver's side taillight, through the gas tank and up to the middle of the rear door. In several places, the dimpling of the metal caught the nearest street light.

"Aw hell," I muttered. The Pizza Guy made a thick, muffled sound. I turned to him, and he shrunk back as if I would strike. "Look, man," I said, softly. I felt a strong need to comfort this guy. He was really upset about this, much more than I even was. "It's ok. We'll get this thing figured out. I am just glad that you told me. You got insurance?"

"Yes," he said. The tone of my voice seemed to have placated him. "We need to call Pizza Hut, and see what they want us to do, since I was on the clock, and all."

I let him borrow my phone, and he called in. The corporation did what pretty much any other large corporation in America would have done; they basically told him to screw off and use his own insurance. After all, it was his mess. He needed to clean it up. They sent a police officer over to document this, as a "Public Incident" (since it was on private property, it was not considered an accident).

Finally, everything was in order. The officer came, filed the "incident" (I am not kidding, he talked about it like it was in quotes, THE "INCIDENT"), and witnessed us exchanging information. Pizza Hut even gave me a $20.oo credit for the hassle (Jeez, how generous, huh?). I got on the phone and talked with the manager, asking him not to punish the hapless driver. I wasn't mad, and it was all going to turn out ok.

The driver thanked me, repeatedly, for not being a jerk. I was happy to help. I just wanted to get into the house, now, and eat some pizza and watch a movie. He waved to us, got back into his car, and carefully pulled away. I suddenly realized how cold I was.

"Come on," I said to Leif, as I guided him toward the warm glow of my front door. "The worst is behind us. The rest of the night is gonna be great!" I opened the door, and we walked in.

"Derin?!" my wife's voice rang from the basement.

"Yeah?" I answered.

"Is everything ok?"

I smiled. "Yeah, it is gonna be. How're you guys?"

"Terrible," she answered. "Those jerks put green peppers on our pizza!"

So, those of you who know me, know how much the cinema has been part of my shaping and molding. Heck, if you've even read a few of my posts, you probably know more about that then I really should have told you. The art of movie making, the celebrity of bringing a character to life, So, it should come to no surprise that the death of Heath Ledger has affected me in some very strong ways.

You know that I have always loved the glitz and glamour of Hollywood, pining away with the desire to be a part of it, yet strangely horrified by the power of fame these guys have. I have already discussed my opinion on the idea that celebrity should suddenly catapult you into some kind of "expert" status, just because you played a doctor on a show once.

Yet, I am mesmerized by the art. I love the capture, the picture, the caricature of humanity that is found on celluloid. I become attached to the characters, and those that bring them life. In a way, celebrity is a crazy, pschitzophrenic rush. On the one hand, millions of people think that they know you. They follow you and your career. They read everything they can about you, and picture meeting you, each one of them sure that you would love them, and relate to them. The reality is, though, you do not know any of them, nor they you. It is an illusion of intimacy.

So when it comes to a River Pheonix, a Chris Farley, a John Belushi, or a Heath Ledger, the sorrow is not just that the artist is gone, for the fan, but the missed opportunity at actually getting to know that person in a real sense, beyond the public persona. I know that sounds a little . . . what's the word, creepy? But I have known a lot of fanboys in my time, and they all would love to befriend their favorite actors. And why not? To some of them out there, these people have helped to develop their worldviews. In some instances, they have been more profound influences then their parents.

As for me, I am saddened by the senselessness of it all. Here was a man who had everything that someone with his aspirations has ever wanted (and dare I say it, everything that I have always wanted). He was a recognizable actor, primed to star in a gigantic summer blockbuster (The new Batman flick). He had a daughter, money, prestige. He was in peak physical form. He was friends with the influential.

Yet, his demons still caused him to struggle. He couldn't sleep. He had high anxiety. He was on a million different meds. This guy was troubled, and that is the sad part of this. What is it about Hollywood that takes youth and corrupts it, and then sucks all dignity and peace? It is rhetorical to ask, and the usual "pat" answers are easily given. But there is still is emptiness in them because even if they are true, what use are they to Ledger? What use are they to Brittany or Paris or Lindsey or me? I wish that I knew what to say to give some kind of meaning to all the suffering that is out there. Be it from ignorance or hatred or stupidity or greed or well-meaning philanthropy,

What I do know is the old adage about absolute power seems strangely poignant today, in spite of what the cause of death is determined to be. It is another reason why I do not tread on the doorstep of Hollywood lightly. It is another reason why I am still a chiropractor.

Hi

Hey Guys. So, I am back, albeit sporadically. I am not going to promise a regular schedule, here, and I am not sure who will actually access this, but it was time to write a little bit more. I have a post that I will post in a day or two that is actually quite personal to me, but I have been too busy to write. In the meantime, enjoy some words of wisdom from Ronald Reagan.

Epilogue and new beginning

Well, it has been a month since my last post. There is no really good reason as to why I have not updated. I guess it has just been a little bit of writer's block. I just am not quite sure where to go, from here. There are many little things left, to write about, but it kinda feels like we reached a natural conclusion to the current story. There are more things to bring up, but the problem is that if I continue in the past, I will never catch up to the present. I feel I am in need of a flashforward.

As my family is concerned, let's just say that since January, when my Grandpa died, things have changed, a lot. A great many things have happened with us, a great many lessons have been learned. When a patriarch dies, a family can not help but redefine its identity. That is pretty much what has happened to us.

As for me right now, I am just trying to figure out what I will say from here. My conclusions on what I want this blog to become have changed from day to day. It seems like they blow and change with the wind. I will update again, soon. I just have to figure out what it is that I wish to say.

Thanks for coming with me, this far.

Until next time . . .

PART 83

There is just one more item that I wish to touch on, concerning the death of my Grandpa. I don't remember much of the funeral. I recorded it all on my iriver, so it is all there if I wish to go back. I just haven't felt the need to revisit it.

What is incredibly vivid, is the cemetery.

It was snowing like crazy, that day, an almost blizzard-like quality, which was fitting for a man who spent so much of his life in Alaska. The drive to the cemetery was hazardous, difficult, and incredibly beautiful.

When we got to the gravesite, there was a huge line of cars, seemingly miles long. We stopped traffic in every direction, people staring after us. It must have looked as if some important dignitary was being interred.

The cemetery, itself, was surreal; a vivid white movie set complete with swirling snow and a poor bagpipe player, in a kilt, rendering a hauntingly melodic version of Amazing Grace as my dad and his brothers carried in their father's coffin with frozen hands.

The Dopps family cuddled together, trying to cram as many under the morbid green awning, as possible. We stood there, as people spoke. I don't even remember who they were, or what they said. All I remember is my family. I remember looking around, and seeing shiny eyes contrasted with thick brown furs. I remember one cousin wearing a bright red stocking cap that was almost horrible and garish in the sea of black suits and granite tombs. I remember someone helping my Grandma to her seat, and her stark hurt eyes as she bid her husband goodbye. U remember the roses that were placed on the coffin.

Soon, it was over. The family began to exit, trudging their way back to their cars. Up ahead, was a statue of Jesus, his hands outstretched, nail holes visible. In front of it, my dad paused, his shoulders down. There was no thought or coordination among his children, no planning. Instead, we all just happened to reach him, at once. I have never held an embrace like that. All four of us kids surrounding our daddy, holding on to him, loving him. The tears fell from my eyes (like they are doing now, as I type this), and I saw them punch holes into the seamless white below. I looked up, and saw the same tears on my sisters' faces, and on my brother's. We held each other, and my dad, while my Grandpa's body lay, cold in a coffin, just a few feet from us. We held onto my dad to tell him that we loved him. We held on to him to support him. We held on to him because he was still here, and he couldn't do this for his dad, anymore. But we still could.

Soon, the embrace came to an end, as all good things do. It is amazing how temporal life is, but how eternal some moments can be. As I walked to my car, I wiped my wet face, and looked around at the snow that was just being born around me. How beautiful it looked, fresh and new. It played through the air, with a young zeal, as it fell to the earth. Later that night it would freeze hard, becoming brittle. In a few short days, it would melt and be gone.

PART 82

The next day I called my grandparent's house. The phone rang, and Elizabeth answered. I asked about my Grandma. She wasn't there. Her daughters had taken her out to run some errands.

I almost hung up, but decided I needed to talk to Elizabeth and ask her a question that had been bothering me.

"Hey, before I go, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she answered, her Filipino accent thick.

"When Grandpa died, you were muttering something about seeing angels. What was that about?" I asked.

There was a short, uncomfortable pause, then she answered. "Well, I shouldn't have said anything, Mr. Derin. I just couldn't help myself. I wish I wouldn't've said anything. I just don't want nobody to think I am crazy."

"I won't think you are crazy," I said. "I just need to know what happened."

She sighed. "Well," she said. "When I walked in, Mr. Bruce was going home. I closed my eyes, and saw a long staircase, made of light. Mr. Bruce was standing in front of it. He wanted to go up, but he was looking back at you all. I told him to go on up. I said, 'Go on up, Mr. Bruce. It be OK. Go on up.'"

I was slightly disappointed. I was hoping that it was more than just a day dream. But here she was talking about having her eyes closed. It sounded like nothing more than just a goofy, emotional vision.

"Is that when you saw the angel?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I opened my eyes, and that's when I saw them. They were in the room, flying over everyone. I could see them. Couldn't you?"

The matter-of-fact way she was asking me brought a little chill to my blood.

"No," I answered. "What did they look like?" I expected her to describe men in white robes, with shiny golden halos.

Instead, she said, "I couldn't see their bodies. I could only see their heads, and what looked like wings. They were flying all over everybody."

I don't remember the rest of our conversation. I just know that it was short. I quickly hung up with her, and then sat there, thinking. It was probably just the emotional goofiness of a charismatic Christian. But what if she had really seen something? The story was definately a strange one, almost too strange to be made up. But it had to be made up. I didn't believe in that kind of stupid superstition, anymore.

PART 81

We waited with him, as the funeral home came to take the body. As soon as he died, the room instantly changed. We had been sitting in the dim, late afternoon light, a solemn, quiet funeral parlor. But now, the lights were turned on. Faces were wiped. Noses were blown. People began to talk, quietly at first, but soon at normal levels. The hospice nurse came in and prepared the body, taking his temperature, and removing the catheter.

Soon, the body was removed.

Later, I sat on my couch, watching television with my family. We were watching America's Funniest Home Videos, but I wasn't really watching it. I was thinking about Grandpa. The truth is that I didn't really know how I felt. I couldn't focus down my emotions. I heard our doorbell, and my son went to answer. Then I heard heavy, familiar footsteps, coming down my stairs. I looked up, and there stood my father.

I burst into tears.

We sat in my livingroom, holding each other, tears streaming down our faces.

PART 80

The end came on Monday afternoon. I went to work, treating patients, but not really able to focus on them. About ten o'clock, my dad called me, and told me that it was going to be soon.

I left my clinic, and drove through the melting snow. Soon, I was at my grandpa's house. My grandma and two of my aunts were not home. They had gone shopping for the coffin.

As I walked into the back room, I could tell that it was different, this time. It was unmistakable that the end was here. Grandpa was not the man I remembered. He lay in his bed, his eyes lightly closed. His mouth was open, gaping, a dark, slack "o". But his breathing is what would haunt me. It went beyond what they call Cheyne Stokes breathing. This, this was gasping, a harsh, fish-out-of-water sucking of the air. His heartbeat was strong, but irregular in his neck, and that crazy, fish-like breathing continued, on and on.

It is hard work, dying. Don't let anybody fool you. A dying man clings on to life with an iron-tight grip, trying to keep what he can't. Grandpa was strong until the end, his pulsing pumping in his neck, and his diaphragm pulling in air.

About 3:00, we knew it was imminent. Everything was slowing down, everything but the thump thump of his pulse. We literally watched as he wound to a stop.

As his last breaths began, his family gathered around. I heard a door slam, a high, feminine voice, and my Grandma walked into the back room, just as he sucked in his last breath, and his chest was still. Instantly, there was a change in the room. You knew his soul was leaving. There was a strange electricity all around. Elizabeth, their Filipino housekeeper began to weep, and yell, "Go on Mr. Bruce, go on home. Can you see them? I can see the angels. Can you see them?" Someone hugged Elizabeth and she burst into tears.

Somewhere to the right of me, I was aware of my dad, his hands gripping the hospital bed, his eyes staring into Grandpa's face, his knuckles white.

Grandma walked over to the bed, and watched as Grandpa went limp. Her lips were pursed, her mouth a thin, hard line. Her eyes began to fill with water. I couldn't look at her.

I looked down at Grandpa's strong, strong hands, remembering the times he would shake my hand, remembering the soft twinkle in his eyes as he would squeeze my hand and remind me that even though he was ninety, he still had it. Those hands were now relaxed. They would never squeeze my hand, again. My Grandpa was dead. I couldn't get my mind around it. He had been here, and now he was gone.

As I stared at those hands, I saw the muscle above his right thumb twitch, one last time. He never moved again.

PART 79

We waited all day Saturday, and all day Sunday. The snow piled up outside, as relatives; aunts, uncles, cousins, piled in and out of the back room. Grandpa never really changed. There were a few times when he was lucid enough to point to his head (indicating a headache) or point to his mouth (asking for a drink). For the most part, he just lay there, the oxygen tube in his nose, his mouth gaping open, slackly.

We spent the time talking with each other, in low hushed voices, or just staring off, wandering through the corners of our minds. My dad got out his laptop, and began to gently click the keys, writing some essay to himself. For the most part, we just waited.

At about 5:30 on Sunday evening, Grandpa tapped his head, asking for Aspirin. He could not stretch out his fingers to point, and his clawed hand made him look a little bit like a mentally challenged child. One of my aunts grabbed some aspirin, and begin to attempt to figure out how to administer it to him. He was no longer able to swallow anything bigger than a small gulp of water. Finally, she decided to crush it into powder, and dissolve it in a glass of water. Then she dipped a teaspoon in the solution, and attempted to feed it to him. The moment the chalky water hit his tongue, he began to cough and spasm, jerking around. Everyone looked up, stopping in mid sentence, several of them appearing as though they had just awoke from a peaceless dream. His heart rate jumped, alarmingly. We thought he was going.

My uncles quickly got some juice, and began to pout tiny drips in his mouth, to wash out the bitter taste. Soon, he calmed.

I had one of his arms in my hand, had been trying to keep him from thrashing, and now I looked across his torso, at my uncle Dan, with a sense of relief. From below me, I heard a slight gurgle. I looked down, and bit my lip, in horror. Grandpa's teeth had come loose, and now they sat, half in his throat. The gurgle was air, passing by the dentures. A filmy white paste lightly coated the teeth, and I realized that this was left-over aspirin.

I looked at Dan. He looked back.

"Someone oughta get those," I said.

"Be my guest," he replied.

I wasn't so sure that I wanted to. I looked down at his gaping mouth, those teeth wedged in them like some kind of strange speculum. That couldn't be comfortable. Giving Dan a dirty look, I reached in, and grasped a hold of the top denture. The aspirin felt extremely slimy, and uncomfortable in my fingers. With strained effort, I gently pulled them out.

"Good job," Dan said.

I smiled. It felt good to be praised by my uncle.

"Now," he said. "About the other one."

PART 78

There were several of my uncles and aunts in the backroom, including Melita (so, it must have been Naomi sleeping in the master bedroom). They were gathered around a garish, metallic hospital bed; a new addition to the room since I had last visited. There were also a couple of new machines, one pumping oxygen into the open mouth and nose of my Grandpa. The other, a beatup boombox that played a gentle mix cd of old family Gospel favorites. These were tunes that the family would dress to on Sunday mornings as they prepared to go worship at the local church building. The songs were meant to be comforting, and I knew that they were for my family. For me, however, they were sad, somber reminders of the fact that soon my dad would no longer have his daddy here. And would it be very long before my own father was to follow?

I looked down at my Grandpa, and felt my throat tighten, my stomach jumping, uncomfortably. He was still a tall man, his feet reaching to the edge of the hospital bed, and threatening to fall over the end. I could see that they had carefully tucked the white sheets around his feet, wrapping him, trying to make him feel secure not unlike how we had wrapped our newborn babies as we brought them home from the hospital. The sheet stopped at mid-chest, and his two powerful arms rested on them. His mouth was open, slack-jawed, and his breath was slow and shallow. His eyes were tightly closed.

I can't describe how it felt to see him like that. He had always been a symbol of power, of masculinity. Bruce Dopps was a man for whom nothing seemed impossible. He always knew what to say, how to say it, and what to do. Equally adept at fixing a car, building a house, growing a garden, or discussing theology, the man seemed to be bigger than life, itself. I was always in awe. Now, what lay before me was a dying man, helpless, fragile. I sucked in my breath. Next to me, my dad had grown pale.

I looked around the room, seeing my aunt Sharon, aunt Melita, uncle Dan, and my uncle John. All of them looked slightly dazed, as if lost in their own moments in time. I sat down on my Grandpa's bed (his real bed as opposed to this hospital abomination), and looked down on him, taking his wrinkled hand in my own. I remembered the way that he would shake my hand when I would come to his house, squeezing with such strength, such power. He seemed to try and bring me to my knees every time I would grasp his hand.

"Grandpa," I tried to say. My throat felt as though it was full of cotton. "I am here."

It may have been my imagination, but I thought that I felt that hand squeeze, ever so slightly, as if he were letting me know that he was aware.

I looked out the window that was behind his bed. Outside, the snow was coming down, harder than ever. I looked at my dad. He was transfixed on my Grandpa. I knew that he had never seen him like this, before.

We waited.

PART 77

The entire atmosphere of my grandparent's house was changed. I felt it the moment that I walked through the familiar front door. My Grandma sat in her favorite chair, rocking back and forth. America's Funniest Home Videos was mutely playing on the television, without an audience. Several of the other family members scurried around the corners of the room, keeping themselves busy with mundane household chairs. In the master bedroom to my right, one of my aunts, Naomi or maybe Melita, lay curled up on the bed amidst a pile of thick winter coats.

I mumbled a quiet, "hello," to my grandma. Something about the place demanded a quiet demeanor, which uncharacteristically I assumed. She turned to me, and for the first time, I could see the realization etched into every line on her face. Her husband was leaving. He would soon be gone, and she knew it. Yet, at the same time, there was still a kind of hopeful expectation about her, as if maybe somehow this could all be resolved, peacefully.

"Hello," she answered.

"How're things holding up?" I asked, meaning her, just as much as him.

"He hasn't changed since early this morning. I don't think it'll be long, now," she said.

Her words were stark, plain, and matter-of-fact. I looked at her a moment, wondering what it would be like to be married for eighty years, and know that soon that part of your life would be forever over. I wanted to say something to her, something brilliant, something comforting, something that would let her see that I empathized with her, and it would all be ok.

Instead, I said, "I think I'll go look in on him."

"You go do that," she answered. "But I don't think he'll know you're here."

I gave her a small smile, nodding. Then I turned and walked through the kitchen, and into the back room.

PART 76

We soon moved grandpa in. I wasn't there the day that he got home from the hospital. I was working. From what I understand, Grandma, several of my uncles, and Elizabeth (my grandparent's Filipino housekeeper) helped get the final touches ready for him. When he arrived home, it was like slipping into a warm bath after a busy day.

I knew that I couldn't waste this opportunity. It was my last chance to talk with him, and I was going to make the most of it. I had recently purchased an i-river mp3 recorder, and a pair of binaural earbud recorders. I packed them up, and brought them over to grandpa on several occasions.

Each time, I spent a couple of hours talking with him. He wanted to tell me the story of his life, "not so's you'd think I was braggin', but if no one told you these things, you wouldn't learn from them." He talked for hours at a time, stopping only to take short sips from the yellow striped bendy straw that rested in the ever-present can of strawberry Ensure that lay on the medical tray next to him. He would slug a few swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down like a buoy on a stormy sea.

These times are treasured to me. They were the last hours spent with a pillar of my spiritual life. They were the last hours of connection with a pivotal role-model in my family.

Thursday, January 11, 2007 was the last time that I saw my grandpa alive and lucid. I went over to his house, and he told me the most personal story that he ever shared with me. It was a lesson about family and temptation and redemption. I will never forget it.

Friday, my grandpa had all of his sons over to his house. He leaned on his walker, a small pillow under his knees. From this position, he prayed over each son, in turn, blessing them in the grand tradition of the Biblical fathers. My dad's family had always reminded me of the family of Israel, in the Bible. The boys were unruly, and wild, just like their Biblical counterparts. Now, the final act of laying of hands and prayer made the analogy completely undeniable.

My dad left, that night, feeling closer to his father than he had in perhaps, years. Grandpa had held him close, praying. They had shared tears. To this day, I know not what the blessing was. Perhaps that is the most fitting thing. The blessing is between those men, and their daddy.
Soon, all the brothers were gone, except for Dan, the youngest. He and Grandpa stayed up, late into the night, playing checkers. Dan was beaten almost every single time.

Dan went to bed, sleeping in Grandpa's back room, with him. At some point in the night, Grandpa had some kind of massive vascular attack, a stroke or perhaps just a small infarct.

Saturday dawned cold and snowy. The snow had been coming on and off for the last week, and it was with great reluctance that I pulled my body from the warmth of my wife and my bed. I had a bridal fair to go to, where I would be doing massage for the next nine hours. It was not my favorite way to spend a Saturday. I showered, dressed, and took the treacherous drive down to the convention center, thanking God for the four wheel drive on my Envoy.

When I got there, I began setting up our booth. Several cousins, and my dad were going to be there, but the only person there at the time, was Dr Paul (my dad's partner). Soon, dad came in. He told me that Grandpa had had some kind of accident in the night. He didn't know what it was, or what was happening. After about five minutes of internal debate, we both decided that we needed to go be with him. I walked through the snow, not even realizing how much was really changing. It is often that way with moments that make the biggest changes in our lives. They seem so simple and ordinary. They seem so unassuming. I was just walking through some snow, but somehow everything was going to be different by the time this snow melt.

I got into my car, blowing on my hands to keep them warm. I started the engine, and let the car warm for a moment. Then I put it in gear, and headed over to the house where my grandparents had raised ten children, a housed that Grandpa had built with his own two hands over sixty years before.

PART 75

Have you ever seen a person die? I never had. I had been around dead bodies plenty of times. I had even dissected them, cutting apart skin, organs and tissues, trying not to marginalize them to nothing more than badly sculpted mannequins. Most of the time, that worked for me. I was honored to study the human body, and tried to be aware that these were once a person, somebody's father, mother, lover, and child. Seeing a preserved, bodily fluid drained, antiseptic cadaver is quite a bit different than seeing death happen. Intellectually I knew that. But soon, I would come to know it. It didn't seem remotely possible that he soon might not be here.

Grandpa went into exploratory surgery after Christmas. I could talk about the debacle of health care lapses during the holidays, but that's not what this post is about. When he came out of the surgery (a miracle in its own right, he was 93, after all), the prognosis was final. His omentum was literally overcome with cancer. He was bleeding internally. He would die.

Grandpa wanted to go home. He made it clear that he wasn't dying in a hospital where his dignity and hope was gone. He didn't want to be wasting away in the antiseptic hallways that stunk of rubbing alcohol and bed pans, and old anguished sweat. He didn't want to just be a number. He wanted to be in his backroom of his house, surrounded by his wife, his family, his things. This was his sanctuary and his kingdom. He wrote here, prayed here, lived here. That was where he wanted to live his last few days.

It was up to us to prepare the back room. I suppose that every family has got them; the pack rats. Grandpa was the grand pumba of all junk collectors, a pack rat above all pack rats. He was like a lot of people who had survived the great depression. He never threw anything away, seeing the value in every little trinket, and ever piece of machinery. His collection had gone beyond mere mortal status.

Not only was the back of his house crammed full of stuff, but the old store where he sold food to the neighborhood, was also overflowing. Some of this stuff had been there for over fifty years. Going through it was like a time warp. Over in the corner was the exercise bike that he bought in the eighties. In the bathroom was the old exercise belt machine, which promised to vibrate the pounds away. A thousand books, fifteen speakers, a couple of random jars of dice . . . these were the artifacts of a man; a man soon to die.

It is really unreal, packing up the remainders of a life, and shoving it all into cardboard boxes. The papers, the cards, the pushpins, the old record albums. Dollar after dollar, year after year, the excess of one's property all falling on the shoulders of the grieving. All of these items purchased for some useful reason. Each had had a purpose. Now they were all moot.

It felt wrong going through his stuff like that, with no reverence or concept of the value of why each was purchase. It was almost blasphemous to pile the stuff into that white metal pod that my uncle rented. In a way, it was the first coffin that was purchased for Grandpa. It was a coffin for his stuff.

Soon, the backroom was almost clear. I guess that we made it manageable for the hospice nurses, the hospital beds, and the family who would come to call.

As I left my grandpa's house, that night, I looked around the junk; taking stock, wondering at how quickly the end had come for a ninety year old institution in my life. The last thing that caught my eye was a simple, handwoven wall hanging. It read: Today is the first day, of the rest of your life.

Hey guys.

Part 75 is on it's way. I unrestricted the blog. I don't think that anything on here is necessarily life changing or anything. I just decided to allow free access. These are just the thoughts and random associations concerning the world, as I see it. I hope that you get something out of it. If you don't, that's ok. It is really more for me, than anyone else. I am vomiting out old memories, in an attempt to better understand my own journey through this turbulent water.

Thanks for being a part of it.

Hey.

I decided to restrict access for a little while. I was searching my name on Google (no, it is not called vanity, I swear) and entire passages from my blog would appear. It made me a tad bit nervous. I am not sure if I want all this personal information out there, for just anybody. I don't know, maybe if it will help someone . . .

I am going to think about it, and carefully consider.

In the meantime, if you know anyone that needs to be added to this, drop me a line at my email or myspace account:

drderin@yahoo.com

oh, and check out my new website. I am proud of it.

www.doppsdc.com

Thanks guys, and more updates are coming, I promise.

Derin

PART 74

Over the years we had attended many different camps. We went to Colorado, Oklahoma, Texas, and Kansas. But my favorite had always been in Arkansas City, Kansas. It was the original, and to me, the most nostalgic. It wasn't the nicest. It wasn't the cleanest. But it was the original. I was excited to know that we were going back to that campsite for the 2006 Dopps family Christmas. To me, this was all about going back to our heritage. It was about locking ourselves into a smaller camp, where we would all be forced to reforge relationships. I was looking forward to talking Chiropractic with my uncles, playing games with the cousins, and above all, talking with my Grandpa.

A few days before the camp, I called my dad. This was routine. I talk to him almost every day. The course of our conversation was not unusual, either. Grandpa had been having a little digestive problem, and they had taken him to the hospital to get him unplugged. Dad wasn't worried, and neither was I. After all, how dangerous can a little intestinal problem be? We knew that he had some prostate problems, probably cancer, but we also knew that we were relatively sure that he had no serious colon or rectal malignancies.

Later on, I spoke with Dad, again. He told me that Grandpa had become angry with the hospital, and had checked himself out. He had geriatric diabetes, and evidently, he wasn't happy with how they were handling his blood sugar levels. He had gone home, and Dad was going over to his house, to try and help him get everything working better. My uncle had a colonic machine, and they were going to see if that would take care of it.

The next time I spoke with my Dad, they were taking Grandpa to the hospital.

To be honest, I really didn't think that this was the end. Grandpa had been through many ordeals and hospitalizations. He wasn't about to be undone by a pesky digestive system. My family and I went about our business, getting ready to go to Dopps Family Camp. My brother was coming in from Oregon, and there was a lot to do.

Soon, it became apparent that this would be no simple hospital stay. There was something seriously wrong with my Grandpa. For one thing, his stomach was distended, and it wasn't intestinal. It was some kind of ascites (fluid in his abdomen). They ran some tests, and discovered his heme level was really low. That meant that there was some kind of internal bleeding. I went to the hospital to see him, when the doctor gave the news of the heme levels. They were going to drain the fluid, and analyze it. I looked at his distended stomach, and knew the worst.

PART 73

What kind of catalyst could make me turn my back on the celluloid that had sustained me through times of trouble (and joy) throughout all of my teenage and adult life? How did I get to such a mindset that I would be able to look past the fantasy, past the pleasure of the pictures? To be honest, there is no way such an honest look at my existence could have happened without my grandpa.

Bruce Dopps was ninety-three in the early days of 2007. He was the patriarch of the Dopps family, a mentor of imposing stature, and seemingly eternal in his vitality. He had always been the pillar of the family, and a cornerstone of faith. It seemed that for my grandpa, life really was all about the cause of Christ. I honestly cannot remember a conversation with the man that didn't include at least twenty or thirty references to specific Scriptures that he had memorized in that amazing brain of his.

When I was a teenager, and just beginning to work on my theological building blocks, I used to go over to his house, and discuss doctrine. He was working on a book in the late 80's, early 90's, entitled The Beast of the 1990's. Grandpa was a big believer in the rapture, and he desperately wanted to understand the prophetic wanderings of books like Revelations, Daniel, and Isaiah. While he may have been mistaken about a few things, I have never met anyone that had such a passion for the things of Yahweh. He lived as if he truly believed his mission on earth was to bring others to Christ.

When the first Gulf War started, I began to bring some of my friends over to hear Grandpa talk about Saddam Hussein and Babylon. He spoke of the end of times, and God's righteous judgement. In the end, he always said that the rapture and all that stuff really didn't matter so much. It was just a good tool. The real thing that we had to be concerned with was who we brought with us when we died, and to make sure that our lives were worthy of the precious price that we were bought for.

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When I was in the sixth grade, our family started a new tradition. Every Christmas or Thanksgiving, my grandparents would rent a camp. With my dad having eleven siblings, and each of them having their own families, there just was getting to be too many people to properly meet at anyone's home. So, they started this tradition. We would pack up, and go to Dopps Family Camp. What a beautiful time it was. We would all spend time talking, laughing, and playing. It was where I rode my first four-wheeler, shot my first gun, kissed my cousin's girl, and played guitar with my cousin, Ian. We would have a family talent show. We would have large, bountiful meals, that I am sure bordered (if not fully crossing the line) on gluttony. We would have white-elephant gifts, and later, the original brothers and sisters would pass enormously wrapped presents to each other, trying hard to outdo one another's generosity. Every once in a while I would get lucky, and one of the gifts would find its way to me. In short, it was a wonderful time, usually the only time that I really felt a part of, and connected with, my dad's side of the family.

As Grandpa began to reach toward his nineties, however, a cloud began to occasionally float above the festivities. At first it was a small, white, harmless cloud. You'd hear the occasional whisper as a parent would go to their child, and lean in, and say, "You know, you really outta go talk to your Grandpa. He is an old man. This may be his last family camp."

As the years went on, the cloud became pregnant; a dark, fat thing that threatened to unload on our family. It was no longer a tiny whisper. People would begin to openly talk about Grandpa, and his impending absence from our family. It became blatant, no shying around at all. Often times this would not only be in front of him, but he would be included in the conversation.

During these conversations, I would wonder about how it would feel to have my entire family around me, betting on when I would die. Not that I was immune to this. I, too, would join in the "this may be his last year," talk. In fact, from the moment we first hooked up, Mandy would hear me say this, every year. She would smile, a patient smile, but I could tell that this exasperated her, to no end. "He's still alive," she would say. "Let's not go shoveling dirt on him, just yet."

As for Grandpa, he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he spoke of death in a satisfied, almost anticipatory voice. He was looking forward to the end - to being with his Lord. He never failed to try to end every camp with his final words of wisdom.

After a few years of this, it began to lose its urgency. Grandpa seemed to buck the odds. He seemed to be immortal. We began to wonder if he might never die. We didn't want him to, but in the back of my mind, I had imagined the scenario a million times. What would his funeral be like? Would I cry in front of the open coffin? When he died, would there be a look of peace on his face? Soon, I began to take for granted that Grandpa was a superstar, a strong man that would live to be well over one hundred. If I ever doubted that, all I had to do was to shake his hand. At ninety-three, he could still drive me to my knees.

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Thanksgiving 2005, the entire Dopps family took a cruise to Mexico. We decided to do this in place of the usual camp. Grandpa was with us. He swam in the ocean, and played with his great-grandchildren.

It was his last family camp.

PART 72

Strangely enough, the session about pornography really didn't give me much more to chew on, when it came to the topic it was professing. I went in, expecting to feel shame and conviction. I expected it to reopen wounds that were just beginning to heal between my wife and I. Instead, I found myself convicted in a way that was 100% unexpected.

One of the most poignant parts of the presentation had to do with fantasy. In great detail, the Joneses spoke about the effects of fantasy. They told about how at the beginning, the fantasy is a great chemical hook. It releases all of the endorphins in the brain, and sets up a desire for more and greater thrills. Each time, the thrill must be larger in order to achieve the original "high". None of this was really very groundbreaking information, here. I had heard this stuff numerous times via my education, and numerous sermons. But then they said something very interesting. The comment was made, almost in passing, but it is funny how little throwaways can sometimes be the most commanding of our attention. Jerry mentioned that over time, the fantasy world becomes the real world. It becomes how the real world should be. Unfortunately, our "real" world never matches up to the fantasy presented to us. Thus, we become disillusioned with what we have, thinking that it is not what we should be entitled to.

Talk about a lightbulb. It was as if someone had climbed into my head. Most of my life, I had lived as though I was in a movie. I would put on a tape (or later a CD) in my car, and pretend that it was the opening credits for whatever Friday night adventure lay before me. I would make up Playboy and Letterman interviews in the bathroom mirror as I did my hair in the morning. I had my own theme music. All the girls that I had fooled around with, all the pot that I had smoked, ever ounce of alcohol I had drank, all of it was with the idea that I was in some kind of grand movie, the ones that I used to love to watch. I realized that I always had thought that I would get the girl, save the day, have everyone like me, and live happily ever after. I was genuinely, and completely puzzled when life didn't work that way. In other words, the fantasy had become the reality so completely, that I didn't know how to turn it off.

As I pondered this with a growing sense of awareness, a vision began to form in my head. I saw this fat, pimply, pasty white guy sitting in his parent's basement. He had on stained, yellow tighty-whiteys, and was sipping slurpies, and eating Corn-nuts. He hadn't showered in about two weeks. Before this greasy lump of lard sat a brand new Mac computer, with Final Draft booted up. I noticed that he was crying as he was typing in the final scene of the latest teen romantic comedy. In his fantasies, he had finally gotten the hot chick, and become the prom king (with no blood dropped on his head, or anything).

I watched this guy, in my mind, and realized that this was probably more or less, pretty realistic. This was the type of guy that wrote the latest Drew Barrymore flick, or gory slasher film. There is a reason why we see very few of the Hollywood screen writers, out there, and suddenly, I realized that my entire life I had let this kind of loser fill me with his manic depressive fantasies of what should have happened in high school. I let him preach to me that these situations should have been reality. Then they had become mine. They were the glasses that I used to view the world. If the world didn't match my rosy lenses, then it must be because of me. It couldn't be that my frame of reference was twistedly off . . . could it?

At that moment, I felt like scales fell off my eyes. I thought of my ol' buddy Saul, walking that famed road. The light hit me, and I felt like it was demanded of me why I had desecrated the truth with this world view. Pornography suddenly seemed like a small problem compared with this. I was suddenly at odds with everything that I had ever loved.

NO, these pics have nothing to do with what we are talking about . . .

PART 71

You didn't think that I could really leave it like that, did you? No, I gotta finish this, today.

I didn't mean to laugh. It just came out. It was the irony of the situation. I got busted in such a bad teenage comedy movie kinda way. It didn't seem real.

Luckily, I had an excuse, and it was a good one. Two months before all of this happened, Lucas had been goofing around on my computer, and suddenly, this particular video was on the desktop. I was shocked to see it there. After all, I had never seen it, before, and besides, if I had any porn on my computer then I kept it carefully hidden. To see a video just sitting on the desktop was shocking and a little disconcerting. I immediately asked Mandy about it, and she was just as surprised as I was. After we began thinking and exploring, we realized that she had let Lucas play around on the computer, unsupervised. Thus, somehow, he had pushed the wrong buttons, and saved something to my desktop. I had erased it in front of Mandy, but curiosity got the better of me. I went to the site, via the history, and downloaded several of the videos that were there, carefully hiding them in a secret folder.

Shortly after, things became hectic, and I promptly forgot about the files. In fact, I had never even completely watched them. The ironic thing is that ever since then, I had felt so disgusted that Lucas may have been exposed to that stuff that I had stayed completely away from the porn. I wasn't looking at it, or going anywhere near it. So, for the years of my marriage that I didn't mind an occasional graze in the field of the sensual, I was safe. Now that I was purposefully abstaining, I was busted. Ain't life fair, hallelujah, amen!

Mandy carefully explained to her parents what had happened. Her mom just kind of smiled, but her dad roared with laughter. I knew that this was not something that I would quickly live down.

I had thought that the ordeal was over, after all of that, but Mandy was hurt. She was angry. The next few weeks were not pleasant ones around the ol' Dopps homestead. There were more than a couple of knock-down-drag-outs. Through our discussion of porn, men, pigs, and fidelity, we finally achieved an uneasy peace.

So, you can see why I thought that a frank discussion of the damage of porn from two marriage counselors was perhaps not the most enjoyable way to spend a Tuesday night. I entered the lair of Jerry and Lynn, prepared for battle.

PART 70

My wife is a practical woman. For Christmas, she had only asked for two things: 1.) a web cam so that she could communicate with her family in Colorado AND 2.) a paper shredder. Yeah, I am not kidding. She wanted a freakin' paper shredder. What kind of woman asks for a paper shredder? In fact, what kind of woman would not kick her husband's butt if he bought her a paper shredder?
Needless to say, she got everything that she wanted, plus I also wrapped a radio/dvd/cd player that fit under the cabinet. When she opened all of it, she was surprised, but I really think that she would have been perfectly happy if I had just gotten her the paper shredder and the cam.

A couple of days later, I went to work. My father and mother-in-law were in town, along with my brother-in-law. They were going to do some things around the house (which meant that my father-in-law was going to watch cooking shows on Food Network while the other three worked). I had patients to treat.

I knew that there was something weird going on, when I returned home. Mandy was quiet and sullen. My father-in-law was smiling too much. After a few moments, Mandy grabbed my arm, and took me into my office. I saw that they had been setting up the webcam.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I have something to ask you about," she said.
UHOH. A warning light went off in my head.

She pulled up a file, from the computer. Let's just say that it was an adult video. In it, a woman was graphically doing things with a man that my wife does not enjoy doing. Let's also say that I recognized the video.
"What's this?" she asked. Her mouth, voice, and posture were lite, non-threatening. You might have thought she was asking me about a picture of a dog, or a spot on her leg, or a word that looked a little fuzzy on the computer screen. Her eyes, however . . . her eyes never lie. There was a glinty steel in the deep blue, a harsh, hurt look. I didn't care for this, one little bit.

I don't really remember what I said. I think that I did some hmmming, and hawing. I am not really sure. Somewhere in my stammering, I asked about how this came to be on the screen.

"You know that camera I got?" she asked.
I nodded.
She continued.
"My family came downstairs, to help hook it up. We were talking with my sisters on the phone, trying to connect to their camera. We could hear them, but not see them. My dad decided to try and record the boys, and send them the file. He saved the boys, but must have gone to the wrong folder. When they tried to pull up the video of the boys, this came up, instead."

"Oh crap," I said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "IF that wasn't bad enough, they sent it back, to show my dad what he sent them. Yes, Derin, my entire family just watched your porn."

At that moment, I did the unthinkable. I couldn't help it. I tried to fight it. But it just hit me.
I opened my mouth, and laughed.

PART 69

So, I first looked at pornography in the seventh grade. So, I guess that would have made me 13. You could say that I was issued into my teenage years with pornography. I remember last year, reading my brother's blog (tacodave.blogspot.com). He had an open, and frank discussion about his obsession with pornography. I remember looking at his page, thinking about how fearlessly he had just shed his protection, his armour; how utterly he had bared his soul. I remember thinking about the storm that he was bringing down upon his head, and how I pitied him and the fallout that was sure to come.

Let's face it, ladies and gentlemen, pornography is not an easy subject in our society. You either hide it, burying it from the people around you at all costs, or you embrace it, and wonder what the big deal is. After all, everyone looks at the stuff, right?

We certainly shy off from words like addiction, or dependence. We rank it under the file marked: FREE SPEECH, and let it lie there, undisclosed, and undiscussable, unless it accidentally rears its ugly head, and we have to deal with it.

For me, it was the proverbial dirty, little secret. I would look at it whenever I felt the need. Maybe Mandy was mad at me one day, or had ticked me off. Maybe she wasn't giving in, like I wanted her to. Maybe I had a rough day at work, or was just bored. Maybe I felt I needed a little treat, a sexual pick-me-up to reward myself. Really, there was no rhyme or reason. Most of the times, I was just bored. You know what they say about idle hands . . .

The point is that it wasn't just a little harmless fun. It was affecting my marriage. Let's face it, Mandy and I are both getting older. We have a couple of kids under our belt now. She doesn't quite look the same as she did when we first got married. She also doesn't like to do everything that I like when it comes to sexuality. It has taken me quite a while to write this, because I really debated about how frank and honest I was going to be. I don't want to give ideas and license to engage in the same behaviors that I was involved in. In my father's generation, this topic was taboo. If you think that "don't ask, don't tell" is a recent invention of military policy, then let me educate you on the fact that this has been a major tenant of puritan Christianity, for the entire history of the movement. These topics were never discussed, never explored. But today is different.

Gone are the days when Lucy giving birth on the T.V. show would surprise, and seeing Mike and Carol Brady sharing the same bed would cause controversy. These days, anything goes. Sexual standards are being pushed to the edge with every new show. In fact, the more controversial, the better. I remember NYPD showing the first male butt, and the outcry that followed. Janet Jackson has never been more popular, and you can not have a highly rated show without at least one openly (flauntingly) gay character. The point is not to draw judgement on these things. The point is that I can not just hide from my sexual past. It is a very important part of this essay, and important portion of what molded me and made me into the man I am, and as uncomfortable as it may be for my readers, and myself, it must be discussed.

Which brings us back to the discussion that we started in PART 68 (you know, the one about Jerry and Lynn Jones). I was kind of at a quandary, because I had committed to attending all the sessions before I knew that they were to have one about pornography. I was not much looking forward to it. After all, it had only been a couple of weeks since my pornographic exploits had been exposed to my wife's entire family.

Sorry Sorry Sorry

Hey. I am sorry. I am finding the rest of this story extremely difficult to write. When I finally got the next two parts ready to post, something stupid happened with my computer, and they got deleted. I was so frustrated because I had spent over an hour on the posts. I just couldn't write any more. ANyway, I will be back before too long. Hang in there, and thanks for the patience.

PART 68

I never was a big fan of Jerry and Lynn Jones. I met them once, back in college. They were guest professors for one semester, and I attended their marriage seminar before Mandy and I were married. This was at the Nebraska school, and during a time when I was really in pain, both emotionally and spiritually. Whenever I could speak with someone that claimed to be spiritually mature, I would jump on the chance. I hoped that someone would have the magic words "from God", that would turn my life around, and give me hope.

Not long after they arrived in Nebraska, I began to try and build a friendship with them. I knew that since Jerry had been a minister for many years, he probably would have some good reasons for his faith. They invited me over to their house, one evening, and I began to ask them questions.

To be honest, I think that I flustered them. The questions were ones that they obviously were not used to. In the end, they gave me the same ol' "pat" answers that I was used to from people of faith. It blew my mind that someone that had done ministry for so many years could not answer the questions that plagued me. If anything, it just validated all of my doubts. After several hours of conversation, I left their house feeling dejected and fragile.

When I saw that they were coming to Wichita in January, I was not very enthusiastic about going to their seminar. Mandy and I were not doing well. We had been constantly fighting, and never seemed to see eye-to-eye. To be honest, I didn't feel that she was pulling her weight in the family. I would go to work, where I was stressed to the max with trying to make patients well, and collect enough to live on. When I would return home, she would almost always be watching television with the kids. I had to practically force her to clean anything, and she never cooked. I was getting more and more frustrated, every day. Her job was to be a housewife, not watch Oprah. If I called her on her lack of motivation, she would claim that she had been working, and was just taking a break. Unfortunately, the house never looked as if she did anything.

This was a major source of contention for us. After many weeks of fighting and fussing, I finally decided that maybe a marriage seminar would be a good idea. Reluctantly, I signed us up. I figured that if this didn't work, we might need to seek out some counseling.

Not another part, per se, but . . .

Hey. Things are nuts around here. Between the fact that Prozac has made my brother never answer his phone, and I never have time to call my sister before her strict 10:00 p.m. deadline, they have been wondering why I have not updated.

The truth is, I just have not been able to collect my thoughts. This has been a dangerous week for me. I have had to make a couple of tough decisions concerning my future, my allergies have been hurting me so badly that I have finally broken down and made an appointment with a bonified ALLERGIST, and my son got sick, yet again. In addition to this, both cars needed work, we are supposed to leave town on Friday (again), and I have had a horrible time with my practice, lately.

Oh, and I have been faithfully keeping my strenuous workout schedule - which consists of weights that target every major muscle group, followed by a 30 minute run (crap, am I sore) - that I am determined will get me into shape by the time we go to California, this May.

With all of this going on, I just haven't had the time. But I promise you faithful readers out there -you four know who you are -that I will continue our story just as soon as I possibly can. For now, you'll just have to be content with the following pictures:

PART 67

The letter was 2/3 writings from Bonhoeffer. The last 1/3 was directed at me. Amy carefully dictated the words that she ascribed from God, and put them in italics, so there was to be no doubt.

I could run home and get the letter, that way I could write them verbatim. But instead, I will paraphrase. The exact phraseology is that vital, anyway. I can remember the important parts. Basically, the letter said something to the effect that most Christians can not give themselves fully over to God, because they let sin separate them from Him. By holding on to sin, and not crucifying their full selves, they can not get close to Him, because the very essence of sin is separation from God. When she was submissive with her gluttony then she was able to grow close to Him.

In first person (from God's viewpoint), she then proceeded. According to Amy, God was telling me that I keep claiming that I intellectually could not believe in Him, but He is the master and maker of all intellect. Therefore, He is more than adequate when it comes to defending His faith that He put in me. I do not hear Him, because I do not submit. I needed to submit every area of my life to Him. I must forgive that girl. He knows that I do not want to, but He has called me to His path, not to mine.

The letter went on to give a few more instructions to me, but I barely was able to register. How in the world did she know all of this? I certainly had not told her any of it. And forgive that girl? At first, I thought she was referring to Jennifer, my old girlfriend that had dumped me the day before my 21st birthday. I couldn't figure out why she was mentioning that. It was ancient history. Then I realized. She meant Sam. I was supposed to forgive Sam. My heart began to pound, my hands getting sweaty. Could this really be from God? There was no way that Amy could know about my prayer meeting with Larry and Tim. There was no way she could know the hatred that had congealed in my heart, like day-old gravy. She didn't (couldn't) know about these things, yet here was the sentence.

I didn't know what to make of it, but it was that exact moment that my hatred for Sam completely vanished. I didn't feel any animosity toward her. I felt no anger. All I felt, was an immediate need to make things right.

PART 66

I re-read the letter two, three, four times. Every time I got to the sentence about the message from God, my blood froze. The only problem was that she wrote that I needed to come spend the weekend in Omaha, in order to get the message. She really felt as though she needed to see me face to face.

In spite of the fact that this was the second time a person from the Vineyard had told me that God had a message for me, and this was a rather marked transformation of a girl who had been incredibly paganistic the last time I had seen her, I still had to wonder what she had been smoking. She spoke of all of these changes in her life, and how God was speaking to her. She promised to tell me the story, as soon as I saw her.

In my experience, any time that a person tells you that they speak with God and He answers, you have to assume that the deck may not be full. I had known Amy to go off the deep end (they had to make a rule that the girls at our college could not push their beds together because of this woman, for cryin' out loud), but I was still puzzled about what could take a sexually adventurous, sensually-minded wiccan, and turn her into a Jesus-freak. Maybe it is just her natural reaction to motherhood, I reasoned. Perhaps she was realizing that she had no moral framework in which to instill any virtuous response to her children. It weighed on my mind enough that weekend, that I decided to call her.

We talked for about twenty minutes, before I had to get off and treat a patient. In that time period, I didn't learn anything more about this supposed message from God. Instead, she spoke all about her transformation, and how God had worked in her. She spoke about how she was changing things in her life. I mentioned practically nothing about my life, and left the mission trip and Sam fully out of the conversation. She told me that her return to God had to do with her obedience, but that was all I got out of her. She told me that I needed to come to Omaha, and worship with her. She knew that I was frustrated with my life, but more importantly, God knew. I asked her how she could be so sure, and she replied (matter-of-factly), "God told me." I had to go, so we hung up.

That Wednesday, I got another letter from Amy. In this letter, she proceeded to give me a more detailed message from God. In this letter, she completely changed the way I looked at Sam.

PART 65

My life continued on in this vein, until December of 2006. After the meeting with the elders, I had quietly withdrawn from any type of church leadership. I would not pray or read Scripture. I would not serve on any committees. I was tired of all that stuff, and felt that I was in no position to continue with it.

In the meantime, my resentment toward Sam grew large, and ravenous. It devoured any attempt at reconstructing a friendship, and I begin to grow bitter. I hated her for destroying what little progress I had made. I wanted bad things to happen to her. It was funny, but I had pretty much forgotten all about Buffalo. I didn't care much, one way or the other about her. As far as I was concerned, she meant nothing. But Sam . . . Sam was different. She was supposed to be my friend. Yeah, she had apologized, but had she even tried to fix anything? Had she even attempted to go to the elders and defend me? Besides, they sure hadn't tried to go anywhere with us, or do anything with us.

Starting back before the trip to Japan, I would meet every Thursday with Tim and Larry. They were both Godly men, who I felt I could look up to. I believed that bad company corrupts good morals, but iron sharpens iron. I wanted to be sharpened. I looked to them for leadership. We would pray with each other, and confess our struggles. I would open up, a little, but never really let them into the severity of the things that I was dealing with.

Now, however, our meetings had grown sporadic. I still met with them, but there was a wedge there, obviously. I guess I was hoping that somehow, they would still rub off on me, and show me some way back to real faith. But that was fading, fast.

One day, in late December, we met. I was especially agitated this day, probably because Sam looked at me wrong, or something, at church the night before. I sat down, in Tim's office, and we talked over tacos and sodas. I told them how angry I still was. Sam had betrayed me. I know that I needed to get over it, but I couldn't. I wanted bad things to happen to her, and was secretly glad because I knew that they were struggling, financially.

Tim and Larry implored me to pray for her. They said that I had to get over my bitterness. I told them that this had all but destroyed my faith. I could not get over it. They again told me to pray for her. I placated them with my answers, but inside I knew that there was no way that I could pray for her.

That was Thursday. Saturday, I got a letter in the mail. It was from Amy, Adam's wife. This was the same woman that had seduced half the girls at our Christian college. This was the same woman who had been a wiccan, the last time I had seen her. I had left that Nebraska town because of these people. But now, she was writing me, out of the blue. Although I had talked to her husband about a month before, via the phone, I hadn't spoken to her in ages.

I undid the envelope, and pulled out the letter. It was written in her familiar scrawl, which brought about a pang of bitter nostalgia. I thought of how I had judged them, and how the band had been destroyed, and regret filled me. I looked down, and began to read.

In the sea of punctuation and paragraphs, two sentences instantly stopped me, making my breath come in short stitches.

The first sentence said something to the effect that she had regained her Christianity, and was now going to worship at the Vineyard Christian Fellowship, in Omaha, Nebraska.

The second sentence said that she had a message for me, from God.

Another Japanese Toilet (notice the fancy controls)

PART 64

If you have read up to this point, some of you may be scratching your heads. Yeah, some bad stuff happened, we all have crap in our lives, right? My reasons are certainly not more compelling than a lot of people have. Maybe my faith wasn't very strong, to begin with. I know more than one fundamentalist that would tell me that if my faith was that fragile, then I probably never had real faith. They hold on to this notion because the thought that someone might at one point have a real, strong faith, and that faith might disappear, is terrifying. It means it can happen to them. There is nothing that I can write that can really convey the entirety of my journey through this period of my life. You may relate to some of it, but none of you can relate to all of it. It is my experience, and mine alone.

What I can tell you, is a bit of what my theology was like. Unfortunately, it is not much different than a lot of other humanists out there (because that is what I had become). The Bible talks about the things of the Spirit being foolishness to those of the world. This is much the same as certain foreign customs are foolishness to an alien who visits. It works the other way, too. The views of the world seem foolish to those under the blood of Christ. I know that when I was my strongest, arguments and theology that I later accepted seemed to be so ridiculous that I poured scorn upon those who would in any way even entertain them. And it was the same when I left my spiritual heritage. The things that once held me to Christ became the contemptible teachings of intellectual midgets.

It is funny how we always think that the other side is full of nonsense, until we visit it for a while.

As far as my theology goes, I didn't feel like I could believe in God, for the exact reason that Romans tells us that people must be convicted of His presence; namely creation. When I looked at the world, I saw a disorganized mess, full of meanness, disease, and violence. Some of this was undoubtedly colored by my early childhood, in which my dad's twin brother was brutally murdered by his wife and his best friend (who were having an affair). Some of this was just simply observation.

I saw the suffering. I saw the weakness. I saw the strife, the envy, the murder, and I couldn't buy into a God who created all of this. Oh, make no mistake, if God did exist, then I held Him directly responsible for sin. After all, He made the rules. He made the circumstance by which we would fail. He did this, knowing we would fail. I didn't buy the idea that free will was this great gift that God had presented mankind. As far as I was concerned, the whole "robot" explanation was bunk. God could do anything. He could come up with a way to give us freewill, but also give us enough information that we really could make an intelligent choice. I didn't feel that we had been given the ability to choose. We all sinned. If 100% chose the wrong thing, something told me that the odds were stacked against me. This meant (to me) that God wanted to send people to hell. I just couldn't accept that premise.

I also had problems with the infallibility of The Bible. I saw many discrepancies, and had been unsatisfied with any of the supposed answers to these discrepancies. If there were any discrepancies, at all, then that blew Inspiration out of the water, for me. Either I could completely trust my Bible, or not at all.

There was more, but my purpose here is not to feed your doubt, reinforce your presuppositions about the Bible, or cause you to question. The purpose is to let you know that my questions were real, genuine, and damning. The way that I was treated by Christians just reinforced my questions, and made me realize that this stuff just didn't work.

That realization brought me misery.

PART 63

So for me, Christianity was done; stick a fork in me. I desperately tried to cling to some semblance of it, but it was over. I didn't go so far as to recount my faith, but I did stop praying and checked out during church services (when I would actually go). On the rare occasions when I actually attempted to read the Bible, I found it nonsensical, and ridiculous. I began to wonder how I had really bought all of this stuff.

I was excited about my new freedoms. It felt like I had been chained up, unable to really enjoy who I was, for so many years. Now, I was free to pursue the things that I loved. I immersed myself in the motion picture community of Wichita (yes, surprisingly, there actually is one, albeit small). I decided that I was no longer going to waste my life being chained by archaic theologies. I was proud of my intellectual ability. I had done something that was almost impossible (in my eyes), I had escaped my upbringing. I had looked at the world through my own eyes, and realized the truth beyond what I had been conditioned to accept as reality. I now had my worldview.

Of course, with this new found "liberty", certain sacrifices had to be made. I immediately noticed a new type of strain on my relationship with my family. With my parents, there had been a theological strain since I first started college. I had learned, long ago, not to attempt to discuss theology with my dad. Parent and child theological differences were in no way good bedfellows in my family. It put major strains on harmony and well-being - two things that are utmost in importance in order to survive such mundane activities as Christmas dinner. Obviously, my new-found agnosticism put huge strains on any commonality that we once had.

It wasn't just my dad, either. I no longer wanted to be around any one in my family. My grandpa had always been a beacon of spiritual guidance, and insight. Now, I found him to be a misguided old man, who possibly was suffering with dementia. Heaven forbid he ever corner me at a family event. His two hour Christian soliloquies were the stuff of family legend.

As if this wasn't bad enough, I had severe depression and anxiety. You see, I no longer knew how to really set any standards of behavior for me or my children. I wanted to raise my kids to feel comfortable, secure, and strong. I wanted them to survive teenagerdom, and to thrive as adults. The problem was that I didn't know how to impart any real morality into them, outside of a supernatural STANDARD. All other attempts at morality may work before a person is able really think them through, but once you understand humanism to its full potential, you begin to realize the futility of any such thinking of ideas that we label, morality or ethics, other than as an attempt to control society. They all become completely situational, and relative to the circumstance. This is largely what I believe brought Nietzsche to insanity. He realized that there is no meaning, no standard. I could relate.

2:00 a.m. was bad. I would wake up in that fuzzy-headed pseudo-clarity that tends to horrify the human thinker at that ungodly hour. I would try to sleep, but the uncertainty of it all, and (although it seems so blase' to say) the meaninglessness. There was no meaning to any of it. Regardless of what I did, I was going to die, anyway. My kids would die. My family would die. I was beginning to really fear death and loss. It robbed my life of joy, because every moment of laughter began to remind me that tears would not be far behind.

My wife and I began to constantly bicker. We would fight over silly, stupid squabbles on par with the dreaded toilet seat argument that newlyweds think they will never suffer through, and then find themselves in the middle of. These were puzzling, ridiculous affairs, but they were nevertheless, a very real force in our marriage. For the first time since I gave my vows, I began to seriously ponder what might happen if our marriage was just allowed to fall into disrepair. It was a dangerous, slippery slope.

As this happened, I began writing, again. The focus was movie scripts, and they were dark, damaged things, full of despair and depravity. I wanted then to be depraved. I wanted to shock, to lash out, to get noticed. I knew that if I really pushed the envelope, then my chances would improve. Besides, my heart was in that dark place. Writing the violence helped me cope with my anger.

PART 62

I couldn't help it, and I am not proud. I finally broke down, in front of them. I remember them looking satisfied. I knew that they felt that they had finally gotten through to me. I just wanted out of there. I mumbled something about how it was hard to have people who I respected call me immature.

I knew that now all was over. In some ways, it was a relief. I could stop pretending to be something that I was not, in order to try to gain some political favor. I had found myself doing something that I promised myself I would never again do, after Tennessee; selling out my ministry. I was sacrificing the truth that I really believed, in order to try to fit in with the status quo doctrine. But with those words that Justin spoke, all of that was now gone.

We ended the meeting with them praying for me, and me telling them that I was not going to give up. But those words ended up being a lie. They didn't know it, but they had just crucified my spirituality, driving in the last nail.

I left that meeting dead, spiritually deceased. I left that meeting, and walked out into a church building full of decomposing hypocrites, dressed in their Sunday best, and was disgusted. I had had enough of this bull crap. I was done. If this was how God protected me, then forget Him. I had tried my best, and where was He. He was nowhere. He let all those Japanese people go to hell. He didn't protect those of us who seemed to really care. He just let everything go downhill. In my mind, I could just no longer believe.

That's what happened. I entered that building, stubbornly hanging on to a fragile faith. I left with nothing.

PART 61

When I walked into that office, there were three elders already present. Brian, Sonny, and Justin were seated around a round table. There was a box of Kleenex, conspicuously sitting in the middle of the table. I walked into the room, and Sonny motioned for me to take a seat. I obliged. I looked around at the three men, and were glad that these were the guys who were in there. I respected them, and felt like we had a good relationship.

After the initial pleasantries, Sonny looked at me and said, "Derin, I am very disappointed in the way you have handled this thing."

I was floored. Didn't they understand that I was the victim here? This was not how this whole thing was supposed to go. They were supposed to congratulate me on the fact that I did not go around and rumor-monger. I dealt with my confrontation in a Biblical way, one on one. I was not trying to defame, but trying to really deal with the situation.

I tried to defend my position, but the men wouldn't hear of it. They did not want to hear my side of it. As far as they were concerned, they had all the facts. They had read my letter to the mission leadership team, and had thought that I had lashed out. I was being ridiculous. Although they didn't quite say it, I was sure that they felt that there was no way that my point of view was the right one. After all, it seemed as though everyone who had been a part of the mission trip was saying that I was the problem. Where there is smoke, there is fire. I mean really, think about it. If everyone has a problem with one person, is it everyone else's fault, or the one's. I knew their rational. I understood. Only this time, I really felt like I had done my best.

I tried to explain some of the things that had happened on the trip. They were not interested. They just wanted me to apologize, and explain how I was going to fix it. At this point, I got really irritated. I had to make them see. I still thought that I could reason with them, and maybe they would understand. I told them that this whole thing reminded me of the alcohol situation. I was being judged before I even had a chance to defend myself. They were taking the words of others, and not letting me even speak.

Justin looked at me. He said, (and I'll never forget these words) "This whole thing is just like the alcohol situation. It is a matter of maturity. You were immature then, and you are immature now."

I was absolutely stunned. It was like I had just received a hard right hook from Mike Tyson. I realized that there was no more reasoning. Their minds were made up. Every fear that I had ever dwelt on was coming true, right now. I had just lost everything that I had fought so hard for.

When I walked into the room, I had seen that box of Kleenex, and known that they wouldn't be necessary for me. Suddenly, they was very necessary. The events of the last few weeks had finally caught up with me and finally began to overflow.

I wept.

PART 60

Over the next week or so, I handled things as best as I could. We went to the evening congregational presentation of our trip. We dressed in Japanese clothing, and supported Ryan and Tristan 100%. We were determined not to let this destroy us, at this church.

Nothing more was said about any of my letters, and I was content to just let the whole thing drop. I figured that it was all over. One Saturday night, my telephone rang. It was one of the elders, Sonny. He asked me if I could meet with some of them the next day, during class. I thought that was a great idea.

On the antiseptic indifference of the computer screen, one thing that I have not really been able to convey, is the state of my nerves. I think that I might have mentioned, before, my Pavlovian conditioning when it comes to people telling me that they want to talk to me. I have been in so many instances where someone would tell me that we needed to talk, and then it ended up with me being in some kind of trouble, that the moment I hear the words, "we need to talk," my hands go clammy, and my stomach drops. It is automatic.

Over the course of the two or so weeks since Ryan and I had gone to lunch, my stomach had been in a constant state of distress. I felt like tiny little animals had been sown into my abdomen, and were now gnawing their way out. I wasn't sleeping well, I had no appetite, and my hands were shaky. In other words, I was a complete and total wreck.

The culmination of all of this was my meeting with the elders. Let's just say that I really caked on the deodorant, that morning. By the time we got to the church building, I really thought that I might vomit. Even writing this, now, puts me in a cold shake.

Why? I don't really know. I have some guesses. I know that throughout my collegiate spiritual slide, I have really fought with the idea of worthiness. I have felt like I have turned my back on my religion one too many times to properly come back. When we moved to Kansas I was convinced that this was my shot, my chance to come back. If I moved here and got active in my church and became a respected member of my community, then there was a chance for me to be normal, to finally fit in. I have always been a bit of an outcast. I have only ever felt as if I really belonged, a few times in my life. I have never felt like I belonged with the "orthodox". It has always been the outsiders. I thought that, perhaps, this was the time. This was the moment, where I became "mainstream" and not "alternative".

Now, all that was in danger. They were all about to find out that I was an impostor. They were all about to find out just how much of a weirdo I was, just how immature, just how deviant. I saw my carefully constructed house of cards about to blow away. It was completely devastating.

Yet, at the same time, I went into that meeting feeling vindicated. I had stood up for what was right. My family was in my corner, and they had read my letters, and had approved the way I was handling myself. Sam and Ryan had both apologized to me, and we had made amends with each other. From my point of view, I had taken the moral high road, and confronted the mission leadership team on some really disturbing issues - not the least of which was the way they handled people and their feelings. At this point, I practically expected the elders to bring me in, and congratulate me on the way that I had handled myself.

PART 59

Sam and I sat down at a small, uncomfortable table that seemed to be made for four-year-olds. It is funny how hard it is to recall the exact circumstances of emotionally charged situations. Maybe it is because of the slow, dreamlike quality that adrenaline paints the experience in. Maybe it is just because we record the overall conclusion of the situation. In any event, a word for word recollection is not gonna happen, here. Any attempt to do so would be fictionalized.

What I do remember is her apologizing to me. I explained to her how I wished she had come to me, and that the problems could have been handled, easily, if I had known of them. I apologized for being unapproachable.

At the end of our conversation, we made sure to tell each other that we didn't want something like this to destroy our friendship. We vowed not to let that happen.

At the moment, I was relieved. I had been through an awful lot, that week, and I was just ready for the whole thing to go away. I wanted to try to handle this in the most Christian way that I could, determined not to let it destroy what little faith remained.

We shook hands, and hugged, and then I left.

As I walked out the door, I looked at Mandy, and said, "Well, I feel better."

She turned back. "I'm glad for you, but she didn't apologize to me."

PART 58

There was a lot of fall out, over the situation, at our church. I had felt that the missions team had not treated me, fairly. I wrote them a letter, expressing my displeasure over how I perceived I had bee violated. I told them that I didn't think it was handled in a Biblical way and this was an alarming trend that I saw in this church. Had they read what the New Testament says about conflict? Why would they even listen to someone who has something negative to say? The very first sentence from their mouths should have been to ask if Buffalo or Sam and Ryan had come talk to me.

This made Ryan feel like I was throwing his apology back into his face, and not forgiving him. So, I met with Ryan, face to face. I explained to him that the letter was not about him. We were cool, as far as I was concerned. The letter was about my character getting assaulted, and their aiding and abetting. I was frustrated that the "leaders" of mission did not know the Bible well enough to understand how to properly deal with conflict. This whole thing was so stupid. We knew there would be conflict on the trip. We had planned for it. Now, instead of just letting it go, it was becoming the focus of the trip. Who was winning here, anyway?

Ryan and I worked it out. We talked for a while, and then prayed together. I knew that I immediately had to deal with Sam. We had to get this taken care of. It was a Wednesday night, and class was just getting out. I knew where Sam taught. I took the long walk down the hallway, to Sam's classroom. She was just letting her kids out.

After the last kid left, she invited me in. I had spent hours, planning what I would say to her, in this moment. I had my script ready. But her first words left me speechless. I was ready for anything, except, "I've been a horrible friend."

I just wanted to put something in here to break up the serious nature of the below posts. oh, btw, this is a japanese toilet

PART 57

The letter was brutal, and to the point. Basically, the letter stated a bunch of misconceptions and half truths mixed with conjecture. The gist of it was that I was selfish and was only there to sight see. Mandy and I were horrible parents, and our children lacked discipline and were distractingly misbehaving the entire trip. According to Mrs. Buffalo, I almost derailed the entire mission. We were hardly ever with the group, choosing to tour around with the Mori family, and trying to recreate our past trip. We even left early, on the last Sunday, which showed that we didn't care about the mission. We just wanted to have fun.

I was in absolute shock. I had known that we didn't "click", but I had no idea of the malice that she held for me and my family. She felt strongly enough to send this in to LST, and try to tarnish my reputation with them, not to mention the damage that was being done at my church.

It was right then that I decided to quit. I had had enough. I was sick of the gossip. I was sick of the hypocrisy. I was so tired of people who claimed God and love, and then eviscerated you from behind. There was no attempt at understanding. There was no attempt at dealing with the problem, on the trip, Biblically. There was just a smear campaign that was taking place once we were back, and nothing could be done. How was this supposed to help any one of us? What was the purpose, other than to punish me for some perceived wrong? No one had approached me about this. I had no idea the problems ran as deep as they did. This was the whole alcohol stuff, all over again.

I thought about my response for several hours, and then sat down, and wrote a letter directly to Buffalo. After all, I was going to handle her the way I should have been handled. I told her much of what I have written above. I asked her why she let Satan attack all the good, and why her focus was so on the negative. I asked her why I was not approached on the trip, if I was so distracting. I asked her how the Bible tells us to handle conflict, and why she felt that she didn't have to follow those directives. I told her that I was praying for us all to be positive, and recognize the good that God had done. Personality conflicts could not be helped, but what we chose to do with them, could.

Satisfied that I had done all that I could, and had handled myself with integrity, I sent the email. Regardless of her response, I had made my peace with it.

Now, I just had to make peace with Sam.

PART 56

The next day, as I was driving home from Wal-mart, I got a call from Rex (the head of the mission's team, and Jeanie's husband), on my cell phone. He informed me, that indeed, he had spoken with the elders, and I would not be presenting. Ryan felt he was more than capable. I asked him why we couldn't both present. I felt that I had a lot to offer, especially about my children. He told me that from the reports that he had received, he didn't feel that the children were really a success on the trip.

I was so angry, I had to pull over the car. I was literally shaking. Why did this happen, every time? I had the best intentions. I wanted to do what was right. Why did I always end up in some kind of stupid mess, every time I tried to do any kind of ministry? I was also furious with Ryan and Sam. How could they do this to me? If there was such a problem with me on the trip, then how come nobody had approached me about it? I decided that I couldn't be a hypocrite. I picked up the phone, and called Ryan.

I can not remember much of what Ryan and I said to each other. What I can remember was that I let him have it, at the beginning. I told him how he had sabotaged me, and I thought we were friends. Ryan assured me that he only had my best interests at heart. He cared about me, and was worried about my spirituality. I explained more about what I was facing on the trip. It cleared up a lot of things for him. He assured me that he did not mean to hurt me. Sam, on the other hand, was angry. She had decided to come back, and give a negative report. She didn't like how we had treated her accounting, and felt we had made her look bad to LST. Her and Mrs. Buffalo had been talking about me, behind my back, the whole second part of the trip. Ryan did assure me that he and Sam had tried to keep it positive, and that their report was not soley focused on slamming me.

I asked him about the letter that Mrs. Buffalo had written. He said that he would send me a copy of it. In the end, he tearfully apologized for hurting me. He was sincere, and I knew it. I couldn't hold anything against him. He was my friend, my brother. He offered to let me speak at the report, and to tell Rex that he had been wrong. I told him that I would appreciate him clearing things up, but I wanted him to speak. I just wished that I could at least give a prayer.
When we finally hung up, I felt much better about him. But I was much angrier with Sam. From Ryan's side of things, it sounded like Sam had come back to "get me" because I had not met her expectations on the trip. That burned me, like none other. We had both known, before we left, that we might have problems with one another, but I had let it roll off my back. She had held a grudge. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

I went to my computer and pulled up my email. Ryan had sent the letter, just as he said that he would. I pulled it up, and my blood began to boil.

PART 55

We held firm to our commitment to only dwell on the positives. We got our first opportunity when we arrived at the airport, and met my family. It was not as hard as I thought it would be. We just proceeded to tell them about all the great things that we saw, and did. We told them about the people we had met, and the ways we felt we saw God work. We also told them about the Mori family, and how Sugao-san was going to try to reach them.

And we continued in that same vein. Everywhere we went, we tried to tell everyone about all the wonderful things that had taken place. We showed pictures, gave a few souvenirs, and shared our left-over Japanese snacks (of which I had purchased quite a few. as a matter of fact, I believe I still have some left over). The mission team wanted to meet with us, one at a time. We were the last. Tristan and Leslie met first, telling them about China. Then, Sam and Ryan met with them. Finally, we were called in to meet.


Before we had left, we had discussed congregational reporting. Mandy and I had gone with our boys, for the express purpose of showing our congregation that anyone could do this. It was possible to do mission work, even with little ones. We wanted to open the eyes of our fellow Christians, and help them to see that it was possible to do greater things for the Kingdom, then what they previously thought was possible. Therefore, we had all agreed that I would present to the congregation about Japan. It was not that I was a better speaker than Ryan. In fact, I wanted Ryan and I to both get up there, but Ryan really had not felt comfortable in doing so, before we left.

Ryan and I met for lunch, one day, right before our trip report. He let slip that they were worried about me, and my spirituality. I told him that the trip had been a very good experience, and I felt it had really brought me closer to God. He told me that the mission leadership team had asked him to present to the congregation. I was a little puzzled by all of this, but decided to go to the meeting with an open mind.

I went in to the mission team, with a more elaborate version of the trip report that I planned on giving to the congregation. My goal was to tell them about some of my initial trials, and some of the Satanic attacks that I felt I had witnessed, and then to tell them the way that God had overcome them all. I was going to be positive, and not mention any conflict. They let me present. Mandy and I sat there, and answered questions for over an hour. As the hour wore on, however, I found their questions to be more and more probing. They started asking us about our children's behavior, and our focus. What the heck was going on?

Finally, after an hour and a half, they came clean. Evidently, they had received bad reports about us. The Buffalo woman had written a letter about us, and sent it in to LST. Sam and Ryan had given them that letter, and when asked if they felt similarly, Sam said that she did.

Of course, they wouldn't let me read the letter. It was the classic, "we have a report about you, but you can not know the full details of what they complained about" type of deal. Which, of course, made it absolutely impossible for me to do anything about. I could not very well just go up to Sam and say, "Hey, can we talk about whatever I did, to make you angry."

The head of the mission team told me how disappointed he was in us, and that I would not be presenting. I asked him if I even got to speak in my defense, and he shot me down. The funny thing is, they already had their minds made up about me before I even walked in to report. I had wasted an hour and a half trying to put a positive report out there, when the whole time they were thinking about how I screwed up the trip.

The Happy Family in Japan

PART 54

When we got to the hotel, I knew something was wrong. We had arrived at O'Hare, but we were flying out of Midway. The hotel was too close to O'Hare. I walked up to the front desk, and inquired about shuttle service. There was none.

To make a long story short, we had to rent a stretch limo bus, to get us to the airport. We checked into our rooms for about five hours of sleep, before the bus would come. When we got to the room, we began to check our bags, to make sure that we had all of our receipts to turn in to Sam. It was at this point, that we realized that we had left all of our final receipts at the Mori house. We had thought this to be the case, at the bus stop, earlier in the day, but we had not had a chance to check, then. Now we knew, for sure. We called them, and sure enough, they were there, sitting on their coffee table. I didn't care. I had enough drama for one day. I hit my pillow, and was out.

We arrived at Dallas, without incident. My nerves were frazzled, though. I didn't want to see Buffalo, or Sam and Ryan. I didn't want to see Clay or the end meeting. I just wanted to get back home. I was exhausted, and knew that I would be seeing patients, the next day.

I am glad that I went to the end meeting. It was really a wonderful experience. They talked to us about properly interpreting the events of the trip. They put everything into perspective. They also showed us how to explore the positives of the trip. By the time that they were finished, I was really able to put all my negative emotions behind me. I knew that when I went home, I could focus on negatives, or really accentuate the positives. Mandy and I decided, right there, together, that we would only focus on the positives. The rest was just personality, and we couldn't do anything about that.

We prayed, and I felt the fatigue, and burdens of the trip lift. I was able to talk to some of the other missionaries about all the attacks I had been under, be it Sarah, or re-coming to terms with the fear of the Japanese all going to hell, and what it might mean to my religion, and the Mori family no longer practicing; all of it. I felt beat up, but when I left, I felt healed.

I even had a chance to talk with the Buffalo family, and tell them that I was sorry that I had been distant, and hadn't developed a closer relationship with them. I kind of explained a little bit about what I was going through to Mr. Buffalo. We also explained what happened to our receipts. I did my best to recount as much of our expenditure as possible. If there were any monies that were unaccounted for, I told Sam that I would pay for them out of my own pocket.

In short, when we left, I felt really good. I had handled the conflict, and I felt that I had made things right with anyone who had anything against me. Hopefully, they understood where I was coming from, and if I had been a little surly on the trip, (especially when we got back to Chicago) (did I mention that I don't really handle a lack of sleep that well?) they could see why.

We arrived back home on August 8. I was never more happy to be back, although I would have turned around, and went back to Japan, in an instant, if it had just been with my family. I felt a lot closer to Mandy and the boys. This had been a real blessing to us all. I was also very eager to share all the good works with everyone that I saw. Although the Mori family had not reconfirmed their commitment to Christ, Sugao had promised that he would keep after them. We had really reached a lot of people, and this mission had been a huge success, in spite of a few conflicts. But hey, we knew that they would come up. We had trained for them.

PART 53

There is so much more that I would like to say about Japan. Heck, there is so much more that I would like to say about Australia, New Zealand, China, Hong Kong, Hawaii, and anywhere else that we have gone. Maybe one of my next projects will be to start a travel blog. I have a lot more pics. But this is taking us off topic. The real reason we are here, is to chart my emotional/spiritual development, by examining events that have played key roles. Obviously, I can not enter everything. Besides, we are now on Part 53, and this is already approaching novella length. So, we are going to leave Japan.

I have to admit that last half of the last week of our two week excursion was painful. I really felt estranged from the Buffalo couple, and Sam. I was not feeling well, and our return trip was ridiculously painful. First of all, they gave us seats that were right up against the wall with the movie screen. These seats were obviously created for Japanese men, who are significantly smaller than Americans. I was crammed into my seat, with my knees touching the wall, for twelve hours. It was utterly miserable. My siblings and I all have a little touch of neuritis. Mine happens to be claustrophobia. I need to feel as though I can stretch. I couldn't even sleep. It was torture for me.

Then, when we arrived in Chicago, we were supposed to make a connection to Dallas. There was an end meeting, the next day. They wanted us all together, for our debriefing. When we arrived at Dallas, we would be put into a hotel room so that we could sleep, and rest. I was really tired, and looking forward to this. Unfortunately, the idiots who run American Airlines screwed us over. First, we arrived at the gate a whole two hours early. I went up to the counter, to make sure that my family could get tickets, together. I had told the rest of the group I was going to do this, as I wanted to make sure that the four year old, and the two year old would not be separated from us. The lady behind the counter was incredibly rude to me, and told me that I would just have to wait. They were not ready to deal with our flight, yet. Besides, our flight was to capacity, and she probably couldn't help me, anyway. I needed to just sit down.

I was a little surprised by her tone. She must have been really stressed. I walked back to our group, and told them what had happened. Low and behold, if the Buffalo woman didn't run up there, and speak to another one of the employees. She came back, and told us that her family had just all been given seats together. It didn't matter that I already told her that the flight was so full that we might not get to sit together. It also didn't matter that her kids were three times my kids ages. It made me really frustrated. I needed to be with my kids. But I was kind of used to this attitude, from her.

The next thing that I know, they were announcing that our flight had been cancelled, due to increment weather. Immediately, I ran over to a phone, and called the reservation desk. I had to deal with rude employees for over forty-five minutes, before I got us rescheduled on another flight. It seems as though our luggage could get out that very night, but we couldn't fly out until the next morning. I had called Clay, in Dallas, and he had told me that there had been a small thunderstorm, but it had passed. I quickly realized that due to the other plane's delay, they had cancelled our flight, and blamed it on weather patterns in Dallas. Clay insisted that we fly in, that night. I insisted that we fly in that night. The best we could do, was fly into Dallas at 6:00 a.m., the next morning. I told the lady on the phone that this would have to work, I guess, but we wanted our luggage. She assured me that if I went to the front counter, that would be fine.

We went to the front counter. Meanwhile, the Buffalo wife was on her cell, trying to arrange accommodations for the night. After another fiasco (which space does not permit me to get into, here), American Airlines assured me that they would pull our luggage. We were sent to one of the luggage carousels, and told to wait. It could take up to two hours. By this time, I had been awake for over twenty three hours. I was hot, tired, and grumpy. I made sure to confirm the situation three times before I went ahead and walked over to the baggage claim.

Two hours later, our luggage still was not there. I had gone over to the baggage desk, and checked three time, and every time they had assured me that it was on its way. Finally, a new girl came on shift. Since it had been two hours, I walked over to her, and asked her to check. She typed on her computer keyboard, looked up at me, and said, "I'm sorry, sir, those bags were sent to Dallas/Fort Worth a couple of hours ago."

"What?" I asked. "No, no, no, there has to be some kind of mistake, here."

"I'm sorry, but the bags were indeed shipped. You may pick them up at the Dallas terminal, upon arrival, tomorrow."

I was livid. This was flippin' ridiculous. I had spent all this time cramped up. I had dealt with rude employees. I had no sleep. I had dealt with rude team members, and now it was getting late. Instead of catching up on my sleep, I was sitting here, waiting for bags that these idiots knew had been sent two hours ago! I knew that we had to get up at around three a.m. to make it to our flight, and it was already almost eight. I told everyone about our situation. I was really griping. It made me mad, and I don't do so well on little sleep. I told Mandy that if I was sick, tomorrow, I would not be going to the end meeting. Some of them overheard me, and were ticked off. Oh, well, I thought. I don't much like them, right now, anyway.

PART 52

Our last day of LST work was spent doing a VBS for local children. It was a wonderful event. The kids seemed to really have a blast, and there is something really special about hearing twenty or so Japanese children singing well-known hymns in their native language. We made power bead bracelets, washed each other's feet, and had the Japanese equivalent of VBS snacks

It was a great time. Soon, we were ready to leave. I had really been looking forward to the Tokyo part of our trip. It would be an opportunity for my family to have some time, alone. We could escape the others, and go learn as much as we could. Not only that, but we were going to Tokyo Disney, which I was really excited about.

I had bought tickets for Sam and Ryan, and us to travel on the train. I had also reserved a hotel. We had planned on spending at least one day with them, but I needed to be away for a while. We decided to spend both days alone, and just meet them back in Hitachi.

Those days were heavenly. I could put my inner-turmoil behind me for a little while, and just concentrate on enjoying myself. We went and toured Tokyo DisneySea, which is an incredibly detailed park. We also went to Tokyo Disneyland.

In addition to all of this Disney stuff, (and let me assure you that we didn't wasted Japan, DisneySea is an extremely unique park, and you can not experience it anywhere else in the world), we also toured through Tokyo, going to the Ginza, Mitzukoshi, Meiji Shrine, and several other places. We finished the weekend with a dinner at T.G.I. Friday's. It was Jason's birthday, and we ate fajitas and had the waiters sing a Japanese birthday song. The only downfall of the entire weekend was that the dessert had sparklers on it. During the fourth of July, last year, Jason was badly burned by a sparkler. The memory of the pain was still very fresh, and this was his reaction to his dessert:

For those of you who know Jason, you know that as soon as he realized that it was chocolate, he quickly overcame his fear. We got rid of the sparklers, and he gobbled that dessert, barely sharing a bite with any of us.

The weekend was over way too fast. I really was sad to get back on the train to Hitachi. It had been so refreshing, so enjoyable. My family had never gotten along, better. We felt recharged, and ready to finish this thing out.

The last Sunday, the church was having a potluck. I talked with Judith and Sagao, the missionary, and minister (respectively) of the church.

I informed them that the Mori family had requested one last day with us, as we were leaving early the next morning. I felt that this was an important request. I had one more chance for the Moris to see Christ in us.

We talked them into coming to church with us, on that last Sunday. It was good to see both of the Moris there. After church, we left the group, to spend out time with them. As we said goodbye to the church, the minister, Sugao, came up to me. We had had many good conversations, and I felt as if he and I had grown close. We had spoken of ministry, and evangelism in Japan. We had talked about Biblical truth, and what it took for him to be converted. I was amazed by this man. He was truly a special person, and a good friend. As we said our goodbyes, he presented us with gifts.

The last day with the Mori family was truly special. We ate at a sushi restaurant. We went to the beach. We went to a Japanese thrift store. That night, Mrs. Mori cooked for us. I wasn't ready to leave Japan, but I was ready to leave our team behind. My emotional spirituality was lower, than when we had left, but I had stayed firmly on the path. I had not let it influence my work. After all, I knew it was not about how I felt at any given time, but how firmly I held to what I valued.

HEY!

What do you think of the new digs? Let me know.

Mona (one of my readers) and I

PART 51

When we were not with the group, we were with the Mori family. I felt that it was as much my duty to minister to them, as it was to minister to my readers. After all, for us, this was a follow up mission to the one eight years before.

We talked with the Mori family about many things. Every second I was with them was spent trying to reinforce the Christian message that we had originally imparted. I felt that this was imperative. I know that it sounds silly, but in my mind, it was almost wrapped up in my own redemption. These people had come to know a little bit about God, and we had been the vessel. It was up to us to try and continue the work with them.

They were not happy about all of the constraints on our time. They had wanted to spend more time with us, and we were always kept busy. We tried to explain about the importance of our work, but they just insisted on spending every free moment with us. Not that we minded. I wanted to help them.

One of the things that they wanted to talk about was the nuclear accident. They took us to a museum that was dedicated to the event. It was a moving moment. We were able to see the actual reactor that had malfunctioned. I will never forget the chills that radiated from the place.

PART 50

We were really able to make some headway at the camp. I got to preach, which was an incredible honor. I spoke about how there was no gai-koko-jin in Christianity (a sort of adapted version of my original chapel speech). Mandy really connected with several women, who would become her readers, later in the week. The Japanese really responded well to us, and I felt that old comfortable feeling that I always seem to have when I am around them.

With the Americans, however, I just didn't bond that well. I think it was because when we were alone, the missionary Derin was off. I was distant, and absorbed into thought. Early on, Ryan had told the one of the American missionaries, and the father of the Buffalo family that I was really good with puns. Anyone who knows me, knows that my humor (if it can be called that) is sickly "dad" humor. I string puns together, and come up with what is truly the lowest form of humor. The male missionary (Mike) really enjoyed this type of humor, and tried to bond with me. But I just couldn't joke around. Every joke that I tried, failed, miserably.

I ended up being truly unable to relate with any of them, even Ryan. As we returned to Hitachi to begin reading with the Japanese, I just found myself pulling further away.

The female component of the Buffalo team and I did not get along. She was pushy, obnoxious, and rude. She tried to tell my wife and I how to parent our children, and I began to really dislike her. The more I was around her, the more annoyed I got. She had her own way of seeing things, and if it did not fit into her tiny worldview, then it was dumb. I tried to get along, but soon found myself avoiding her, at all costs. This further alienated me from the group. They all began to bond, and Mandy and I felt like we became more and more distant from them.

Soon, Sam was also becoming angry with us. Most of this had to do with book-keeping. She was the group accountant. I am not a very organized person, and Sam had this whole spreadsheet thing with the finances. I would have preferred to have completed all the financial stuff at the end of the trip, but she wanted us to turn in receipts at the end of each day. As you can probably guess, that did not happen. She became increasingly irritated with Mandy and I, both, snapping at us.

Although both of these interactions were frustrating, I just let them roll off. I knew they were personality problems. Our personalities just did not click. That was OK. It wasn't even something that needed to be addressed. It was just a difference of lifestyle. I don't have to love everyone's personality to get the job accomplished. I just stayed away from them, unless we needed to interact. When that occurred, I was civil and as polite as possible. In my mind, they weren't bad people, they were just different.

As the readings began, I was kind of shortchanged. Since I had been with the kids, at camp, I had not bonded with the adult readers the same way that the other team members had. This meant that I only had a few readers, while the others had many. Instead, I spent most of the time upstairs, babysitting the kids. That was fine, for a while. But I soon came down with a nasty case of cabin fever. I knew that we would be going to Tokyo at the end of the week for a little r&r, so I held to that with all of my might.

How did Lucas and Jason deal with all of this? They dealt as good as any four-year-old and one-year-old would. They were good kids. They took it in stride, and aside from a few meltdowns, they were quite wonderful.

When I did meet with my readers, it was wonderful. Reading was definitely not my favorite part of the trip. I loved the camp. That kind of stuff is what I am made for. The reading was difficult, and redundant. Nevertheless, I was really able to help my readers. I got them so involved in what we were doing, that I was able to give four Bibles away to my readers (something which wasn't necc. a common occurrence). I also interested on lady so much that she went to the local library and checked out a book of religions. At the end of the mission, they all came, and presented gifts to me. I was thrilled and touched. I just prayed that something that I had said had made some kind of difference.

We left for Tokyo, feeling as though we had persevered. It had not been without challenge, but we had seen God do some good works. I was feeling a little better about not having all the answers, and was proud of how I had done with these readers.

PART 49

The first part of the trip went pretty well, all things considered. I was able to keep it together. We went to a local dairy farm (which is a rarity in Japan), and held our FriendsCamp. The camp was a huge success, and we were really able to reach out to the people, there. I was glad that I got a chance to teach the children while the adults met in small groups, but it really hindered my ability to get to know the Japanese adults very well. That was OK. I was the emcee of the camp, and everyone knew me.

The rooms were awesome. They were traditional, kind of like a Japanese Ryokan Inn.

We took walks to see the scenery,

slid down the huge roller slide,

had an American campfire, complete with S'mores,

Ate teppanyaki,

And did Karaoke.

All the while, we taught about the Gospel, and enabled local Christians to form relationships with non-Christian readers. Oh, and did I mention the ice cream? It was soooo good.

The Mori Family Meets My Boys

PART 48

Sarah Mitchel was the first girl that I ever met at York College. Though there was never anything romantic between us, I had always felt a strong bond of friendship with her. Our paths would cross over the years. The last time I saw her was when we were in Japan. She had been doing mission work there, and we had gone out to a local restaurant with her.

Now, I was leaving for missions work, and what were the odds . . .?

"Sarah!" I said. "How the heck are you?"

"I'm great," she answered. "What are you up to?"

I told her that I was going to Japan, on a missions trip. She got a funny look on her face. I asked her what was the matter. After a little bit of discussion, she informed me that she was now an atheist. Not only that, but Joe, my old drummer, was living in Tokyo. He, too, was an atheist. I was floored. The last time I had seen either of them, they had been Christians. Sarah was freakin' missionary, for crying out loud. Now, they no longer had faith. How could this happen?

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Somewhere, my mind was trying to tell me how convenient an attack this had been. Satan must be laughing. The other part of my mind, however, the stronger part, was opening every old question that I had ever asked. It was a meltdown. I now knew that the only reason I believed was because of where I was raised. If I had been raised in Japan, I would never have been a Christian. Those American Christians who escaped the narrow confines of their silly culture could open their eyes enough to see how limited their grasp of reality really was. There was a whole world out there, and only my arrogance and fear had kept me shackled to the way I was raised. There was no way that I was going to reach any of these Japanese people.

But what about the Mori family? When we had last left Japan, they had been calling themselves Christians. Now, it had been arranged that we would stay at their house, once again. Surely, seeing the impact that we had made in their lives would show me that it could, indeed, be accomplished.

By the time we had landed, I was not in the best shape. When we got to the Mori house, I was in terrible shape. It seems as though, not long after we left, they stopped going to church. In fact, they had a new family alter, in honor of Mori-san's mother. They no longer were calling themselves: Christian.

I tried, guys. I really did. I forced every little tiny ounce of faith out of me. Regardless of what I was feeling, I was not going to let this effect my mission. When I was with the Japanese, I was there, 100%. I gave it my all, and did my best to convey Christ to all of them. But when it was the Americans, I was distant. I couldn't laugh or even talk with them. I just pulled away. I guess it was one of the classic symptoms of depression. I just felt like I was so mixed up, I didn't know which way was the surface.

PART 47

The rest of the time up until the trip went very well. Sam, Ryan, Mandy, and I all worked together, recognizing our strengths and weaknesses. We spoke of conflict on the trip, and ironed out ways of dealing with our conflicts. We contacted the other family (from now on referred to as Buffalo) that would be going with us, via the telephone, and begun to work on getting to know one another. We prayed together, and eagerly anticipated the adventure.

I continued praying, and my emotion-based faith continued to grow. During this time, I just tried to trust God. I knew that most of my questions would never be answered, so I figured that maybe if I just had enough faith, it would take care of all the loose ends.

Finally, the time came for us to load up on the big ol' jet airliner. We flew down to Dallas, Texas, on the last week of July. Clay met us there, and took us to a local hotel. Once there, we met the Buffalo family, face to face. It was great. They were traveling with their two children (a boy and a girl). I was excited to have more children on the trip, than just ours. It looked as though their boy, and Lucas would get along really well, despite age differences.

Once again, during the training, we pointed out strengths and weaknesses. We discussed conflict on the trip, and what to do. The key was open communication. Let the small stuff slide, and if it couldn't slide, talk it out. We left the training feeling strong and ready.

From Dallas, we traveled to Chicago. From there, we would catch a direct flight to Tokyo, via JAL. Mandy and I wheeled our double stroller through the airport. Our two boys were comfortably nestled within, along with half of our worldly possessions. We made our way toward the International Departures. When we got there, there was a long line. We waited, ready to get through the gate, anticipation growing, having fun trying to guess where each person was traveling to, or from.

But when we reached the front of the line, security took a look at our tickets, and told us that there was a problem. Evidently, they hadn't been finalized. We would have to go all the way back to the front ticket counter to get the problem solved. Where we once had a nice cushion, now we would cut it close on time. To say I was irritated, would be an understatement. Nevertheless, we went back. I walked up to the ticket counter, muttering under my breath. Before I could hand her my tickets or my passport, the girl at the counter turned and faced me.
"Derin," she said.

PART 46

If Satan was attacking, then he must have felt victorious. Although I had dealt with the problem, the damage had been done. I began to feel anger, and resentment. It reminded me of Star Wars. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hatred. Hatred leads to the DARK SIDE. This latest attack by the "people of God" really was a terrible blow to my faith. The old questions came back, stronger than ever. I became incredibly splintered, almost manic-spiritually-depressive. One hour, I would have faith that God was real, and I was his servant. The next hour, I was convinced that it was all a lie. It was horribly confusing, being an atheist for part of the day, and a Christian for the rest.

Convinced that this trip must be of great Spiritual significance, because of the intensity of attacks, I confided in the LST training group, eager for their prayers and understanding. I also began to pray with Tim, and another friend, Larry. Larry was the minister intern for our church. He and his wife had become pretty good friends of Mandy and I.

Tristan and Ryan didn't understand the severity of my confusion, and I was careful around them. I didn't want to get bit again. Besides, I considered my questions as "well-thought-out, perplexing questions". I didn't want my friends to struggle over the same things that I was struggling with. I had talked with hundreds of people about the things which plagued me, but no one could give me more than a cursory answer. There were the classic pat answers, and they would not suffice.

When I had these discussions, they would undoubtedly go one of three ways:

The first group would look at me, and sadly shake their heads. The would tell me that Satan had gotten to me, and didn't I know that I shouldn't ask questions like that. I was hard-headed, and needed to just accept everything by faith. Just believe, they would tell me, as if it were a simple choice. As if I had chosen to spend restless nights, struggling with God's existence. Yep, this was a fun little picnic for me.

The second group would listen. Then they would start to agree with me. They would start to tell me that these were pretty good questions. If I saw this, I would immediately back off. I would give some kind of "pat" answer to put them at ease. After all, this was, quite literally, hell, and I didn't want anyone else going through it.

The third group would give me the same "pat" answers that I used to put group 2 at ease. I knew these answers like I know my wife's face. I had explored them, examined them, and put them in harsh light. I knew ever flaw, every crack. I found them extremely lacking.

As you can see, it was an extremely lonely path. I really didn't feel like I could talk to anyone about it. Even if I went to the minister or the elders . . . well, you can see where my trust was with them. I knew that they would try to take the trip away from me, and I needed this trip. I needed to be "used" again. Part of the problem was that even if God existed, I wasn't sure that He'd have me. I had read verses about people falling away. It didn't look good.

So, I prayed. I struggled. I made a faith lasso, and stubbornly held on with every bit of my might. I confessed to those who I could, and worked to have the right answers. Faith had never seemed so important. In a few weeks, I would be going to a foreign country, to do God's work. I needed to be able to translate theology to these people. I needed to show them God. I just wanted to see Him, first.

PART 45

The very next day was Sunday. I immediately found Brian, one of the elders, and asked if I could meet with him. He told me that would be fine. We found an empty classroom, and sat down.

I went into a carefully rehearsed monologue of sorrow and regret. Oh, it was not lies. But I definitely kept some of my opinions to myself. I basically told him that I was terribly sorry for hurting the young couple, in any way (true). I told him that I was not a regular drinker (true). I told him that I had a real heart for missions (true). I told him that after much study, I had determined that alcohol was wrong for me (kinda true. at that time it was destructive, so i made a decision to stay away. but i did not believe that it was wrong. i should have stood up for that. their doctrine is a silly puritan idea, and IS NOT SCRIPTURAL. but i let it slide).

I am proud of myself about one thing. I grilled him about where he had gotten his information. Both the aunt, and the preacher, had told me that it would go no further. I did not appreciate lies. He finally admitted that the preacher had gone to him.

In the end, the elder and I spoke quite civilly. He told me that we were good. The elders were good. There would be no further dealings with this issue. It was buried.

I left there, feeling lighter. So what that I didn't rock the boat? We were going to Japan. All was right with the world. After all, I had to pick my battles. Right?

this is a pretty good image of the state my life was in, last May

PART 44

Over the next few weeks, things calmed down. I talked with the preacher and his wife. I also talked with the couple that were supposed to be our friends. They brushed me off. It didn't matter. I didn't really like them, anyway, and besides, I had done my duty. I was happy to let the whole thing slip into obscurity.

We continued with our LST training. As far as I was concerned, I had dealt with anything that I had been perceived to have done wrong. I had handled it like a true Christian, going to the people that I had problems with, and dealing with them, one on one. I had not gossiped. The preacher had assured me that it would go no further than him and his wife. Nobody else would know about it.

We trained, weekly. We me with Tristan, Leslie, Sam, and Ryan. The training was going well, and we were getting pretty excited to go.

In May, they had a "Go!" weekend with LST. The purpose of this weekend was to give us final preparation for the trip. I was extremely excited to be a part of this. I was dubbed our "team leader", and would have some special training. In addition to this, I had already been to Japan. We were going to be divided up by region, and I felt that I had a lot to add to the conversation.

The weekend was held at the church that I had grown up in. I had not been in that building for ten years, or so. Walking in was like stepping through a curtain of time. The place had not changed. The same smells, the same paint, the same carpet, all of it was the same. I felt as though I was seventeen, again. It was not a good feeling, rather an oppressive nostalgia gripped me with icy fingers. This was the place where I had learned to smoke pot. This was the place where I had first made out with a girl. This was the root of a million neurosis for me. I sure hoped that this weekend would be therapeutic. Maybe coming back with my wife, and my new life, would help to exorcise some of the old demons.

We were half way through the weekend, when Jeanie pulled me aside.
"Can I talk to you, a moment?" she asked.
"Sure," I said, giving Mandy a look. I had learned a long time ago, that anytime someone wants to "talk", then trouble is gonna follow.
We walked outside. It was a beautiful spring day. I remembered so many Sunday and Wednesday nights spent right here, on this same back drive.

"Oh, honey," Jeanie began. "There is something I need to talk to you about. Your trip is in danger. The elders don't want to send you," she said.

"What?" I said. I can honestly say that by this time I had kind of put the whole alcohol thing out of my mind. The preacher had assured me that we had dealt with it, and it would go no further. I scanned my mind, trying to find out what they were worried about. Maybe they knew about my problems with pornography. Maybe they didn't like my movie collection. I couldn't figure it out.

"Someone complained about an alcohol party," she began.

"What?" I asked. "Who?"

"I don't know," she said. "But they are worried about letting you represent the church."

"This is ridiculous," I said.
My heart sank. I was no longer 31. I was 15. I was about to be scolded for being a bad boy. I was so sick of this nonsense. I was a man. I demanded to be treated like one, not like some kind of idiotic little teenager who must be saved from himself. Besides, this was not an issue that the elders should even be able to rule on. LST was an independent organization. If the elders didn't want to financially support me, then fine. But they WOULD. NOT. STOP. ME. I was going to Japan.

Jeanie went on to tell me that they elders had been arguing over this for a long time. I asked her how long she and Rex had known. Her answer was, "a while." I couldn't believe that she had not come to me, any sooner. I told her that I needed to talk to them, at once. She implored me not to tell them that she had told me. I thought that this was a ridiculous request. I was so sick of frickin' politics. What were we on about, anyway? Was this about personal power, or trying to reach the lost? Every Christian authority figure that I had known (with a couple of rare exceptions) had been a two-faced sell-out; trading their convictions of faith for men's silly traditions and hedges around the Law. This was true from that simple-minded Bible professor on up through the full-time ministers and elders. I was so sick of playing this game.

I went back in, and spoke to Mandy. I had a hard time, trying to figure out how to handle this. I wanted to fight how they were treating me, but I was really worried about the trip. What if they wrote to LST, and tried to sabotage me? I couldn't let that happen. In the end, I decided to humbly go to the elders, and try to work this out. In other words, I sold-out, again. What a hypocrite I was becoming. How scared I was, to stand up for what I truly believed. Instead, I rolled over, and submissively lifted my leg.

PART 43

AS AN ASIDE, I AM PURPOSEFULLY BLANKING OUT CERTAIN NAMES. THIS WILL ONLY HAPPEN FOR A SHORT PART OF THE ESSAY, BUT I FEEL THAT IT IS IMPORTANT TO NOT NAME THESE INDIVIDUALS. IT IS FOR MY OWN REASONS.

Let's continue, shall we?


The funny thing about this is that I am not a regular drinker. I have an adult beverage here or there, but it is not like I get home from work, and yell, "Mandy, get me a beer." I just like a nice glass of wine or a Mike's Hard Lemonade now and then. I have never really been that into beer (and you can save those looks for someone who cares. I don't care how foo-foo it looks to order a Mike's when all the other guys are ordering Guinness). I am not a big fan of bitter beverages. Hey, I don't even like coffee all that much.

The whole thing seemed surreal to me, and I wondered (for the umpteenth time) why I always seem to get in hock for the stupid stuff. But beneath the surface, I was thinking, "who the @#%$ does he think that he is? He is sitting here, acting like he owned the church. i can decide, for myself, what doctrine to believe in. he has no right to try and sabotage my witness." I had had enough of this silly attitude in the past. I was sick of the judgemental way these Christians seemed to act, when you disagreed with their pet doctrines.
In any event, I didn't have time to sit there and be belligerent. I wanted to talk to the aunt and find out why she had not thought I was approachable enough to come to with this problem.

I finally hunted her down. She was standing in the back of the church, as far away from me as she could be. When I got to her, I saw two things in her eyes: a deep seated anger, and a hesitation. The anger didn't surprise me, but it did really annoy me. Swallowing as much negative emotion as I could, I walked up to her, and said, "Hey, ___, can I speak with you for a moment?"

We went into one of the side rooms, and I began.
"___," I said. "I am really disappointed in you." I could tell that this caught her way off guard. After all, I was the one in trouble, not her. "I thought that we were closer than this. I can not believe that you went to the preacher before coming to me."

"I didn't know what to do," she said. "Your actions caused my niece to stumble. I needed advice. I look up to ___ (who is the preacher's wife), and I went to her and asked her advice."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "Am I to understand that not only the preacher knows about this, but his wife does as well? Who else did you tell?"

She responded that she had told several other women.

I sighed. "You know, that's not the way the Bible says to do it."

"I needed help. I didn't know what to do."

"That doesn't matter," I said. "The Bible is clear that you should not even know about this. If your niece has a problem with something that I supposedly did, she should have come to me. If you knew about this, and were upset, you should have come to me. You have created quite the mess for me."

"I didn't do anything wrong," she said. "Besides, this is about you. You were wrong. I almost had ____ coming to our church, and you made her stumble."

"Are they going to another church?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. I could see another flash of that anger.

"Then I didn't make her stumble. She is just not going to our church building," I said. "And yes, you did do something wrong."

"I did not, and I will not apologize."

"Well," I said. "I can not control what you will or will not do. Regardless of whether you will clean up the mess you have made for me, I will talk to them. I never meant to hurt them in any way, and you know that."

She looked at me, and said, "They told me that your party was no better than the non-Christian parties that they have been to."

"I was trying to reach out to them. You know my intentions, we have had many discussions about this. At any rate, I will deal with them. You need to read the Bible a little more."

Knowing that there was no more headway to be made, I left.

PART 42

Our church has Wednesday night meals during the fall and winter. Several ladies of the congregation get together and cook meals. They start to serve around six, and church is at seven thirty.

We were eating, one Wednesday in early May. Everything was going so well that I couldn't believe this was my life. I had been teaching a teenage class on Apologetics, and they seemed to love it. The class had forced me into a semi-easy truce with my questioning. As I taught the teens how to defend their faith, I found it much easier to intellectually defend mine.

In addition to this, I finally felt that I was getting the respect that I had always wanted, and was already starting to climb the ladder of church leadership.

As I was marveling all of this, and eating my homemade chicken and noodles, the preacher walked by. I made a comment that I was really excited about the work that we were going to do, this summer. He nodded, continuing on his way. Suddenly, he stopped. He pondered something for a moment, and I could tell that he was having a slight inner-debate with himself. Finally, he walked back and looked down at me. "Can I see you in my office?" he said.

We walked into his office. It was lined with rows of bookshelves, and family portraits. It also held a massive desk. He sat behind it, and I sat in front of him. He looked at me, and cleared his throat. I knew that something huge was happening, but I wasn't at all prepared for what he said.

"I'm just going to lay it out here," he began. "I have heard rumours that you held a New Year's Eve party with alcohol. Is this true?"

"Uh, yeah." I answered. I had no problem with him knowing about it. I didn't even consider not telling him. For me, it was a non-issue.

"I am very concerned about this," he said. "It has been brought to my attention that you did this, and worse yet, that somebody was offended by it."

"Who?" I asked. I couldn't fathom who was upset. I knew it wasn't Ryan or Sam, because I had just had a Mike's Hard Lemonade with Ryan, the night before.

He named the couple who had just moved back, the ones who had been in the fight, the ones who we had been trying to befriend. I was completely dumbfounded.

"They came and talked to you?" I asked. I knew that they thought he was judgemental, and had not liked him, very much. (As an aside, I liked him, very much. He is a good speaker, and I had always thought that he wanted what was best for the congregation)

"No," he said. Then he told me that her aunt had told him. This was the same aunt that went to our church, and had been trying to get them to come. Now, the female of the couple had been a patient of mine, and she had repeatedly told me about how her aunt was driving them crazy. They did not want to go to our church, and her aunt would not take "no" for an answer. They had been looking for a way to get her off their backs. Instantly, my scapegoat alarm went off.

Evidently, they had told her aunt that we behaved worse than their pagan friends, and they wanted nothing to do with Christians who behaved in such a manner. I was indignant. Why wasn't I hearing this from the aunt or better yet, the couple? Why had our minister even listened to this stuff when he knew that I didn't even know they were offended? The moment that the aunt opened her mouth to tattle, the minister should have asked her if she had spoken to me.

I didn't feel I had done anything wrong. The minister felt different. He told me that drinking alcohol was wrong. It was destructive to our Christian influence, and would not be tolerated. If I believed that even moderate alcohol consumption was OK, he was not confident with me teaching, leading in the church, or doing missions work for the congregation. He would be telling the elders this, if I held my position.

I assured him that my intentions were the purest, especially with this couple. I wanted to help, not hurt. I told him that I would reconsider the alcohol situation. But first, my primary concern was healing this rift. I wanted to speak to the aunt, the couple, and anyone else who knew about this. I needed to fix this, now.

I left his office, knowing that my reputation had been ruined with the minister. I just wondered how many others looked down on me.

The Darkness Cast Reunion at The Warren Oldtown

PART 41

Here is what I wrote, last Spring. It can be found in my archives, but I am reprinting it, because it is pertinent to the story we are telling. This is how I felt about the DVD release:

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About a little movie I did, back in the 90's (reprinted from May 1, 2206)

So. Check this out. In the early 1990's, Kurt Cobain was still alive and relatively unknown, EMF was on the radio, singing about how UNBELIEVABLE someone was, T2: was the summer blockbuster (and the most expensive movie ever made), McDonald's came out with the new McLean hamburger (anybody remember that?), and I was a pimply-faced, scrawny teenager, new to the whole high school thing.

I also desperately wanted to be an actor. I mean it, it was desperate. I would spend hours daydreaming about how I would be the next great thing. I would stand in the shower, or in front of the mirror in the morning, and make up interviews with myself. In those golden days (in the special places of my mind), I was on Dave Letterman, and The Nickelodeon show: Rated K: For Kids, By Kids.

I just knew that someday, I'd make it.

About the third week into my freshman year, I confidently climbed the old wooden steps, onto the stage of Northwest High. I was going to my first audition: Fame.

Here was my big break.

I was ready for my closeup.

As I entered the auditorium, my legs began to shake; my palms growing sweaty. I was scared spitless. No seriously, I had no spit. My mouth was dry. In order to calm my nerves, I went over to the ancient piano that sat in the corner.

Ancient? Man, that was an understatement and a half. This thing looked as if it belonged in Disney's Haunted Mansion. At one time, I think it had been black, and I am sure it had a full set of keys . . . at one time. Now, it was nothing more than a crappy-looking paperweight. That didn't stop me from plunking down in front of the keys and giving my best impression of about the only song I could play on a piano; the Halloween theme song. . .That was when I met Gary Miller. Gary was a prodigy of special effects wizardry. He was talented, friendly, and most importantly, working on a movie. It was a local vampire movie, being made by a local film buff. Right away, I knew what he was talking about. You see, I had heard of the filming. In fact, I had begged to be a part of it, earlier that summer. Was this fate???

I loved horror movies. My parents knew of my love of the unquiet tomb and the creepy-crawly. They also knew of my intense desire to report to work everyday at the movie studio. Needless to say (if you know my parents), they were less than thrilled. So when Gary asked me to join him on set, and maybe even help with some of the makeup or as an extra, I was abso-freakin-lutely thrilled. It felt as if destiny was finally catching up with me! I could already see this leading up to several different opportunities, all of which would make me a star. The only problem was . . . how did I convince my parents?

It turns out, that actually this was not as hard as it seemed. My parents (God bless them), have an interesting quirk. They really want their children to love God, and to have strongly-rooted Christian virtues deeply ensconced in the personalities of my siblings and I. They also really want their kids to succeed. So we find them encouraging us in our dreams, but only to the point where we might actually "break through". Then they pull us back, because they get scared that our various interests will lead us to all debauchery. They never have trusted us to make the right moral decisions, so we have learned not to trust ourselves.

As an example of this, my sister wants to be a singer. They have encouraged this, even paying for lessons. They have even taken her to try out for a national television show. But they constantly talk about how they don't want her to make it, because of the negative influences. So, they encourage her until they think she might be too good, and then they discourage her to the point where she is schizophrenic and frustrated. On the one hand, she has big dreams. On the other, she feels as if she follows these dreams, she will end up becoming a horrible person, and go to hell. The desire and guilt are excruciating. My parents are good people, and want the best for us, but they are not very good at knowing how to nurture us into making good choices, and remaining moral while we follow our dreams.

In other words . . . they let me do it, but they "accidentally" forgot to sign the release forms.

I had a great time doing the film.I learned a whole lot about independent filmmaking, helped with a few effects, and got to run through a creek and cover myself with instant mashed potatoes mixed with "sun-kissed bronze" base (don't ask).

When all was said and done, they had to cut out all my parts, and take my name off the credits. After all, my parents had not signed, and the director (Leif) did not want to get sued. It was a brilliant maneuver by my folks, although to this day, I do not know if it was calculated, or not. I could be in the movie. I could play with the makeup. I could daydream. But the reality was that I would get absolutely no screen time or credit. (INSERT CRUSHED DREAMS, HERE)

Now, I am not here to discuss the moral implications of the film, or whether or not my parents made the right choice. I do want you to understand that in their minds, my desire for acting had to be squelched. It was their responsibility to guide me into a moral life. They had to do what they had to do. For years, I was deeply distressed by DARKNESS. Here was my first movie, and I knew it was getting various releases on VHS. I also knew that I had worked on it, and could not even see my name in the credits. That really sucked. Leif had felt bad about it, and I understood why it had to be. That didn't make it any better. Eventually, I put that whole experience in the back of mind. I chalked it up to "high school experience" and forgot about it. Oh, occasionally I would do a web search for it, maybe read a review. I may even look up Leif or Gary now and then. But for me, Darkness was dead.

Let's jump forward now.

That is the great thing about writing. It is a time machine. We don't have to go through all my college experiences (as amazing as they may be :) ). We can go right to the gravy, as they say. Fall of 2005 found me as a chiropractor in Wichita, Kansas. I was going to the movies with my wife. Suddenly, I saw a huge, full color poster for the new release of LEIF JONKER'S DARKNESS!

It would be playing at the Warren Old Town Theatre. Man, I was pumped! I immediately called Leif, who informed me that this was a whole new edit, remastered, and terrific. It had been getting great reviews around the nation, at various festivals. And, get this, all my scenes had been put back in. You could actually see me a few times.

I was so jazzed by this news. By this time, I had given up on ever becoming the next Tom Cruise (yes, I am just as crazy). I never thought that I'd see myself on the silver screen or go to a movie premiere. Leif informed me that I was going to get to do both. I went to the Warren on a Friday night. I got to do the whole premiere thing. I got my picture taken by paparazzi (translated as Leif with a digital camera). I got to see my name on the silver screen. Leif had listed me as both a VAMPIRE, and as working on the special makeup effects. I was in movie-geek heaven.

Over the next few months, it got even better. My name appeared on the Internet Movie Database. I was listed as a professional. How cool was that? Then I found out that Darkness was being released as a two-disc special edition DVD. I was going to have my own DVD! I may never be a Hollywood superstar, but I was going to be in a double disc DVD. What more could I ask for? You hardly even see me in the film, but that didn't dampen my enthusiasm.

So, now I have the big news.

Leif Jonker's Darkness is indeed coming out on DVD. It is being released on May 30, and will have a wide distribution. How wide? Do a search on Amazon or Best Buy or Target or Blockbuster. Wherever you get your DVDs, there it will be. This is a big deal. It has two discs, and has a better treatment than most Hollywood big budget films. It is pretty cool that a bunch of Wichita kids made a movie that has now been released 15 years later.
Should you see this film?

That's a tough question. Morally, it is probably not the most wholesome movie. Any movie that is being praised as having "the most exploding heads ever captured on celluloid" may not exactly be your cup of tea. I will not let my kids (or my parents) see it. I am not on here to offer a defense of its virtues. This is not a pro or negative endorsement. I am simply on here to tell you about something that is kind of extraordinary. I will not implore you to buy it or rent it. As I said, I am hardly in it. But after 15 years, at least I can feel like a bit of a star . . . for a day or two.

P.S. Now that I am a celebrity, I can offer my opinion about politics and religion, and it will be better than yours. After all, I am in a movie, and you are not. You must bow down before me, and conform to my views. IF you do not, you just simply are not cool.
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So, that's what I wrote. As you can see, I was more than a little pumped about all of this. I was successful as a chiropractor. I was becoming successful with a little bit of movie magic, and I was going to Japan, that summer. Life was great. My kids were healthy, my wife was beautiful, now if I could just work out this theology stuff . . .

PART 40

Filming the movie was probably the best (and worst) experience of my life. I loved every minute of it. I got to run around with a shotgun, and scream at Dennis Rader, actually facing the fear of BTK head on. How many people get to point a shotgun at a serial killer, and arrest them? It was awesome!

The director (Andy) and I really hit it off. He had me come onto set for most of the filming, and gave me off jobs (like being BTK's hands in one scene, and being the shadow under the door in another). I was a grip, a stand in, a best boy, and dozen other roles. I learned a lot about filmmaking, even though it was a small crew and a small set. Still, it was a professional crew. The soundman had worked on Armageddon, and the cinematographer had just gotten off 'Salem's Lot.

It was, quite literally, everything that I thought it would be, and more. A bad day on the set was better than the best day in the office.

Andy and I had many talks over those days. I explained to him my frustration with my career, and how I felt like a sellout. My true calling was filmmaking, and I didn't know how to put the need behind me. In reality, I felt like a gay man that was trying to live straight. I was supposed to be an actor but was forced to work as a chiropractor. He understood, but basically said that if I hadn't ever gone for it, then I shouldn't grip. If I needed it so bad, I had to do something about it. He told me to be content. To do what I could do. To enjoy life.

When they left, it was one of the worst days I had had in a while. I went back to the office, hating being there.

That spring was a crazy time when it comes to seducing me into actually going for being an actor. I won passes to Bill Warren's Academy Awards party. Warren owned and operated some of the most luxurious movie theatres in the country. He had a huge party, and we watched the Oscars on the big screen. The same familiar melancholy swept over me.

In April, it was announced that a low budget horror film that I had worked on in the late 80's/early 90's was being released on DVD. Leif Jonker, the director was moving back to Wichita, and he made it clear that he wanted to work with me on a project. I was flattered, and pumped. Leif was talented, and overdo for his mainstream breakthrough.

It seemed as though, maybe, I could realize my dreams, after all.

A pic from the set: 1970's Policeman D

PART 39

We began training for the LST part of our trip. Ryan, Sam, Mandy and I were doing the trip a bit differently. For the first part of the trip, we would go and put on a camp for LST readers that were already there, working with a team. Then the team would leave, and we would take over facilitating the readers. This meant that we needed two different types of training. During the training, we spoke of the people that we were going to reach. We spoke about the importance of the mission. We spoke about Satanic attack, aimed at destroying the good work.

I began to train myself to go into a foreign country that was largely atheistic. I knew that I would be asked many questions about why I believed in my faith. I had forgotten how pressing my questions were, and went to a couple of Christian websites that dealt with apologetics in the form of message boards. At first, I went there determined to fight for Christian apologetics. But as I began to read the arguments, I found that the Christians sounded unprepared, and equipped with weak-sounding defenses. The atheists sounded much more learned. They quoted actual research, and had facts to back up their positions. I quickly left the boards, determined not to let it affect my mission. But it was too late. The seeds of doubt had been planted, once more.

The last Saturday of February was a nasty, snowy, slippery cold day. I climbed into a nice, hot shower and flipped on my radio to listen to a little show that I enjoyed, called Countryman's Kansas. This show basically talks about all the things that are going on during any particular weekend. This week, he began talking about a movie that was going to be filming here, based on the BTK strangler (who had been caught a few months after we moved to Park City). The movie was for the Discovery Channel, and was hosting open auditions. "Mandy!" I yelled, shutting off the water.

I went to the auditions. The movie was being made by British and Scottish documentary filmmakers. In spite of the weather, the audition hall was packed. I waited for almost an hour before I met the director, a British man named Andy. He appraised me, coolly, his eyes seeming to pierce through me, at once. "Well," he says to me. "I'd love to use you, you got a great look. But you look a bit young for what we need."
"Yeah," I agree. "It seems that I am suffering from Michael J. Fox syndrome." (I meant youthful appearance, not Parkinson's, Dustin.)
He laughed, and said that he would see what he could do.

I went home, knowing that I wasn't going to have a role in the film. It was a little bit disappointing, but that was OK. I was going to do missions work.

A month later, I got a phone call. The director had liked me so much, that he had actually written a role for me into the film. It looked like I was finally going to get my wish.

PART 38

One day in February, I got a phone call. It was from one of the ladies at church. Her husband was in charge of the missions program. I had made it very clear that I was interested in working with the missions team. She called to tell me that a man was coming to talk to the team about a program called L.S.T. (which stands for Let's Start Talking). This program sent short-term mission teams to various countries. They would go work with an established missionary, and give English lessons, using the Bible as the textbook. She wanted Amanda and I there, if we were interested.

Were we?! I couldn't wait. The truth is that I couldn't get Japan out of my head. I had fallen in love with the people, the place, and even the food. I regularly ate sushi, now, and even had acquired a taste for miso soup (which Amanda said tasted like a dirty aquarium). We had our bedroom decked out in Japanese pics and souvenirs, and even cooked Japanese food on a semi-regular basis. I had been planning a trip back there. Besides, this was one of the few places where I had felt like I was truly an effective minister.

That Saturday, Mandy and I met Clay. Clay worked for LST, and he had formerly been a missionary in Africa. I instantly liked him. He was intelligent, he was funny, and he had a heart for God. I found myself attracted to people like that; people who were so sure in their faith. I wanted it to rob off on me. I wanted to be able to take a stand. As he spoke that night, I felt an undeniable sense of purpose. Mandy and I were supposed to go back to Japan. I knew it like I knew my name.

I shared the feeling with Amanda, this sense of rightness about all of this. The problem was that the shortest trip they offered was two weeks. I didn't know how I could take off for so long, seeing as how I was the only doctor in my practice. But I knew I had to try. I was supposed to go on this trip. I also knew that I wanted Sam and Ryan to go, if at all possible.

After the meeting, I went up to the woman who had called me (Jeanie), and told her that I really appreciated it. I was very interested in going with LST. She told me that the church was interested in sending people. She would contact me, again, soon. I told her about Sam and Ryan and she said she would call them, too.

When I got home, I called Ryan, and we talked for quite a while. He was interested, but very hesitant. It was, after all, a big move. They had never been anywhere like this. Besides, there was a large fundraising commitment. I assured him that it was quite doable, and I thought it would change our lives.

Later that week, Jeanie called me. It looked like this thing could be a go. They had spoken with the elders, and it looked very positive. The team would consist of Manda and I, Sam and Ryan, and another couple who had been at the meeting: Tristan and Leslie. Within a few weeks, we knew that we really were going to be going . . . somewhere. We were not sure where. Mandy and I talked, and decided that if it was not Japan, we would still go, wherever they would send us. I called Clay, and told him that we preferred Japan, but were willing to be sent where we were needed.

We went to the Tulsa Workshop in March. We met Clay there, and he told us that it was finally decided. In June or July of that year, Tristan and Leslie would be traveling to China. Sam, Ryan, Mandy, and I would go to Japan. We would meet up with another family, from Buffalo, New York.

That night, we celebrated over pizza. I couldn't believe it, but I felt chosen, again.

Our Friends: Tim and Sharon

PART 37

NEW YEAR'S EVE 2005.

By this time, I had just about thrown all puritan Christianity out the window. I was tired of teetotalism. I was tired of the stigma of cuss words. I wasn't profane (never would curse God, or use His name in vain), but I didn't hold my tongue on other words.

I decided that I would throw a New Year's Eve Party, and this year, I was going to have alcohol. I had studied the Bible, and especially the wedding at Cana. From the Scripture, I had determined that Jesus had approved of alcohol usage. He had found it perfectly acceptable to use wine for celebratory purposes. He even facilitated intoxication for such purposes. I had examined long-held church doctrines and sermons that attempted to explain away his role in all of this, and I had found them lacking. The verses made it quite plain that the wine was not grape juice. It was good, strong wine. The people were getting drunk. There is no indication that they were out of control, but they were having a good time. In fact, the headwaiter came up to the bridegroom and told him that people usually served the good wine first, and then when people were too drunk to notice, they brought out the cheap stuff. But this bridegroom had saved the good stuff. Jesus didn't endorse drunkenness (a state of constantly getting drunk). He did, however understand that it had its purpose in celebratory usage (as well as medicinal and in cases of extreme sorrow). I did not plan on everyone getting toasted, but I thought that a little beer and a little champagne, would be fun . . . as long as it didn't get excessive.

We had made friends with a couple (who will remain nameless). They had moved away for awhile, but now they had just moved back. They were struggling with the judgemental nature of churches, especially the church of Christ. They had visited our church several times, and found it stuffy, and not very friendly. I wanted to change that. I figured that if they came over, and saw us having a good time and having a few drinks, then they would see that not all c of c people were like they thought we were.

The party went well. There were five other couples, and us. The couple we had invited showed up, but they were in a fight, and kind of distant all evening. That was OK. I was having fun. Nobody got plastered. We had a couple of drinks, we told a few jokes, and we played a few games. Now, I would be lying if I didn't tell you that some of the jokes were a little off-color. I tried to keep it all in a PG or PG-13 mood, but sometimes a party-goer would cross the line. This was especially true of one of my friends. I had a heard time reining him in.

Overall, though, we had a great time. The couple that we had wanted to reach left early, which was a relief, because they were sucking the life out of the group. I didn't know what kind of fight they were in, but I did know that I didn't like being around them, like this.

At midnight, we toasted with champagne, and brought in 2006.

PART 36

While all this was going on, Mandy and I threw ourselves into our new church. We wanted to have the same wonderful community that we had at Overland Park. We went to the elders, and told them how OP had life groups that met people and paired them with others in their similar station in life. This enabled them to begin to have common ground, and form strong relationships. This also helped them to form little "mini" churches that operated within the bigger church body. Each life group could keep better track of who was their, and help to meet their needs. Each group had its own benevolence, own greeters, and own activities.

The elders liked the idea, and gave us the "go ahead" to start a young married's class. We began to meet, but soon realized that the dynamics were a bit different here, than they were in KC. The young married group was not quite as active, and I was a little distracted. Plus, I was asked to teach the teenagers. It never really "clicked" like I wanted it to.

I begin to really search for a theology that I could put into practice. I wanted to know that God was real, and was prepared to give up anything for Him, even my movies, if I had to. On the other hand, there was no way that I was gonna sacrifice my dreams and my vice if God wasn't real. I had a real dilemma. I kept praying for God to show me that He was real, to give me a real, tangible sign that couldn't be brushed off as a coincidence. If He did that, I would change everything/anything.

As I studied, I grew much more liberal in my theology. I soon began to resent the classic American Puritan Christianity. There were so many out there that were lost in their tradition, and I saw an eerie parallel between them and the Pharisees that Jesus had so much trouble with.

Amanda and I became close friends with two different couples - Sam & Ryan and Tim & Sharon. Sam and Ryan shared my enjoyment of movies. We had very similar interests, and I really enjoyed hanging out with them. Tim and Sharon were, perhaps, the most wonderful people that we had ever befriended. They were loving and caring, and really reminded me more of the Japanese, than Americans. They were what I thought Christians should be - nonjudgmental, and just all-around decent people.

We became friends with both of them, and were close, albeit for different reasons. We also had some really good friends from Kansas City. Caleb and Kim had moved here so that Kim could complete medical school. They were incredibly close, although I knew that they were going to move away in a short time, for Kim's residency. Caleb was the guy that I could call anytime, to go to the movies. Our taste was almost the same. He was the only guy that I knew in Wichita, that would go to cheesy horror movies with me.

We had our community. We had some close friends. Things began to really look up. I was able to put the majority of my questions aside, and enjoy a remedial version of Christianity.

PART 35

So, I settled into life as a doctor. I went to the office, and treated patients, and attempted to run the business. This was a hard, lonely time for me. I was mostly alone in my clinic, and I had no experience. I had never even been a manager, before. I knew nothing of insurance, billing, and day-to-day operations. I was supposed to be making all these decisions, but I felt un-equal to the task. I just wanted to go to work, treat the patients, and then go home. I didn't want to have to worry about every single detail of running the business.

My dad tried to help, but it wasn't the same. He had his own clinic to run, his own affairs to look after. I began to loathe my clinic. I hated the "shabby" facilities. I hated being alone. I felt isolated, and adrift. I had no one to bounce ideas off of. In the meantime, dad opened a brand new clinic. He had a younger doctor in there, with them. As I watched them picking out new office furniture, I began to grow resentful. That was supposed to be my office. Instead, I got second hand equipment, and was left to re-invent the wheel.

Reading over this, I know I sound like a whiny, spoiled brat. Wah! Wah! I got my own business. Wah! Everything new wasn't handed to me. I know that is how it sounds. I can't help it. I had planned on coming and working with my dad. That is why I had moved back to Wichita. Lord knows that Mandy didn't want to come back here. If I had known the situation, I probably wouldn't have moved back.

It's just that after feeling that I wasn't ever fully trusted by my dad to make the right decisions, now he had just thrown the biggest thing in my life right into my lap. This was one time where I really needed him, and I didn't feel like he could give me what I needed.

Needless to say, I was (surprise, surprise) kind of miserable, again. My expectations had not been met, and I didn't know how to go about meeting them.

Most of my frustrations, however, came from the fact that I just wasn't doing what I felt like I was supposed to do. A lot of people have that dream job, the one that they wish they could have done. But this was different. This was an obsession. I was born to be an actor. I would make up Tonight Show interviews in the bathroom mirror. I would think of movie scenes in my head as I drove down the road. I lived, breathed, loved movies. They were my vice, my comfort. I had a DVD collection of roughly 600 DVDs, and knew about the directors and actors the same way that other men know of touchdown and freethrow statistics.

But it was more than just a love of the cinema. It was a need to be a part of it. I needed to make films. I would gladly throw away a six figure job just to serve sandwiches on the set. I would work for free. I would pay to work. I just wanted to make movies.

As I worked every day, I would do great things. I would (by the grace of God), help people to walk. I would get rid of headaches. I would change people's lives. But I wasn't doing cinema. Jason and I talked from California. He was working on trying to get several films off the ground, and wanted to help me. "But, Derin," he would tell me, "You gotta get a grip. You can still work on film in your free time. Besides, you are the only person I ever met whose fall back position was, 'if I don't make films, I guess I can go be a doctor.'"

He added a little perspective.

A LITTLE INTERLUDE . . .

OK. I must apologize to those of you who have read thus far. I have committed a cardinal sin of writing. Every writer that I have ever read, who wrote about the craft, has said that you must never just throw it all out there, without at least two re-writes. I started this project, expecting to just tell the events of the last eight weeks. I soon realized, however, that there was no way that I could do them justice without exploring my entire spiritual/mental/professional journey.

Soon, the task began to look monumental. In the pursuit of brevity (now that's a laugh, isn't it?), I have begun just writing as fast as I can. I just want to get it all out there. Some of these memories are not my favorite here, folks. But I decided that from the beginning I was going to be honest. I wanted you to see my journey, warts and all.

The past few days, I have gotten sloppy. There have been omissions of things that I wanted to talk about. There have been many gramatical errors (obviously I love to use a comma, something I have been incessantly reamed about by countless professors), and a few letter omissions from the ends of words.

I apologize to the perfectionists. Well, not really. I think that the speedy recollections give a kind of simple charm to the stories, making it seem more as if we are having a fireside chat, and less like I am attempting any sort of actual prose. If you are said perfectionist, you will just have to deal with my writings with grace.

With that being said, I am not going to promise to do better. Indeed, I expect my writing to become more feverish, as passion overtakes me to complete this darn thing. It has become somewhat a annoying obsession, and now I feel like I must at least get it down so I can stop dreaming about it.

In the future, I may put it all together, edit it, and try and fill in any gaps that I have left.

Then I'll post the whole thing over, again.

Naw, I'm just kidding. Don't worry. This is the only time you will see this text posted on here. I am actually anxious to use this site as I once intended: as a kind of daily journal of events, and an update on what the sam hill is going on in our family.

Anyway, with the above being said, let us get back to it.

PART 34

I was still traveling back and forth a lot. I was finishing up all my boards, and had to be gone for long weekends. Right before we had moved back to Wichita, there were reports that B.T.K. had resurfaced. BTK was a local serial killer that had haunted Wichita throughout the 1970's. He had been ubiquitously quiet for the past thirty or so years. Now he had resurfaced, taunting police and reporters.

The mood of Wichita was little bit tense. I felt positively restless. I continually was telling Mandy that I felt that this sicko lived around us. He felt close. I don't know how to describe the feeling. It was more than a hunch. It was a certainty. He lived near us, and I was a little bit nervous for my family, in my absence.

One weekend, about two weeks after Jason was released from the hospital, I traveled to KC to clean out our townhouse the rest of the way, and turn in the keys. The place was a real wreck after two dogs (ours and Mandy's brother's) and four people. My mom, dad, and I cleaned for three days. After we were done, the only sign that there had ever been any occupants were a few smudges and nail holes in the walls, and the carpet. The carpet was finished.

When we had first got the dogs, we paid a deposit. This was supposed to enable us to get our initial investment of $7,500.00 back (it was a co-op). Since then, the apartment manager had died. A new one had taken her place, and she was less than sympathetic to me. She was only going to give us about half of our investment back. The rest was going to re-carpet the place.

As you can expect, I was furious. I had really counted on that money to hold me over until my pay started to come in. I needed that money. I had boards to pay for, and had to pay for a plane ticket out to L.A. to finish my tests. I complained. I begged. I pleaded. I threatened. It was doing no good.

I was staying at my sister's house, and awoke early on Saturday. I couldn't sleep. My mind was a mess. I really wanted this move to be a new start, but it felt as though ever since we had moved, it had just been one stress after another. I was sorry for the way that I had jacked up my faith with my constant questions, and my lack of trust. I just wanted God to give me another chance. If He would do that, I would dedicate myself to Him, and understanding His will better. I felt that I had turned my back on Him, and now He was tired of my antics. I prayed to Him, begging Him for a sign, any sign. Please let me know that you will take me back. Please let me know that I am not damned. Please let me know that you are real.
At that moment, my cell phone rang. It was the town house manager. I could come by later, and pick up a check for the full amount, minus the pet deposit of $250.00.

I thanked God, amazed at the sign which I had just prayed for. There was no reason for her to cave in. She had made herself abundantly clear.

Later, I thought that perhaps that the timing of it all was just a big coincidence.

PART 33

We moved to Wichita on Saturday the 14th. After much internal debate, I knew that there was really no other choice. I had always known that we would end up there. I didn't know if it was because of my dad or providence. It didn't really matter.

Several of our friends came to help us move. We loaded up the U-Haul and drove to our new home in Park City.

I had high hopes for my new home. This time, I knew that I was ready to settle into real life. I would go there and find respect and fulfillment. I was coming home a doctor. Not only that, but I had had the best ministry experience of my career at this church. Things were going to be wonderful.

We spent the week unpacking. I went over to my new clinic, and began to get set up. I treated my first patient. That Sunday, we went to church at Northside. As I began to handle Jason, I noticed that he felt a little bit warm. I passed him around a bit, and my entire family agreed that he was warm. This made me nervous. Newborns are not supposed to get fevers, they have a build up of the mother's antibodies. We went home, and I checked his temp. It read 102.7.

I sat down with Amanda and my dad, and we discussed what to do. I wasn't taking any chances. I wanted to take him to the hospital. We took him to the nearest local hospital. The old shrews behind the counter were rude and arrogant. They told us that they couldn't get him worked in for at least three hours, and why didn't we just take him home? They made it perfectly clear that they felt that they had real emergencies on their hand, and a two week old with a fever was not even on the list. I called them a couple of names that I should have, and we left.

We drove to Westley hospital, and walked in with him. As soon as we stated the problem, they called him back as a code Red. I was beside myself. I had always felt that we had dodged a bullet with Jason. He was our miracle baby. I had prayed, and God had answered. Since I hadn't stayed faithful, God was now going to take him away. I gave myself over to prayer, praying deeper, and more fully than I think I have ever prayed in my life.

The doctors were talking about horrible things like spinal meningitis and pneumonia. They had put an IV in him, and he had screamed, a terrible wailing sound. There were wires and monitors hooked all over him. I was completely powerless. They did a spinal tap, and took several vials of blood.

Numerous people from Northside came and visited us. They prayed with us, kept Lucas, and gave flowers and cards. We were in the hospital for about three days.

They finally released us. In the end, the illness was chalked up to some kind of virus. Jason and Lucas grew, and the family began to settle in to life in Wichita.

Luke and Jason

Jason at birth

Family Picture Shortly After Lucas Was Born

PART 32

At my dad (and the college's) urging, I began to get regular chiropractic treatments from none other than Dr Gibson, himself. It was determined that I had acquired a rather nasty case of whiplash with damage to several ligaments, and muscle groups. He had also reversed the curve in my neck. The results was aches and pain and debilitating headaches. Hugo began to work on me, daily. Wetzer apologized to me, tearfully. Soon, he was no longer in school.

Following the three week trimester break, I returned to school with a new diligence. Chiropractic had actually helped me. I began to see the benefits of what we could really do for someone. If I went to my regular adjustments, my headaches didn't bother me. If I skipped, even one appointment, the headaches returned. It worked! What I was doing actually worked.

Soon, I was in the student clinic, and seeing what I could do, first hand. People would come to me, and I would make them well. This stuff was valid. Once again, I found myself incredibly annoyed at how the media had influenced my thoughts about something. Chiropractic had been tainted, and lot of it had to do with a couple of news specials that I had seen on the subject. But there was no denying that I was helping people. One lady came in unable to even properly walk. I helped her, and by the time I graduated, she was functioning normally.

So, were we going to church during this time? Yes. We never stopped. We went to two different congregations during out stay in KC. The first was a small, friendly church. I thought that this was going to be a great fit. But they didn't have any younger couples. I needed young married friends. We found this at the Overland Park Church of Christ. When we arrived, there were many young couples and families, but there was no organized way to meet them. Mandy and I immediately got to work trying to solve that problem. She made a list of people that we knew, and we began to try to form a class.

The first Sunday, we met with three other couples. By the time we left, there were over thirty couples on the roster. It was wonderful. We always had a group of friends to do something with. I didn't lend myself to teaching or attempt any spiritual role. Instead, I was in charge of activities. I planned events like going to the Renaissance festival, or Halloween parties in the barn of an old pumpkin patch. We did Christmas sleigh rides on the Plaza, and Easter Passover meals.

We had some very wonderful friends there, and some really incredible experiences. But I couldn't be content. I'm afraid that I just wasn't a very happy person. I was pleased that I was coming into my own with chiropractic, but the weight of the studying and my own spiritual mess just seemed to keep me in a constant state of irritation for half the time.

The other half of the time was bliss. When I could forget my problems, and just enjoy life, life was splendid. It was during these happy times that we went to Disney World twice (the first time we came back with Lucas, our little souvenir). We planned for the future, and I began to believe that I could be happy without being an actor.

In November of 2003, Amanda got pregnant, again. We went to Colorado in December, to celebrate Christmas, and tell her family. During the course of our visit, Amanda had to be hospitalized. We almost lost the baby. The doctors put her on bedrest for the entire first trimester, and I began to pray, again.

I graduated on Friday August the 13th, 2004. I found this date to be extremely satisfying, and appropriate. Exactly one week before, my wife had given birth to our second son, Jason. He was healthy, happy, and alert. Amanda, Lucas, and Jason were present for my graduation.

I have never seen my dad look so proud as when he saw me get my diploma.

Do I look like I am about to die. This picture was taken moments before an attempted assassination.

PART 31

I had been accepted to Cleveland Chiropractic College. I began taking classes. To be honest, it was never a great challenge. I wasn't an amazing student, but then I also never had to repeat a class. I never got close.

We settled into a life there, and we were happy, I guess. I couldn't look in the mirror. I felt like a sellout. I had never wanted to be a chiropractor. I consoled myself by believing that I had made the RIGHT choice. I had done the RIGHT thing. I would have been miserable in Hollywood. The thing is (and this has always been true) I could have given up anything I was asked to, if I knew that God was real and that I somehow fit into His purposes. Being an actor could go bye-bye if I was doing the Lord's work. But to not be sure of Him, it made my sacrifice seem cheap and weak.

I didn't enjoy my coursework. I just wasn't interested in most of the classes. I would write in class, making up stories and movies, or working on apologetics. Apologetics is the defense of the Christian faith. I studies these with an almost relentless obsession. I hoped that by immersing myself in this study, maybe I would find answers to my questions.

Soon, I had been in the program for over a year and a half. We were living in a townhouse. We had a little dog named Fritz. Life was going pretty well. I performed my first adjustment, and Mandy's brother lived in our basement. In the evenings, we would go on long walks and dream about our futures. We would talk about where we wanted to live, and I would lie to Amanda and tell her that we would not end up in Wichita.

I performed my first adjustment. My professor was a large South African nationalist by the name of Hugo Gibson. Hugo was known for his charisma, and his almost supernatural faith in the healing power of chiropractic. I was skeptical. The more that I learned about chiropractic, the less that I believed. My dad had never given me regular chiropractic care, and he seemed to just view it as a career, and not anything of any real power. Me, I was starting to view it as a pseudo-science. Once again, I viewed myself with loathing. I was selling out to a career that I didn't even believe in. I was doing it for the money. I was now over $100,000.00 in debt, far too much money to quit.

Soon, it was time for our midterms. I was doing well, and not worried. I went to my adjusting practical with confidence. I was a good adjuster, and had been practicing all my set-ups at home. My partner was a Haitian immigrant named Wetzer. He was nervous. This was his second time to take this particular class, he had failed the trimester before. Dr. Gibson had been riding him about his sloppy adjusting style, and his inability to thrust, properly. "Don't ever let a vertebra kick you arse," he was fond of saying in his rich accent.

I went first, and it couldn't have gone more splendidly. My thrust was well-timed, and the vertebra moved. We were using an archaic style, that was not regularly practiced, but I still was able to master it. Wetzer was shaking. We had put all of our subluxation listings into a hat, and our partner was supposed to reach in and draw one out. This would be the segment that he would adjust.

"Please don't pick a cervical," I prayed. "Please don't pick a cervical." Wetzer reached his sweaty hand into the hat and pulled out a folded piece of white paper. Dr. Gibson picked up the paper, unfolded it, and then boomed out, "Left C1 PI." Not only was it a cervical vertebra, it was the worst of the lot. I sighed, muttering something about my luck, and then lay on the table. I had a bad feeling about this.

Wetzer went to me, and asked me to turn my head. Dr. Gibson stopped him. "Which side, Wetzer," he said. Wetzer paused, licking his lips. He hesitated a moment, and then said, "To the left?" I hurriedly obeyed, before he could change his mind. Wetzer walked up to me, and began to palpate my neck. I could feel how hot and sticky his hands were as they massaged up and down my neck, looking for the spot. He passed it by, went back, passed it again, and finally found it. Then he sat the knife edge of hand along the side of my neck, pinkie down. He wrapped his other hand around his wrist, and settled down.
"Nice proper thrust," Dr Gibson said.

Over the course of the trimester, Dr. Gibson had given us one two main rules about adjusting. The first one was to always make sure that you are on the right segment, and the right side. The second one was never, ever cock back to adjust. Numerous times he said, "What is the dumbest, most idiotic thing that a chiropractor could ever do?" The class would answer him in unison, "cock."

You guessed it. Wetzer cocked. Cocked? He friggin' karate chopped my neck. I felt his hand leave the side of my neck, had a brief moment to think, "uh oh," and then the side of his hand busted down on my neck, driving me into the table. I jerked, yelled, and then started convulsing. I could feel my arms and legs moving, but I couldn't stop them. Faintly I could hear Dr Gibson yell, "Why the hell would you want to do that to someone?" Wetzer turned, and fled. I, on the other hand, was unable to move for several minutes. Dr Gibson leaned over me, and asked if I was OK.

PART 30

I picked my brain, trying to decide what I wanted to be, what I wanted to do. I was so close to running off and trying to become an actor, but I was scared because of my nihilistic tendencies. I figured I would end up like River Phoenix, or worse. I began to have discussions with my dad, about chiropractic. I knew that good money was to be found, and there was a lot of freedom. I wanted to travel, and thought that this might be a good career to be able to go after my acting on the side.

In March 2000, my wife and I went on a trip with her sister, and her brother. We toured through Las Vegas, a first for both my wife and I, and ended up in Los Angeles.

My friend, Jason, was an actor there, and I was super-excited to talk with him. There was also a chiropractic college there. Jason was one of my best childhood friends. We had been through a lot together, and I really wanted him to make it. I was also hoping that he'd get me on a movie set.

The night we arrived in L.A., we checked into the hotel and I immediately turned on the television. The Oscars were on, and I never missed it. It is strange, the feeling that I would get as I watched the Academy Awards. You'd think that this would be the Superbowl for a self-proclaimed movie aficionado. I should have ridden the mellow waves of my adrenaline high for days afterwards. It was never that way with me. The movies were like my destiny; my purpose. When I saw the Oscars, I never felt elated. I felt defeated. For several days afterwards, I would always feel depressed. I know that it sounds weird, and a little silly. I grant you that. But it was how I was. I always knew that I was supposed to be there, sitting among the stars, working on the craft. It was where I should have been, and instead I was in my living room in Kansas, Oklahoma, or Nebraska, posing, wishing that I was there. It filled me with melancholy, and a sense of utter failure.

The feeling was there, this time, and it grew even greater after visiting Jason, at his house. He showed me the dailies from his latest three films, and spoke of all the stars that he had hung with. We looked at scripts that he had been sent, and props that he had with him. He was doing it. He was making it. All that it really took was for him to try. I sat in his living room, and cursed myself for a coward. Even though I had looked into the chiropractic school, I knew that I would never move there. I couldn't. I was shackled to a theology that I didn't even fully buy, anymore, but I knew that if I left it all, and went to L.A., then I wouldn't even have the possibility of coming back.

After a jaunt at Disneyland, Universal Studios, and the Grand Canyon, we went back to Colorado. I came back a different man. My confidence was gone, and so was my happiness, in many ways. I knew that I would never be able to live my dream. I was destined for a rerun of my dad's life. I could blame it on him, I could blame it on God. In reality, it was my own stupid fault. I wasn't bright enough to sort my own crap out. It was like James says; I was tossed about like a boat on the waves. One day I was hot. The next day I was cold.

Soon, I went to Kansas City to pick out apartments.

By May, we had moved to Kansas City, and I enrolled in Cleveland Chiropractic College.

PART 29

My experiences, as minister of the Delta Church of Christ, were not as bad as my other outings into ministry. I held office hours, did some visitations, counseled, and helped the church acquire elders. We had potlucks, and soup suppers, and a funeral or two. We did youth ministry, and preached some sermon series. In other words, it was pretty much a traditional ministry position.

I did fairly well with the folks, there, and managed to hide from the bulk of my doubt by not asking too many questions. I concentrated on just believing (advice from a number of sources, by the way), and just ignoring the doubt. In other words, I turned off my brain, and tried to just accept the dogma.

The doubt would pop up every once in a while, like a nagging canker sore that your tongue just can't seem to stay away from, no matter how hard you try. I would be reading a Scripture, and something would strike me as odd. Old friend doubt would pop up and remind me of my struggle. I would be counseling someone about their marriage, and there was doubt, hovering above.

All the while, I kept trying to bury the desire to do something (anything) with the movies. I wanted to be on a movie set, so bad, but I knew that I wasn't supposed to do that. It wasn't good for my marriage, or my life. I had tried to be in entertainment, and look how that had turned out, last time. But I still could not kill the need. It was all I had ever wanted, ever since I was old enough to remember telling grownups what I was going to be when I grew up. It was just who I was.

I never had a day when I didn't wrestle with this stuff. Every minute was consumed with my internal fight, pro and con, concerning theology or my obsession with working on motion pictures. I couldn't think clearly, the noise was too loud. I was afraid that I was headed toward some kind of breakdown, and I was growing more and more convinced that I was living a lie.

At the same time, conservative church of Christ doctrine began to raise it's ugly head in my church. I am all for pure doctrine and tradition. But I am not for blind dogmatism. Most of the people that I had known had no idea why they believed what they believed. They just followed what they had always been taught. There was no heart in most of these people, and although they meant well, they had much more in common with the Pharisees that they would quickly point out all the flaws in during Bible study, than they did with the pure religion of James, or the teachings of Jesus. Lest you get to comfortable here, gentle reader, this was not only true of the c of c-ers that I met. I had also worked in a Methodist Church for a while, gone to many different denominations, and had seen all of this nonsense in every one. This is a CHURCH epidemic, not just a church of Christ epidemic (gets off soap box).

One day (by way of example), I visited a mainstream c of c man who was housebound. We spent the whole visit with him telling me why the c of c was the only church going to heaven, and why other denominations were wrong. Another time, one of the church leaders came to me, with much concern. It seems that several older ladies in the church had come to him with a complaint. Evidently, one Sunday I had used the phrase, "yadda yadda yadda," from the pulpit. This meant that I must have watched the Seinfeld show, because that is where that term (according to them) originated from. If I watched that show, then that meant I had very loose morals, and couldn't be trusted to rightly interpret the Word. I had actually never watched the show, in my life.

I stood there, listening to this man talk, and thought to myself, "if they only knew what I was really struggling with . . ." Then I turned to him, and asked him why they were watching the Seinfeld Show. Obviously, they had watched the show, if they knew that was where the phrase had come from. And by the way, where were they? The Bible made it clear that if you had a problem with someone, you came to them. You did not go to an elder, and then have them go talk to that person. I had learned a lot from that Tennessee youth minister, and one thing I had definitely learned was that I was not going to put up with rumor-mills, or gossips. I told the leader that I was ashamed of him for not instantly telling them that he did not want to hear another word, until they had come and spoke to me about it.

These were just a few things, and although none of them were huge, they just reinforced the fact that I couldn't do this any longer. I hated being a paid minister, and was not willing to put myself through this scrutiny.

It was time to leave.

Delta, Colorado from above.

PART 28

Up to this point, what we really have been talking about is the difference in worldviews. To clarify, a worldview is the way you view the world. It is the glasses with which you look at every event, every moment. It is how you interpret the things that happen around you and to you. Most of us are raised to believe that everyone throughout time have thought exactly the same as we have. When we read history, we initially read it through our modern 21st century glasses. Eventually, many people begin to understand that, no, people have not always thought the same way. In fact, most people, today, do not think the same way. Our worldview is colored in many different ways, filtered by many different types of events.

I was raised with a Christian worldview. In this worldview, God was at the center of everything. If it snowed, it was because God made it snow. If something (anything) happened in my life, it was a direct intervention by God. He was moving in my life. I didn't fear death because when it was my time, He would take me, and not until. I thought that I was special, chosen by God for a task that no one else could do. The very foundations of my morality were built upon the tantamounts set up in the Bible. I was kind to others, because of a moral STANDARD that God had set up. It was my duty to proselytize the world, and bring others into the merciful healing of the Great Physician. At the end of my life, I would be taken to heaven, escorted by angels, to live forever with my loved ones who had gone before me.

In college, I began to move away from the Christian worldview. Once I began to realize that not everything that I had been taught was 100% on the money, I began to doubt it all. Soon, a new worldview began to color my experiences. It is the prevailing worldview in our society, today. This is the secular/humanist worldview (also known as the materialist). This worldview has permeated everything from our art to our news to our education. I began to realize that I was not special. There was nothing chosen about me. I was an accident of chemical conglomeration, floating about in a world that really seemed to be aimless. I wanted to believe in a God, but if He were real, I couldn't really believe that He cared a bit about me. All of the so-called "spiritual" events that had happened in my life (things like some weird guy claiming to have a special message from The Lord) were silly coincidences, brought about my emotional need to feel "chosen". My basis for morality began to get smaller and smaller. A universal standard began to seem unlikely.

The more people that I met, and the more I began to consider their circumstances in life, the more I began to realize that in fact, most morality was really a product of upbringing. The Pac Rim tour had reinforced that idea, and also had began to make me believe that there were some people that could never be reached by the Gospel. If I had been born in Japan, was there anything that would really make me accept Christianity? Most of the world did not believe in Christ. How could I be egotistical enough to really think that I had it right? Religion was an expression of security; a desire for there to be more, because death is a scary proposition both for you, and your loved-ones.

I went around with a constant pit in my stomach. I began to revel in my sin, trying to fill the void, yet holding to some weak semblance of Christianity, because I couldn't stand the out-of-control torment of knowing I was a cosmic accident. I wanted to be called back to Christ. I wanted to do His work. I figured that if my job was centered around doing His will, then I would see His power, and my redemption would come about.

I want you to understand why I took the job in Delta. I want you to understand how fragile I was. I am spelling it out, leaving nothing to the imagination. There is no subtlety in my writing. I am calling it like it was, so that you understand the events that transpired from here. No, nothing overtly horrible happens in our next part. At least, not to the people that I was supposed to shepherd. But the total destruction of my faith occurred over the next few months. I didn't realize it, I wouldn't let myself. But by the time that I left Delta, Colorado, in the Spring of 2000, I was (in every way but title) an atheist.

PART 27

Olathe, Colorado is a pitifully small town located on the Western slope of Colorado. It is smack dab in the middle of Delta and Montrose; about an hour from Grand Junction. The terrain could be described as "desert-ish", and during the spring and summer, it has a nice cowboy charm to it. I won't tell you what I think of it in the winter.

We were actually living in Amanda's sister's house. Her and her husband had moved to a different town, a few hours away. Her husband had built this house, and had never finished various areas of it, like the kitchen cabinets. Nevertheless, they had given us a great deal, and we enjoyed finally living in a home. The house was located a few blocks from Amanda's parents. We saw them practically every day, and it was great to see Amanda getting so close to her mom.

I had just received a DVD player, for Christmas, and got a job at the local Pizza Hut in order to pay the bills, and buy a few movies. Manda worked at Subway. We were happy, although aimless.

Amanda's family all went to the Delta Church of Christ. It was a small congregation with only about fifty or sixty members, and about twenty showing up on a good Sunday. They were trying to grow, and spread out to do good work. In fact, they had been one of the major contributors to our Pacific Rim trip. One Sunday, they asked me to preach, and give them a report on the trip. I did this, happily. The trip was one of my favorite subjects to talk about.

I guess that I must have done a good job with the presentation. Afterwards, they invited me to the men's business meeting. There were no elders at this church, they ran everything my majority vote at the business meetings. At the meeting, one of the men stood up, and announced that he thought they should hire me as the minister. There was no current full time minister there, and it was time that they had one. I was completely taken aback. My faith was absolutely pitiful. I knew all the right c of c answers, but I had stopped applying them to my life. I rarely prayed, and open the Bible to read? Fuggedaboutit!

Pretty soon, the majority of the men had thought that this was the perfect scenario. I could be their minister. They had read regular updates from my mission trip. They helped support us. They felt as though they knew us. God must have sent me to them, originally, knowing that we would be moving here. I protested, but the three hundred/week that they offered me seemed like a million bucks compared to the 150 I would make at Pizza Hut. Besides, I argued in my head. I could do a good job. I knew what they needed to hear. Someone has got to change the church, and I had enough experience to know what they should learn, in order to really help others. Maybe God had called me to them.

I went home, and spoke with Amanda. We actually prayed about this one. Two days later, I accepted the position.

PART 26

When we left Japan, we went to Hong Kong. It was nice to see English, again. We toured around, watched two Philipino women get baptized on Halloween, and went to Ripley's Believe it or Not! on Victoria Peak. The minister of the Wanchai Church of Christ and I talked for quite a few hours. The women in his church were almost all Philipino. They were brought over to China to be prostitutes. He had a ministry of evangelizing these women, and changing their lives. The Sunday morning singing was wonderful.

We went into mainland China for one day. I have heard many people tell me how wonderful China has been for them. I am glad that they had that experience. For Mandy and I, China was a scary, dirty place. We went on a guided tour of Shenzhen China. They took us to the oldest parts of the city, the historical landmarks that they were proud of. These included such wonderful landmarks as the opium den, the brothel, and the military barracks. Wax figures brought each tourist attraction to life, showing the activities that took place in each one. How enchanting. I think that my favorite had to be the picture that hung in the barracks. It was several Chinese soldiers standing by a mountain of heads that had just been removed from the bodies of the invading Japanese.

After China, we traveled to New Zealand. I spent the entire time there, down with a hurt back. It was a beautiful country, but I could not really enjoy my time there, because of the pain. We stayed with the minister, Leon, and his wife. He was a native New Zealander, and we had some interesting theological discussions. My faith still was waxing and waning on a daily basis.

Soon, we were in Australia, the last stop on our tour. We had been gone for over two months. There is no way that I can really express the ways in which this trip had changed me. Time does not permit me to go into all the details about Hong Kong's homosexual Halloween parade, and Hawaii's Mormon heritage, and making paper in Japan, and Kiwi wine, and touring movie studios, and m-16 toting policemen boarding our tour bus in China. I don't have the space to go into detail about ordering fries with my taco at the Australian Taco Bell, or eating raw horse meat.

There are so many details which I would love to mention. But this essay was never supposed to be a detailed account of the Pac Rim tour. It was supposed to be about my spiritual journeys. I had better get on with it.

In Australia, I had a hard time. I can not point to any one particular event that caused me to lose more faith. All I can say is that my faith really began to disappear more rapidly than ever. I really think that it had a lot to do with how my borders had opened up. I had thought of people as American or Mexican. I had never really met Japanese or Australians, or Chinese. Not to this extent, anyway. I think I just came to grips with how large the world actually is, how insignificant my pipsqueak little existence was. I also began to learn how much of a minority that Christendom was. Japanese people were 99% Buddhist and Shinto. Chinese people were Taoist and Buddhist, with a little Confucianism thrown in the mix. Kiwis and Australians were primarily atheists. I couldn't see how my faith could have any real validity to it, any more.

At Macquarie University, in Sydney Australia, their antiquities department had a huge collection of 1st century Christian artifacts. They had the oldest known manuscript of the book of Acts, written on moth-eaten moldy papyrus and displayed under glass. One of the archeology grad students was a young man named Ian. Ian was a year or two older than me, and had been on several digs over in places like Ephesus, Corinth, and Antioch. He had an extensive knowledge of Christian artifacts, and was a stringent non-believer. We spent many hours in conversation over various Australian liquids. During that time, I asked him about the discoveries that he had made. He continually told me about artifacts that verified Biblical accounts and stories. He even mentioned that he had been a part of a team that had excavated the ancient city of Gath. Amongst the historical records, they found census materials. These documents listed a Goliath family and the fact that the whole clan was of "very tall stature". I was endlessly fascinated by his stories, and his adamant inability to believe in Christianity. His reasons were very similar to mine. I wondered how anyone with this much information that seemed to be pro could still be con. What do you think this did to my faith? If you've stayed with me this whole time, I'll bet you dollars to donuts that you know the answer.

During the middle of our stay, I was asked to preach to the local congregation on Sunday morning. I worked hard on that lesson. I really wanted to say something life-changing to these people. I wanted the Spirit to move. Everything seemed trite. As you have probably guessed from my ramblings, every time that I try hard, I lose all my originality, and creativity. When it is important, I screw it up. When I loosen up, and have fun with it, it usually turns out alright. This sermon was not turning out, at all. At the last moment, right when I was getting up to preach, I crumpled it up, and tossed it in the garbage. I ended up standing up in front of the congregation, and reading the entire book of Ephesians. It was the best sermon I have ever preached.

Unfortunately, Arliss took this as a sign of my laziness. He was technically my professor. I needed his passing grade in two classes, in order for me to graduate. I was struggling, spiritually, and he thought that perhaps the old youth minister from Tennessee had been right about me. He felt that I was just trying to have fun, and sightsee, and not really learn anything from the trip. So, to save me from myself, he assigned me a 50 page paper (with at least 12 references) on how the trip had changed my life. The last week of my stay in Australia, I was in the basement of Macquarie University, typing. I was absolutely furious, and once more thought about how unfair Christians were. Instead of understanding that I was struggling, he just chalked it up to a character flaw. How in the world could any struggling person ever be helped in a church like this; a church that eats its sick? I needed someone to give me good reasons that my faith was valid, not punish me like a wayward child.

I finished the paper and we went home. Arliss read it, and told me he was wrong about me. It was one of the finest papers that he had ever graded.

In December, I graduated from Oklahoma Christian University with a BS in Biblical Studies, and a minor in non-textual theology.

The very next week, we moved to Olathe, Colorado so that Mandy could be closer to her parents for a while.

HIROSHIMA BEFORE THE BOMB

THE SAME VIEW AFTER THE BOMB

teaching in Japan

PART 25

I was one of the top stories on that night's evening news. Stories from one of the survivors of the worst nuclear accident since Chernobyl. When I returned to the States, my parents showed me a copy of the program that they had recorded on their rusty old VHS recorder. I had a voice-over that fade amongst my senior pictures, and shots of my wedding. Watching it, I felt as though I were watching my own obituary.

That's really what the news had wanted. I don't fault any of the reporters, personally. Blood sells. They asked me leading, pointed questions, trying to get me to tell them about how we were all so scared, and how the end was coming. But by the time they had called, the quarantine had been lifted, and we knew we were safe. I really didn't have any of the sensational stuff left to tell them.

They quickly became disappointed with my answers, and promising to follow up with me once I was safely back in the good ol' US of A, they let me go. I put down the phone, looked at Amanda, and said, "Well, now don't that just beat all."

Two days later, we were scanned for radiation exposure. I must admit that I was scared as all get out, as I waited for my turn. They ran their little metal head over me. It didn't crackle, even once. Only after Amanda had the all clear, could I sigh. We really were going to be OK.

The accident certainly had a large impact on Amanda and I. But it had an even bigger impact on the Moris. From that day on, they went to church with us. We were the first people, in the history of the Pac Rim program, that had gotten their host family to regularly attend church with them. Not only that, but Mori had intensified his "homework". As he put it, his family was "Christian" now. Why? Because he had seen the Lord work, in us. That's what he told us. I had no idea what he was talking about. He said that when everything was happening, he had been angry with his country. People had been scared, the world seemed to be ending. But we had remained calm. We had put our trust in God, and He had seen us through it. When he saw our faith, he believed. I didn't stop to tell him how scared I had been, or the fragile state of my faith. I just sat there, watching someone gain faith from such a broken vessel, as I.

We left Japan a couple of days before Halloween. I was ready to go. I had a mild case of culture shock, and missed American food. I was sad to leave the Moris, and our friends, but I was sure that I would see them, again, some day. I wasn't too sure about what kind of place in my heart Japan would hold. After all, it almost killed me. But it also changed me a lot deeper a place than I could ever know. I had done mission work, and persevered, even when I didn't think that I could. Because we went, a Japanese family was believing in the God of the Bible. They believed in Jesus. To me, that was worth all we had endured up to this point.

PART 24

Dirty sunlight filtered in from the kitchen. It was morning. I looked around at the three other sleeping figures. Did we glow in the dark, now? How long could you live after being exposed to radiation? When would our hair begin to fall out. I looked down at the pool of blonde that gently cascaded around my sleeping wife. I couldn't help but let out a small sob. Mandy rolled over, and I quickly got up. I didn't want her to wake with me in this state.

I walked over to the toilet closet. In Japan, the bathroom is seperate from the toilet. The toilet is in its own room, with its own slippers. I walked into the bathroom, and light poured in from the window. The night before, my dad had told me how the radiation traveled like light waves. Anywhere that light could get in, radiation could, as well. It was too late. I was already exposed. Besides, I had to pee. I have always associated ligth with life. This was the first time that a morning sunbeam could seem poisonous to me.

Soon, the rest of the house was stirring. The television came back on, and we began to get more news. According to the Mori family, the news was broadcasting that the situation had been contained. The problem was under control, and they thought that radiation leakage had been minimal, at best.

There was an instantaneous change in the mood of the house. Mrs. Mori went off to cook breakfast, humming cheerfully. Mr. Mori began to fitter around, and went to read the paper. Mandy and I looked at each other, and just couldn't believe all that had transpired in the last fifteen hours, or so.

At breakfast, Mr Mori asked me to pray and thank God for our safety.

After breakfast, I got back on the computer, to check the English news. Hellfire and brimstone were all over CNN and FOX and ABC. Everywhere I looked, the situation in Japan was bleak and crumbling. They were reporting this as if apocalypse had landed, and began on these small islands. Pretty soon I was disgusted by the fear-mongering. Jeez, if by now, all the Japanese stations were calming everyone down, and reporting the containment of the accident, why couldn't the Western media outlets report this. Instead, it was all blood and guts. DEATH could be looming for any living person, in Japan.

I went to bed. I was tired. I had only had a few hours of sleep, the night before. I guess I must have been pretty tired, because I went to bed at 3 p.m., and slept through the night. That is, I would have slept through the night. At 5 a.m., a very sleepy-looking Mori-san knocked on our bedroom door. I had a phone call. A phone call? Who died? I got up, shaking the sleep from my eyes.
"Moshi moshi?" I answered, forgetting where I was.
"Is this Derin?" I didn't recognize the voice.
"Yeah, this is Derin," I said. "Who's this?"
"This is Susan Peters from KAKE news, in Wichita, Kansas."

The Mori house, complete with metal hurricane shields

PART 23

Japan Nuclear Accident Dateline: 10/02/99

Japan's worst nuclear accident, occurring at a uranium processing plant run by JCO Co., a subsidiary of Sumitomo Metal Mining Co., has left three workers hospitalized in serious condition. This company is located in Tokai-mura, Ibaraki prefecture. A primary school, kindergarten, houses and shops are located nearby. It is near Mito-city, Ibaraki and is about 70 miles northeast of Tokyo.

(C) 1999 Shizuko Mishima
The series of nuclear chain reactions at the plant began in the morning of September 30th, Thursday in Japan. In the afternoon, it was reported that the radiation level outside the JCO was about 4,000 times that of normal levels. After the accident, police sealed off a 200m area around the facility. The government ordered the evacuation of 160 people within a 350-yard radius of the facility and advised nearly 310,000 people living within six miles to stay indoors and keep their windows closed. Schools were shut down and traffic was banned in a 3km radius around the accident.
Train services were suspended in some areas. Japan Railway (JR) East Co suspended service between Mito and Hitachi. JR Joban Line reduced services between Toride and Tsuchiura and between Tsuchiura and Mito. Also, traffic was stopped on the Joban express highway near the Tokai interchange Thursday night.
The accident occured during the production of nuclear fuel for an experimental fast breeder reactor in Oarai, Ibaraki Prefecture. According to JCO spokesman Yutaka Tatsuta, the procedure involved producing a total of 57 kilograms of fuel from a compound that included 18.9 percent uranium. The company found that three workers skipped a step in the procedure, failing to pour the solution into a "containing tower" to let it settle. Instead, they poured it directly into a tank meant for a later stage in the process, causing the chain reaction to begin.
On Friday, workers at the JCO facility stopped the flow of radiation leaking from the site by breaking a pipe to drain water from around the tank, and the government announced it was safe for people in the area to leave their homes. "We have decided the residents will be able to continue with their daily lives," Chief Cabinet Secretary Hiromu Nonaka said. "Nuclear fission reactions at the plant have been suspended and monitors observing radioactivity nearby have revealed that radiation levels have returned to normal."
Train services returned to normal and shops reopened in the area around Tokai-mura after the government's announcement Friday afternoon. But, until the situation has been fully evaluated, it might be smart for travelers to avoid or bypass the area. Doctors cannot say what the long-term health risks of exposure to even low levels of radiation in the Takai-mura accident will be. Thousands of people are now being tested for radiation exposure. So far, it is confirmed that at least 50 people have been exposed to radiation, including workers of the plant and firefighters. According to officials, the residential areas farther from the facility received doses of radiation just slightly above natural levels.


http://gojapan.about.com/library/weekly/aa100299.htm

PART 22

We all piled into the living room. The television was on, and blaring, which was very unusual. The Japanese seem to possess supersonic hearing, and the television was usually just slightly louder than your average church whisper.

We sat on the couch, two Americans, and five Japanese, and we watched the Japanese news program. Of course, Mandy and I understood practically nothing (my limited understanding of the subtle nuances of the Japanese language meant that I know only slight more nothing, than she did). Occasionally, they would remember that we were there, and attempt to translate.

From what we could tell, there had been a nuclear reactor failure in a little town called Tokai. Tokai was approximately 8 km away (which is about 5 miles or so). Little was known about how much radiation was actually emitted into the atmosphere. The leak had happened that afternoon, and the quarantine had been in effect since about five o' clock. That meant that we had been walking around in the area for over three hours, just since the quarantine.
"It travels with the rain," said Mori-san, pointing outside.

Tomo, Satsuki, and Yuki wanted to go home. Mori-san advised against it, but in the end, we had been walking around, outside, all day. If we were exposed, we were exposed. It did not matter. They called a taxi (unbelievably, there was still taxi service), and left.

Meanwhile, I went to the Mori's family computer. I wanted to see if there would be any news on any of the American websites. Mori-san was great, but I felt as though things were being lost in the translation. I pulled up CNN, and froze.

WORST NUCLEAR ACCIDENT IN JAPANESE HISTORY
I never understood the phrase, "his blood froze", before. There it was, in black and white. According to the story, this was worse than Chernobyl. The communities in a 10 mile radius were being quarantined. The local officials couldn't speculate on what the damage might be. Casualties could be catastrophic.

I stumbled back into the living room. I couldn't really think, very clearly. As far as I knew, we could be done. I was deeply, and totally terrified. I will admit it. I have no shame. I was scared of physical death, but I was terrified of my immortal soul.

Mandy and I both called our parents. My wife will tell you, to this day, that she wasn't very afraid, but I remember the tremor that we both had in our voices, as we spoke to our families. They were so far away, and there was just nothing that any of us could do. We were either exposed, or we weren't.

I talked to my dad, on and off, for the entire night. Later, he got a phone bill for over $5,000.00. We were not the only ones that were afraid. Mr and Mrs Mori were plenty scared. Mori-san kept saying, over and over, how sorry he was about all of this. I told him not to worry. It was not his fault. He said that it was his country's fault, and thus, his responsibility. To him, this reminded him of when he was a child, waiting for the allied bombs to fall on his hometown of Yokohama. He didn't know if we'd see tomorrow.

Something had to be done. I knew that if I was ever going to do any kind of good work for the cause that I had claimed to come for, it was right now. This was the moment. I had to give some kind of comfort. Mandy and I began to talk to the Moris about God. We talked about casting our burdens upon Him. We prayed, and read Scripture, especially the verses about worry. Mori-san was particularly interested in the Sermon on the Mount.

Eventually, we all fell asleep.

PART 21

The restaurant was nice. Slick tatami mats lined the floor. Shoji doors separated individual dining rooms, giving privacy for salarymen, and social engagements. Tomoyuki ordered us a set meal of various Japanese delicacies.

Now, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, here. I did not care very much for Japanese food on my first trip to Japan. I found the idea of sushi repulsive. I hated miso soup, and thought that most of the food must have been invented on a dare. I could just see an ancient Japanese fisherman, after a long day on the ocean. He, and his buddies walk up to the local flower merchant.
"Konnichiwa, Joyuki-san," the fisherman says.
"Konnichiwa," Joyuki returns the favor.
"Hey, I bet you are really not very brave," the fisherman taunts, his friends are barely containing their giggles.
"I am brave," retorts Joyuki.
"Prove it," says the fisherman. He elbows his nearest buddy. "Give him THE THING."
The fisherman's buddy pulls out a dripping purple tentacle.
"Eat this," says the fisherman.
"Wha-?" says Joyuki.
"Eat it or you are a chicken . . . or worse, an Eastern European."
"You take that back!" says Joyuki.
"I won't," the fisherman says. He thrusts the tentacle at Joyuki.
Joyuki looks at the fisherman, and his friends. He knows that his honor is at stake. He opens his mouth, and says the only thing that he can.
"Can I use soy sauce?"

I was fully convinced that most Japanese dishes came about in this very way. It was very difficult to let a Japanese man order for me, and then to eat everything that came my way. But I did it. We had a very pleasant evening. Amanda and I continued to be amazed at the gracious nature of this people. The contrast between these friends, and the Americans that I knew really struck me, as oceanic. The Japanese behaved in the manner that I had expected Christians to act. I found it a sad statement about the state of our culture. I also found it to be another nail in the coffin of Christianity. How could a people who were pagans, by the very definition of the word, be more Christian, than the people that I knew wore the name of Christ? This idea struck me again, and again that night.

Finally, the meal was finished. We thanked our wait-staff, bowing (tipping is not permissible. i love that). We went to the train station, dodging the slow rain, and hailed a cab. Tomo, Satsuki, and Yuki would be coming over to meet the Moris. and play a little UNO. All was right with the world.

The cab pulled up. I paid, and we all piled out. It was about 8:00 p.m. We were not halfway up the front walk before the door to the house was thrown open.
"Quickly! Quickly!" Mori-san said. "Please come in!"
"What's wrong?" I said. I had never seen him so agitated.
"Big problem," he answered. "Nuclear accident. Radiation in the rain. We are quarantine."
"What?" I asked.
"We must stay indoors. We are not safe."

He closed the door, and lowered the metal hurricane blinds. The sound was like a coffin lid slamming.

PART 20

We settled in to life, in Japan. Every morning, we would get up, and catch a bus to Ibaraki train station. Then we would walk a few blocks to the school. If we play the association game, the first memory that flashes in my head when someone says, "Japan", is one of walking those streets. They are really more like alleys. They are small, intimate. Small shops and restaurants lined the sides. We would walk along with people bowing to us, and watching the two gaikokujin (or foreigners) gallivant through their country.

During these walks, Amanda and I would talk of our dreams, our hopes, our fears. It was a really beautiful time for two people, who had only been married year, to really become intimate. In a way, I guess it reminded me of the band, and my friendships from the past. After all, it really was us against the world. The rest of the Pacific Rim group was made up of thirty, or so, singles, and our sponsor couple: Arlis and Suzanne. They were quite a bit older than the rest of us, and so Amanda and I really were kind of "on our own".

One day, we went to school, as normal. It was a cloudy day, and while not incredibly rainy, a fine mist was falling, as we walked to school. The day was completely normal, as far as our Japanese routine goes. We went to various classes, learned to make a dindin daiko (a kind of Japanese drum that was used in the finale of Karate Kid 2), and hung out with some of our Japanese friends, Tomoyuki, Satsuki, and Yuki. It was a pleasant day, and we were looking forward to a nice meal at one of the local eating establishments. Tomoyuki promised me that I would enjoy the food, as he was going to be ordering a special meal.

Around 4:30, we were in the common area, which is kind of like a student center. We were playing UNO with some of the Americans on our trip, and waiting for the Japanese students to be dismissed from class. There were many Japanese already in the area. I was winning, so I wasn't paying much attention to anything but getting rid of my last green 3.
"What's going on?" someone asked. I looked up, but briefly. It was my turn, in two turns, and the girl before Amanda had just laid down a WILD, and announced the color was "green".

I looked down at my cards, and then looked back up. There seemed to be some kind of commotion around the one television that hung on the back wall, next to a huge row of vending machines.
"That's weird. Maybe its some kind of celebrity." But as I looked, I began to notice that the kids looked more grave than usual (which is kind of an amazing feat, because the Japanese naturally have a "reserved" look on their faces. emotion is not necessarily encouraged).
"I'm gonna see what's up." I was probably the most advanced with the Japanese language, out of everyone in the group (which is not saying much). I got up, and moved toward the rapidly-growing group.

"Sumimasen, Eigo wa wakarimaska?" (do you speak English?) I asked the nearest student.
"Hai, skoshi." he replied. (yes, a little)
"Oh, good, my Japanese is terrible."
He gave me a polite smile, which meant that my poor attempt at flown right past. I swallowed. "Errr. Can you please tell me what is going on?"
On?" he asked.
I pointed at the television.
"Oh, on," he replied. "News program."
"Oh. The news is on." I nodded. "What is he saying?"
"Yes," he said.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Yes. He talking."
"Alright. Thank you. Domo Arigato." I said.

I walked back to the group. My friend, Matthew, looked at me.
"What's happening?" he asked.
"I have no freakin' idea," I said.
"Well, do you think it might be important to find out?" Mandy asked. "They kinda look serious."
I sighed. "Fine, I'll go ask, again."

I walked over to a girl, this time.
"Sumimasen?"
She looked at me. "Oh, very good Japan speak," she said.
"Great!" I must have been a little over enthusiastic at the prospect of a real English conversation, because she took a step back, looking concerned. "I'm sorry. I don't speak very much Japanese. Can you please tell me what the man is saying?" I gestured at the television.
"Oh," she said. "The man say that there is nuclear accident."
"A nuclear accident?" I asked. Visions of nuclear winter, and Chernobyl filled my brain.
"Yes." she said. "Bad accident."
"Where?" I asked.
"Not so close," she said.
"Are we safe?" I asked.
"I think, yes. We OK." she said. She gave me the thumbs up.
I thanked her, and walked back to explain the situation to my group.

In a little while, our friends arrived, and we left to go get some dinner.

It was raining.

us and the Mori family

PART 19

I hadn't expected to like Japan, so much. It was not a country that I even wanted to go to. But I couldn't help it. The moment we landed, Amanda and I were captivated by the sights, the sounds, the people. We loved how foreign the country was, yet it had just enough American-western-isms, to make us feel at home. When we toured around, it felt as though America had gotten invaded by an alien, Blade Runner race. There were familiar things, like McDonald's, Wendy's, and Kentucky Fried Chicken, but they were just a little bit different.

The Mori family was like that. Western enough that we felt at home, but just different enough that we knew we were not in Kansas, anymore. Mandy and I instantly fell in love with them. Mrs. Mori was gentle, kind, and loving. Mr. Mori was gracious, generous, and very curious about American culture.

They had traveled to America, before, and their oldest son lived in New York City. Mori-san spoke very good English, and insisted that we correct any mispronunciations. They knew that part of what we were going to do was to teach English, using the Bible. He thought that this was very interesting.

Every morning, Mori-san would do a ritual in front of the Buddhist shrine that was at the center of his house. When a family member dies, in Japan, each family will have an alter. This is their way of honoring the spirit of the deceased; a kind of ancestral worship. This alter was for his father. Because I had studied Shintoism and Buddhism in school, conversation came naturally. As a result, Christianity was brought up at regular intervals. During these conversations, I let Amanda do a lot of the talking. Our stint in Tennessee had really emboldened her to share her faith, and I was happy that she had grown so strong. I had no desire to burden her with the same lack of stability that I was tortured with.

A short while after we got there, Mori-san began to ask me about the materials we were using to teach English. I asked him if he would like to study them, too. He said, "Hai, domo," which means "yes, thanks." So I began giving him homework. We were studying out of the book of Luke, and after the third lesson, he suddenly began to laugh. I asked him what was so funny. Mandy and I were deeply entranced in a game of Othello, and she was giving me a severe pounding.
"You really believe this?" he asked.
He pointed to the book of Luke, to the passage of the virgin birth. Surprise, surprise, here was another passage that I never had really carefully considered. I was beginning to get tired of discovering new reasons to doubt passages that I had known all my life. Yet, in the stark, rational, modern electric lights of the Japanese man's family room the whole idea of Mary in a stable seemed ludicrous.

I pretended to be interested in my quickly diminishing black Othello pieces. Mandy, on the other hand, piped right up.
"Sure," she said. "God did that."
Mr Mori hummmphed. I said nothing.

A few days later, Mori-san announced that they wanted to have a tea party for some of the school girls that they tutored. The Japanese go to school year round. They go for eight hours a day, or so, and then afterwords, they go to a tutor. Mori-san knew that I played the guitar, and asked me to play some American songs. I asked what songs he wanted. He said that he would think of some, and then let me know.

Later that afternoon, Mori-san was walking down the hallway, humming a tune.
"What song is that?" Mandy asked.
"Huh? Oh, it is Silent Night," Mori-san replied.
"Where did you learn that song?" Mandy asked him.
"A long time ago. They taught us this song in grade school."
"Do you know what the song is about?" I could see the twinkle in Mandy's eye. He had fallen right into her trap.
"Ummm." he said. "No."
He began to go over the words. "Silent Night. Holy Night. All is calm. All is bright. Round yon virgin, mother and . . . oh. Sagoy!", which basically means "wow!"
Amanda looked at him and said, "See. It's not that silly." Then she walked off.

Mori-san sat on the couch, deep in thought. I thought a lot that night, too.

PART 18

History is a weird subject. When you are sitting, cozily in a room, sipping a hot coffee and listening to a teacher speak about battles and assassinations, the stories take on a quaint yellow nostalgia. You internalize this emotion, this "connection to the past". There is a comfort in this. Somewhere you know you can hearken back to a time when America was more innocent, and God was first. You know that there was a time when life was simpler, and you can sit back, smile, and wish for the good, old days. History seems to be whitewashed in much the same way those old World War 2 Disney propaganda cartoons were. You begin to think about good guys and bad guys, and all is black and white.

In real life, the understanding of history is a far messier prospect. The Pacific Rim trip brought this home in a completely tangible, undeniable reality, that I do not think I was ready for. One week, I was standing at Pearl Harbor, wrapped in a piece of Americana, and looking at the wall of inscribed names of those lost. It almost glowed with its coat of fresh white paint.

The next week, I was in Hiroshima. Before me, in a glass case, was a lump of flesh. The spot light, above, illuminated the curve of a thumb, and a yellow fingernail that looked as though it had just recently been nibbled on by its owner. Of course, that was impossible. This flesh had been last seen by its original owner over fifty years before. It was a glaring example of the differences that the two countries had, in presenting their version of the war.

I walked through the atomic bomb peace museum, looking at the exhibits, and thinking. In my Christian world view, this didn't make any sense. I had always known that there were other people in this world, but now I knew there were other people. I knew those people. I had eaten with them. I had lived with them. I had bathed with them in the nude (more about that a little later). From my studies, I knew that the Christian population of Japan was about 1%. Yet, according to my understanding of the Bible, the only way to be saved, was to come into contact with the blood of Jesus; to confess your sins, repent, and put Him on in baptism. If He were not the Lord of your life, you could not come to the Father.

But on one day, thousands of the Japanese were wiped out with a single atomic bomb. 99% of them did not even know the name of Jesus. Was I really to believe that they were all condemned to hell? I had gone there with the idea of ministering to save the lost. But I began to ask new questions. Did I really believe that they were going to hell? If the answer was, "no," they could be saved apart from Jesus, then what was the point of missionary work? Why proselytize, when that just gave them the opportunity to reject God?

The bigger question, really, was how can I believe that any of this stuff is real? How can I believe that Christianity is different than any of the myriad of other religions out there? I suddenly became quite convinced that the only reason that I believed any of this stuff was because of my upbringing. If I had been born in Japan, I could see no way that I would ever have come to believe in Jesus. If this was a valid religion, I reasoned, it shouldn't be so difficult to find the truth.

Nevertheless, I still wanted to believe. I still thought that if you truly tried to live by the principles of the New Testament, your life was better. I was sure that there would be an answer to my questions, somewhere, out there. I had to continue to do the mission work that I was sent to do. People had paid to support me, and I couldn't let them down.

It was with this in mind, that Mandy and I entered the home of Mr. and Mrs. Norio Mori. We lived with them for five weeks.

PART 17

We were called into the office of the professor that originally got us the Tennessee job. He told us that he had received a very serious letter from the youth minister. It had opened serious doubts about our spiritual maturity. He was not sure that he wanted us to go on the trip, and was going to try and get us removed. I was freakin' out. I had looked forward to this trip for a year, now. We had trained for it. We had raised money for it. We had dreamed, planned, and hoped for it. Now it was all up in the air.

We had a meeting with the professor, the director of the Pac Rim program, and the sponsors that were going on the trip with us. I humbly explained to them the situation, as we saw it. We talked back and forth for over two hours. Let me tell you, my palms were sweating like a sixteen year old boy on prom night. Finally, they reached a verdict. We could go!

Mandy and I celebrated like it was 1999. Oh, right, it was 1999. We packed, planned, and saved, and soon we were off on a big ol' jet airliner.

We don't look like we're about to be run through the ringer, do we?

PART 16

The job was in Knoxville Tennessee. The youth minister was a young guy. He and his wife had been there for a few years, and the congregation was a perfect fit for what we wanted. My last experience had been so positive that I could not wait to get there, and get started.

Since I had left the band, a strange metamorphosis had taken place. When my wife met me, I was secure, confident. I came across as a bit cocky, and sure of myself. In other words, I knew who I was. Now, though, I had lost most of my confidence. Maybe it was the fact that so many friends had betrayed me. Maybe it was my never-ending lack of faith. Maybe it was just because I was afraid to be real with who I was and what I was going through. I was afraid to admit that I was growing more and more agnostic every day. Now, I had to go into this internship, and help these kids with their spiritual lives. I was going to give it my best, but I was not very confident in my ability.

We got settled in, and began to work. I was, once again, surprised at my talent with these kids. I think that my youthful appearance, and my interest in pop culture helped me to relate with them in a way that most other adults couldn't. We were befriending them and ministering to them. I felt used, in spite of my weakness, and out of that grew a very real thankfulness that I had never experienced before.

Soon, however, the youth minister began to grow distant. We noticed him shunning us at meetings, and leaving us out of decision making processes. I continually asked him what was going on, and he would lie to me, and tell me that nothing was bothering him. This made me even more insecure, and I began to ask other adults if they knew what the matter was.

He was indignant that I would talk about him behind his back. He told us that if we had a problem with him, we should approach him about it. I replied that we had tried, and he wouldn't talk about it. He was angry, and I let him intimidate me. Instead of a conflict, I just began to withdrawal.

Things worsened between us. I tried to be a hard worker, and do what he wanted, but I never seemed able to say the right things. Not to mentions the fact that my own sins (sins that I had held onto since I was a teenager), were getting in the way of God and I. Soon, I hated being there. I started only going to the office when I had to, and fantasized about the end of the summer, and the beginning of the Pacific Rim tour.

In July, we got called to a meeting. It seemed as though the youth minister had gone to two of the elders, and had talked about us, in length. They decided to confront us. They took us into a dimly lit room, and sat us down on a love seat. Then the four of them began to open up on us (or more particularly, me). They accused me of being an abuser. They told my wife that I mentally abused her, and that it was only a matter of time until I hit her. They also told me that I was a horrible minister, and that I was belligerent. I tried to hold my own. Suddenly, Mandy burst out crying. That was the end. I told them that I would not let them talk to my wife like they had Besides, anyone who knew us, knew that there was no way that I would get away with emotionally abusing her. She was tough, rough, and quick to let me know when I had screwed up. They were basing all of their info on silly, shallow, circumstantial evidence, and the youth minister had had a problem with me from day one.

Soon after that, they fired us. The main elder, one of the youth minister's best friends, looked me straight in the eye and asked me if I really felt I had helped any of the kids, that summer. I was floored! I knew that the youth minister and I had problems, but I didn't realize he thought I had been a hindrance. I had worked with countless kids, during the course of that summer. I had counseled, I had prayed with, I had ministered. I had taught, worshiped, and interceded. I couldn't believe all this had happened.

That night, we were packing. I wanted out of there as soon as physically possible. We were going to leave the next day. Suddenly, a flood of kids came to the house. The first one in the door was the son of that same elder. He looked me straight in the eye, and said, "You have no idea how much you changed my life, this summer."

We spent the rest of the evening laughing, crying, and praying. At the end of the night, we said goodbye. I felt relieved that I had, indeed, been a blessing to the kids, which was why I was there, in the first place.

We went back to Oklahoma. I felt incredibly humbled, and hurt by that church. But, hey, at least I was done with them. They couldn't do anything further to me. What I didn't know was that the youth minister had written a letter to my academic advisor, and our whole trip was in jeopardy.

PART 15

Amanda and I were married on October 17, 1998. I had asked Steve and Adam to both be in my wedding. Steve said he was coming and we ordered him a tux. He never showed up. I tried to call him, but he would never answer his phone. He finally answered, the day of the wedding. He made up some lie about car trouble. I hung up on him.

So, I was one groomsman short. That was OK. The wedding still went off, beautifully. The ceremony was nice. My dad officiated. He only dropped the rings once.

I don't really remember the reception very well. We were kind of rushed through it. I didn't get any of the food other than one bite of cake, and one sip of punch (which, incidentally, was my favorite). The receiving line was so huge that we had no time to really enjoy it. Soon, we were fleeing the church in a cloud of rice (no, I didn't care much about the "poor little birdies"). Then we were in our car, driving off. We were married.

We went to Florida for our honeymoon. That was an adventure, in and of itself. Maybe I'll blog about that experience some other time.

We got back to Oklahoma, and began our life together. Mandy soon realized just how serious I was about the Pacific Rim trip. We went through the application process and were approved. Soon, we began to go to preparation meetings. I don't think that Amanda really bought that this was going to happen, until we were mailing out our fundraising letters (much of our trip would be missions based.). She still wasn't really buying it, though. We had to raise about $15,000.00 for us to go. It seemed insurmountable.

Meanwhile, I was holding on to my faith with both hands. I wanted to be a minister, and I wanted to do right by this mission trip. I was looking at this as the chance to go out and see God, in action.

Summer was fast approaching, and I was working for Garfield's restaurant. It was located in the mall, in Edmond, Oklahoma. Both my wife and my brother, worked for AMC Theaters. This meant that heaven had arrived for me. I got to watch free movies, any time that I wanted. I would get off work, and go sit in the movies until they got off. If I didn't have to work, I would just go sit in the movies, all night. I must have seen hundreds of movies in just a few short months. I loved every minute of it.

Soon, though, I began to want something more for the summer. I knew that if I played my hand right, I would have all the credits I would need, once we returned from the Pacific Rim tour. We would leave in late August, and I would graduate in January. The only thing was that Oklahoma Christian required two summer internships in order to graduate with a BS in Biblical Studies. One of the teachers had begun counseling me. One day, he told me of a church that was in need. The church was in Tennessee, and it wanted both a male and a female intern. It was time to call Amanda.

PART 14

I waited as the phone rang.
"Hello?"
I could tell it was Amanda's voice.
"Hey," I said. "How's it goin'?"
"Derin! What's up?"
"Hey, honey, I was just wondering . . . what do you think about Australia?"
There was silence. Finally,
"What do you mean, Australia?"

I explained as best as I could. She listened, politely, but I could tell that to her, it was just kind of a hair-brained scheme. It wasn't really gonna happen. I guess she hadn't yet learned that when I get a bee in my bonnet, I go after something. I knew that I shouldn't even try to explain at this time. Instead, I decided I would talk to her after the wedding.

In the meantime, I began to really get into the meat of my classes. One of the most promising looked to be Biblical Archeology. I was hoping that this class would begin to answer some of my questions that had been obstacles to my faith. Unfortunately, the class began to bring up more questions, than answers. I tried to ignore the questions, wishing for security, and valuing that particular emotion far more than I valued any search for the truth. When I added a class on the major world religions, doubt began to become the language of my thoughts. I could no longer look at Scripture with any kind of credibility. Once again, I was sinking into despair. My faith was on life support. I stubbornly held to a belief in God. It was the only way that I could make sense of reality, morality, and any kind of realistic worldview.

PART 13

That was all the encouragement I needed. I knew that I could come back. I talked with Amanda, and decided that the best thing that I could do would be to finish my education. I knew that my brother was down at Oklahoma Christian University. We had really repaired our relationship, so I figured that this would be a great place to go. However, it was already August. I didn't see how I could get accepted to the college, find housing for us, and process financial aid, in time.

I made a few phone calls, and within three days, all of that stuff was taken care of. Three days?! That to me was amazing. I took it as a sign that this was where we were supposed to go.

School started the end of August. Mandy and I were not to be married until the middle of October. She went back to Colorado, and I moved to Oklahoma City on the hottest day of the year. My mother and one of Dustin's friends helped me move in. I think that my mother got a little bit of heat stroke.

So I started my new life. I was taking all Bible courses, and trying to meet new people. It was an exciting, scary time. Nobody knew me. Nobody knew my past. I was a new student, with the freedom of becoming anything that I wished to. I decided to start things off on the right foot.

I went to the devotionals, and all the mixers. One fall night, in early September, the student center was having an expo on all the various foreign programs that were available. I had always wanted to travel and see various countries. When I was at my first college, I had planned on going on a trip to Holland. Adam and I had argued about what this would do to the band, seeing as how I would have been gone for two and a half months. Finally, I sacrificed my trip in order to continue the band. I had always regretted it.

Now, as I walked past the various booths, set up to promote foreign exchange and missions programs, I began to be envious. All of these people were traveling around, going to exotic locales, and escaping their American worldview, if only for a short time. Why couldn't I go? There really was no good reason. With resolve, I began to check out the booths, seriously considering what might be. I looked at Scotland, England, Ireland, Africa, China, and Australia. I considered Holland, again, and Germany. Instead of narrowing it down, I became more confused. I knew that I wanted either Africa or Europe. I just didn't know where.

I came to the end of the booths. There were two left. One of them was called the Vienna Studies Program. The other was the Pacific Rim Tour. I first saw the Vienna booth. The guy sitting behind the booth had actually been on the trip. It lasted for three and a half months, and toured a lot of the European countries. Although it was based in Vienna, you would get rail passes, and plenty of time to travel, not to mention that there were several guided tours, including the Vatican. With my interest in church history, this seemed a perfect fit.

The guy must have realized my interest was not merely a passing fancy because he leaned in to me and said, in a low voice, "I am glad that I went on the trip, but if I had to do it all over again, I would have gone on the Pac Rim tour." I went over and checked out the booth.

Japan! China! Hawaii! Hong Kong! New Zealand! Australia! The words were huge, and in different fonts. It was obvious that whoever put this booth together was excited about the program. A young woman, in her early twenties was manning things. She smiled as I asked her about the trip. For the next forty minutes, I could hardly get a word in, edgewise. Saying she was enthusiastic is kind of like saying the Spartan cheerleaders like to cheer. She was absolutely bubbling. We talked about all of the places she had gone. I already knew I liked Hawaii, but New Zealand and Australia were two places that I couldn't wait to see. Besides, I knew that they were filming Star Wars Episode 1 over there. That broadened my interest. (hey, I told you I was a movie buff) I really had no interest in China or Japan, but as I thought about it, I came to the realization that it is easier to see many different countries if you go to Europe. I might be able to pull that off later in my life. A Pacific Rim tour, however, was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

PART 12

On the last day, I got an unexpected surprise. Adam and Joe were not happy with my decision to leave. They were not going to offer me any help. Steve and Justin showed up, however, to help me load my truck. They had been playing in a band together, for a while, and reached out in one last effort of friendship. I was really touched by this, and all was quickly made right between us.

I went back to Wichita with a new purpose, and new vision. I figured that this was it. This was the chance to change my life, for good. I did not know where the answers would come from. All I knew was that my security was gone, and needed to be rebuilt on something a little more solid than parties and rockin' with the band.

I threw myself into my work. Amanda and I were both living with my parents. She was upstairs, and I was downstairs. I got to see her until I went to bed, at night. I got to kiss her goodbye in the morning. It was wonderful.

The church was a blessing, as well. I was incredibly nervous about going back to work with a congregation. After all, the last one hadn't turned out so well. Right away, though, this one was different. The youth minister, Steve, was a great guy. He trusted me, gave me responsibility, and immediately put me into teaching a Sunday morning class.

I still wasn't praying all that much, and I made it a deliberate habit to not question my faith very strenuously. Slowly, a small semblance of faith began to grow. It was a tiny spark, but when I thought all that stuff was about dead, a tiny ember was enough.

The summer went very well. I helped kids who Steve wasn't able to reach. I knew when they were involved with drugs, alcohol, or other dangerous things. I could confront them. I played my guitar for them, and went to the movies with them.

The parents were also very supportive. They encouraged me to work with their kids, confronting them, and admonishing them. Soon, lives really began to be changed. The pinnacle of the summer came about at the youth group's church camp. There were three guys who had been labeled as the "bad kids". They were a little wild, had experimented with some drugs and stuff, but they had fantastic hearts. They reminded me of myself, and I wanted to make sure that they knew that if they opened some doors, it was impossible to close them, again. I reached out to them. I formed relationships with them. On the last day of camp, I baptized all three of them.

This was the sign I was looking for. I had not baptized anyone since my "glory" days of high school. Now I had been deemed worthy, again. I can not describe the joy that I felt as I pulled the last boy from the water. I did have a purpose, and God had called me home.

What?! I had no idea all this was going on at College!

PART 11

I sat and listened. This man was telling me about some of the problems that he had with his youth group. I understood those problems, I had faced them, myself. But I still could not see how I could be of any assistance. Then he asked me the question. Would I consider moving to Wichita this summer, and working as his youth intern? He had heard that I had some experience with this kind of work.

Move back to Wichita? Was he crazy? I was in a successful rock band. We were about to be signed. My girl was finally living in her own apartment, and was getting along with my best friend. Besides, I hated Wichita. I had a lot of bad memories there. I did not want to go back.

I told him that I would think about it, and went to pray.

The field that I sat in was absolutely gorgeous. About a hundred yard to my left sat an old wooden church that was built in the early 1800's. It was whitewashed, sitting among field of prairie grass, and wild flowers. I looked at this nature, mixed with this man made expression of faith, and listened to the bees. I thought about everything I had, and what I truly wanted. I prayed and cried and thought of my future children. In the stillness of that Spring afternoon, I made up my mind. It was time to go back home; back to Wichita.

I already knew what I wanted to do, but I needed to hear from Amanda. I went and spoke with her about it. Wisely (although I must confess it infuriated me at the time), she told me that she would rely on me. I needed to make the right decision, here. She would never make a choice like that for me. I told her that she was absolutely right. Then I walked her over to the youth minister and told him that I accepted. Amanda's mouth fell right open. I don't think that she expected me to make the choice that I did. But I knew what this was. This was a choice between salvation and damnation. This was a choice between Amanda and the numerous anonymous girls out there. This was a choice between my band, and my soul.

A few details needed to be worked out (such as where we were going to live). Amazingly, they all were taken care of, that day. The youth minister talked with the elders of the church, and they offered me a very fare wage. There was nothing holding me back. If we were gonna have a go at a real life together, this was our best shot.

I went back home on Monday and told the guys that I quit. Amanda and I would be leaving on Friday.

PART 10

Amanda, as you might have guessed, was furious. She couldn't believe that he was living there. Adam, on the other hand, was not very happy with Amanda. He felt that she was trying to be our "Yoko". He knew that she didn't care for him, and she felt as though most of my moral deficits were due to his less-than-holy influence. She had seen him manipulate others, crushing faith almost as a fun, little past time. Soon, he began to use those skills on her.

He would tell her things about me, some true, some lies. There was no reason for this, other than to break us up. Time after time, he would through wild, lavish parties. I felt like I lived in Sodom. I loved Amanda, but this was my livelihood she was messing with. This was my higher purpose. She didn't tell me about Adam and his mind-games. I just thought that she judgemental, and going overboard. We almost broke up, several times.

Things at my house were not going well. There was rampant immorality going on, every night of the week. Adam's wife would bring in girls from the college, and the town. Not only that, but they were getting into Wicca. They would chant and do spring spells. Both Adam and his wife would try to get girls to come onto me. I was trying to purify my mind. I was going to be a husband, soon, and I knew I had to straighten up. I couldn't even go down to where their bedroom was because there was so much porn everywhere.

April 1998 came and went. Amanda decided to stay in town with me for the summer. She acquired her own apartment and was getting set up to live there. I was setting up gigs. It looked as though it was going to be an amazing summer. Not only were we talking with some of the smaller labels, but we just might have some interest from some of the big guys. Not only that, but Amanda and Adam had finally found some small resemblance of peace. Both of them became resigned to the presence of each other. I still was a little bit torn spiritually, but that would work its way out. Yep, I felt as if we had finally turned a corner.

In May, my parent's church had a family camp. Mom begged and begged me to come. I had no desire. But I humored her. My brother would be there with his new fiance. This would give us a chance to mend. So, I went.

I talked with Amanda, the entire four hour drive. We spoke about where we were, and where we really wanted to end up. We talked about Adam, and the band. We talked about life and our dreams. She asked me what I wanted out of my spiritual walk. I told her that I wanted to be able to believe in God, I just couldn't find Him. I agreed that I would try to find Him this weekend. We prayed that this would happen. It was the first time I had prayed with a girl since my 21st birthday.

Within a few hours of our arrival, the youth minister walked up to me, and asked me for my help.

PART 9

It got worse from there. Joe was an incredible drummer, much better than Steve. He took our level of musicality to new heights. We became even more successful. We began to talk with record labels. It was looking as though I really might be able to do this with my life. I felt so fulfilled.

The morality of the band, however, was about the equivalent of a Jerry Springer episode. I moved into an apartment, and Adam moved into one in the same building. It was a constant party. I worked at Pizza Hut for supplemental money, and played the clubs on the weekends.

I kept trying to come back to God, but it just wouldn't work. I was too wrapped up in myself and my flesh. I was a rock n' roll legend in my own mind. People ask me, today, why I don't play my guitar much any more. The answer is that it really is just too painful. Our band began to influence the entire college negatively. In fact, the morality was so destroyed while we were there, that those in the know had begun to refer to those years as the "dark years". I don't take full responsibility, but I certainly think that we were a big part of it. Bisexuality was a huge trend among the girls on campus, and drugs and alcohol were rampant.

Out of this mess, I met Amanda. She was like no one I had ever met. She was beautiful, and vivacious, and perfect. She had a tender heart for animals, possessed a mean little wild streak, yet still had an unyielding faith in the Bible. I didn't know how to get her, but I knew I wanted her. Somehow, she got sucked into the false image I had created for myself. We began to date, and she had no idea of what kind of messed up emotional baggage I had. Luckily, she didn't find out until it was already too late, and I had her hooked.

I asked her to marry me in December of 1997. We had now been in the band for two years. I moved out of the apartment, at her insistence. She could see the negative influence that Adam and I had over each other. The problem was that with Steve gone, and my relationship with my brother strained, Adam was the most important friend that I had. He was the only one who had not deserted me. I didn't want to forsake him. Couldn't we just all get along? From Amanda's viewpoint, the answer was no way in Hades. I moved into a house with a buddy of mine. He looked for tenants for the basement, while I went to Colorado to make our engagement official.

When I returned from the trip, my friend informed me that he had some great new tenants for the basement. You can imagine my surprise when I set down my suitcases, and there was Adam, sitting at our common room table. "Welcome home, buddy," he said.

PART 8

That night, we had a really rockin' party. We were excited. All of us felt this was the beginning of something magical. And it was. Soon we were playing all over the Midwest. Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, the requests were piling in. People were becoming enamoured with The Bonhoeffers.

The name came from a 20th century German theologian named Dietrich Bonhoeffer. During World War 2, he was part of a coup that attempted to assassinate Hitler. He was caught, and thrown into a concentration camp for his efforts. He wrote several books on the nature of Christian discipleship, and ethics. I was reading this book as we were trying to decide upon the name of the band, and one of our friends introduced us as The Bonhoeffers. The name stuck.

The band continued to flourish. Meanwhile, my brother and I were not seeing eye to eye on several different band related subjects. Eventually, our fights led to him leaving the band. It was not cordial. There were huge rifts between the two of us, for a long time after that.

We asked on a local guitarist that we thought would take us to the next level. Adam and I wanted to play more bars. Justin (the new guy) just wanted to play, wherever. Steve only wanted to play the bars if we could minister to the drunks. I had been there, done that in high school. I had no interest. I had nothing to say to anyone that could convince them of any "higher power" or spirituality. I couldn't even convince myself. I conceded, out of friendship and unity. Adam kind of just shrugged and went along with it.

We went into the studio, and after only playing our instruments for ten months, we cut a record. It was so exhilarating. Anticipation for the new album was high, and we were stoked by how it had all come together. We entered into several competitions, and began winning them. I knew this was what I was made to do.

Soon, though, I noticed a real problem. Justin started to become kind of a pain. He would say random, silly things if he was anywhere near a mic, and had some real maturity issues. It wasn't too long before he became a liability, damaging the professionalism of the band. After many discussions over beer, we finally decided to go it as a three piece. Justin was out.

While all of this was happening, Adam and I really began crumbling, morality-wise. For me, it was about the power of being the only single guy in the band, much less the lead singer/guitar player. I was the front man, and this made me strangely irresistible. The girls came a runnin', and I was all too eager to get to know as many as possible. Alcohol was free at the bars, and groupies would come by, after the shows. With them they brought pot, and adoration. I felt worshiped, and loved every minute of it. It took away the loneliness, at the end of the night when Adam and Steve went home to their wives. It took away the despair. I still had some aspects of my morality intact, though they were warped.

Adam, had other spiritual problems. Let's just say that he and his wife were exploring areas of their marriage that were "alternative". They let me in on everything that they were doing, and I knew of every sordid detail. Though my flesh approved, I still wanted some kind of spirituality. I was completely tossed about, emotionally, unable to find any point to anchor.

About this time, Steve began to really become aware of how depraved Adam and I had become. He pleaded with us, yelled at us, and then he dropped it. At least I thought he dropped it. One day, about a month after our last discussion on the matter, he did something despicably sneaky. Since he owned much of the equipment, he snuck in to our practice headquarters, and cleaned us out.

Adam and I arrived for practice, and found everything gone. Well, not everything. He left a note. This was the ultimate betrayal to me. I was in this thing for the friendship, for the experience. It was us against the world, and now he had betrayed me. I never did fit in with his stupid ideology. I just wanted to play music with my friends. In my opinion, this was all those good "Christian" kids, all over again. I didn't meet what they thought I should, so they rejected me. Steve rejected me. My friend and brother rejected me. Oh, the irony was not lost on me. I figured that I deserved it for the way I had treated my own brother. But still, this was the cruelest cut.

Adam figured good riddance. Steve was cramping our style, anyway. Drunk people did not want to be preached at, and we had stopped playing youth rallies. He brainstormed, and talked with me. Finally, we agreed to ask the original guy who had taught me my first drum beat. We asked Joe to join the band.

PART 7

So we started out as just three friends, and no skills. I taught the bass riff and the drum beats to them; Adam on bass, Steve on drums. And we began to play together. Every afternoon, we would lock ourselves into a music room, and begin to flesh out songs. We brought my brother in, for a lead guitar because quite literally, I could not play guitar, and sing at the same time. It would throw me off rhythm.

Soon, the guys learned to trust my ability to compose songs together. We would start soft, and build to tension mixing in pieces of punk, 50's, and shoegazer into a fairly unique medley. Soon, we had over thirty original songs (this was a necessity, because none of us were good enough to pull off covers), and were planning our first concert.

In the band, I finally felt as though I had found what I was looking for. I had purpose and community; unconditional love. It was Us against the world, and that was just fine as it could be. We walked across the campus of this small college with bleached out hair and rock band T-shirts that none of these guys had ever heard of. We had our own language, our own jokes, our own style. We became the anchor point for every alterna-chick and freak-out boy in the town (not just the college). People knew that we were in "that band", before they had ever even heard us play a song.

The first concert was in the early fall, I think it was September. I'll never forget the nerves. The audience was packed. It was sold out. We were the only ones playing, and all of these people were there to see us. I scanned the crowd, looking for my former girlfriend, and her new fiance (didn't take long to replace me). Several of the songs were about her, and I wanted her to hear them, to really understand what she had done to me. Also milling about, were many of the people who had rejected me, who had shunned me from their group. I really did not want this to suck.

We prayed together, beforehand. Steve insisted on it. I just wanted him to hurry and finish the prayer. I didn't care much about it, I just wanted to rock out. As far as I was concerned, this was a forum for me to come to grips with all the demons that tormented me, including my faith. Some of my songs may speak about faith positively, and some negatively. I was going to be honest about my experiences and my failures. Steve, on the other hand, really wanted to be in a "Christian" band. Since he had been the provider of most of the start up capital, I didn't argue. I just wanted to play rock music with my friends.

I remember that long walk to the stage. The lights were out. We were playing in a Methodist church. The pastor was a man who loved music. He had agreed to be a manager for us, booking us youth rallies, churches, festivals, and even bars. He had an incredibly sophisticated light system, one that he didn't even fully understand. When I got to the mike, we were supposed to be introduced, and then the lights were to come on. There were no lights. I waited. . . still nothing. That was the only technical difficulty of the night.

I knew that we were on to something when half way through the set, one of the conservative girls in the audience yelled out "You guys rock!"

PART 6

The day before my 21st birthday? Gimme a break, here! I had just come back from one of the worst experiences of my life, and she does this to me? I was absolutely devastated. God had called me back to Him, through her. Now he was taking everything away, again. Was I just not worthy of His ministry; his blessings? I didn't know what to do.

My two best friends were both married, already. On my twenty first birthday, I spent the evening with them, and a few friends. Most were in serious relationships. I was miserable. It didn't take me very long to get extremely drunk. I don't remember much from that night, other than sorrow, beer, and my friend getting so wasted that he tried to chug a glass jar of spicy Pace salsa.

I was not sober for the next month and a half. Every night I was either drinking or smoking pot. I did not care a bit about anything other than my misery. I snuck the beer into my dorm room, and hid it in some hollowed out speakers adorning my entertainment center. But I was careless. It was only a matter of time before I was going to get busted. Then I would either be punished, or expelled. You know what? I really didn't care. They could kick me out if they wanted. A fat load of good this college had ever done me.

I also didn't go to church. How could I? My entire spirituality was wrapped up in my relationship with that girl. It was as if God, Himself had dumped me. When I had dated her, I had gotten rid of my pagan friends, all my bad influences. I had all new Christian friends, now. The problem was that they were all her friends, first. Guess who's side they took . . . So, I was once again, ostracized from the Christians, and back with my pagan friends. Even they didn't like my self-destructive path. They were worried about me, and wanted me to do something other than sit around and watch movies. Finally, they convinced me to go to a talent show. I downed a beer or two, and then went. But I wasn't happy about it.

The talent show was a life changing event because of Mike. Mike was a guy that I had known for years, but we weren't really friends at this time. He was in a band, and I always envied him. I had tried to play guitar in high school, for about two seconds, but I lacked one very important quality: coordination. No, I am not kidding. Those of you who know me, who have seen me bowl or golf, you know what I am talking about. When God handed out physical prowess, somehow, I wasn't in that line. I'm talking last to get picked for kick ball, baby.

Mike went up on stage, with just an acoustic guitar. He played a sad, slow song, and stole the talent show with it. The grand prize was $200. $200? That was like a fortune. So, I started playing my guitar, again. I wrote a couple of sad songs, and planned on trying out for the next show. In the meantime, I went to Mike, and asked him if he could show me how to write a bass line for my songs. Then I went to another guy that I knew, Joe, and asked him to teach me a little drum beat, or two. Armed with this potential, I went to my two best friends, Adam and Steve, and asked them to start a band with me.

PART 5

The church that hired me was a small congregation. They had only about thirteen or fourteen kids in this youth group. The elders of the church were small business men. None of them had had any theological training besides what they taught themselves from the Bible. In fact, the most prestigious of the group was the local pig farmer.

That hit me with such a perfect portion of quaint nostalgia, that I was once again overcome with a sense of destiny. I was going to come in here, and do great things.

Yeah, so that was the plan. You know that saying about the best laid plains . . .

Within a couple of weeks, the youth minister quit. He just up and quit. I was left on my own to maneuver through the entire youth program, something I had never done before. The elders put the entire responsibility of the church’s youth on my shoulders. I had no idea what I was doing, and was scared to death.

It was tough, but I kept a steady diet of calling my girlfriend, and getting moral/spiritual support. We were OK, and God was going to use me for amazing things.

Soon, it didn’t seem to matter that I wanted to make amazing things happen with their youth. I was blocked at every corner. Every program that I wanted to start was either too expensive or the parents wouldn’t go for it. It seemed they wanted a babysitter more than someone to minister to their children.

To make matters worse, they demanded that I have forty hours a week, in the office. This was ridiculous to me. I quickly rebelled. How was I supposed to be ministering to the kids if I was stuck in a dark office for forty hours a week? I never had any visitors, unless it was an elder dropping by to ask what I was working on. Finally, I had enough. I cut my office hours back to three days a week.

The elders were less than thrilled with my lack of compliance. In fact, they began to have me chart what I did all day, every day. Every thirty minutes, I had to write down what I had done for the previous thirty minutes. I tried to explain to them that this was incredibly counter-productive. They didn’t care. They were paying me two hundred dollars a week, and they wanted to make darn sure they were getting their money’s worth.

I told them that I would not do it, and they fired me. One of them even had the gall to tell me that I single-handedly had destroyed their youth program. I told him that I was trying to work with the kids, and why did they put "Youth Intern" on their job description when what they really wanted was a church secretary? I had never done this before, and they had given me no guidance. What did they expect?

Needless to say, I left Cloverdale a very dejected individual. Where was all the protection that I expected from above? How could God expect me to be His man if He was just going to let me waddle in other’s excrement? I hadn’t expected a cakewalk, but surely He didn’t think I was ready for all of this.

It was extremely bad timing that when I got back, the only spiritual pillar in my life dumped me the day before my twenty-first birthday . . .

PART 4

THIS IS PART FOUR. YOU KNOW THE DRILL. START AT THE BEGINNING.
thanks, drd



The early years of the college that I went to were dark. The town was small and shackled to a crystal meth problem that threatened to destroy the fabrics of that society. While the town may boast of its brick roads, and Rockwellian atmosphere, modern problems were filtering in from the big cities. The town could not be sheltered. Neither could I.

That was the beginning of my true paganism. I began to do whatever I wanted with whomever. The college that we attended had extremely ri