The Prologue of an Artist as a Young Man

Well Mom, I've deviated slightly from my plans. The joyful story is still being written, but this was found in that old sketchbook. I've decided to post this here. This prologue was plucked from my junkyard of false starts (see Elliott -->). I started writing the actual story several times and could never get it figured out. Sure, I got the soundtrack that was constantly running through my mind, creating magnificent storyboards, figured out, but never the right words. Looking back now, I am pretty sure I laid this story to rest with a lot of things years ago. But I did enjoy finding this early start. Part of it came from an actual conversation I had had a few years ago. The conversation came well before the current global economic crises. Now that we've seen how the well-to-do have used their bail out, I'm curious as to whether I'll get to have this conversation again some time soon.

- -

Through the windshield in front of us the sky was a muddy orange of reflected city lights on the ever-growing accumulation of snow. Driving within the well worn ruts in the snow watching a Florida license plate timidly try to find its footing in conditions foreign to a southern climate. Smirks grew on our faces.

Lining the increasingly hidden highway were tall corporate flagships with neon-lighted northern stars. I began to count how many were on the passenger side when I realized I had no idea what many of these entities consisted of or involved themselves with. For all I knew, each building could be in the same industry as the other, and competing for the same 35-50 business-class-paper-shredding-demographic.


-Do you think this corporate age is ever going to slow down? Or even end?

-Definitely. Our whole western way of living will end one day. It’s inevitable.

-It’s not sustainable is it?

-No

-Do you ever wonder what it will be like when it’s over?

-I imagine there will be a lot of starvation.

-Starvation?

-Yea. Another depression. I think it will be a very chaotic period of time.

I silently meditated on what this might look like. Part of me longed to see the whole system overhauled – to live in a broken society that was at least self-aware and wanting to make another go at it; I was tired of too many cultural norms that didn’t fit. I wanted it and was scared of the consequences. I was afraid of the limitless depths of chaos we were all capable of.

This fear brought me back to my driving companion. These conversations weren’t abnormal with us – rather, common fare when we were given open stretches of silence upon which to discuss the things which differentiated us from so many of our close ones. Rarely did I find our conversations stagnant, even when we talked about nothing of real importance. So when fear crept into my imagination I moved closer to the one I felt safer with. If the world as we knew it was going to change drastically, I wanted her to be with me when it happened. It wasn’t a response to fear, but a further nudge to the longing that had surfaced and been repressed for the previous year.

Further along the highway I saw three enormous apartment buildings out my window that always reminded me of the empire state building. (They were fashioned as such). I immediately saw into their futures – abandoned and dilapidated. Perhaps a fire emerging from different apartments on different sides. The billowing black one of many funeral pyres. I knew this would be an image that I kept close as I wrote this story.

This story has been growing for the past three years from one mental image, continually refined, and will continue to grow until it is finished. For years I had avoided writing it because to do so would be to submerge myself into the painful circumstances that birthed the whole story. I was going to write of my first lost love. I still am, even though it is more past than present. I thought that this story would be about her.

Driving down the 401 in a snowstorm I asked if the current age would burst. It was this moment that made me realize I was not longer writing this book for my lost love. I was writing this book for the one sitting beside me in the car, driving us home from a wedding.

Dear Mom,

Hey Elizabeth. It's me, your son David. I thought I would write a blog for you today. There are two reasons for this.

First. I hope you had a happy birthday this week, and I apologize that I was only able to wish you a happy birthday over the phone under the grogginess of having just woken up. I hope it was a splendid day. Did Dad remember to get you a gift? Was it Detroit Red Wings themed? Another season of J.A.G.? A Tom Selleck Calendar? Oh the possibilities are endless with father. He is a good man - let him never forget that.

Second. You know how you enjoy reading my stories, but often get upset or worked up because of the pathos weaved throughout? I always argue that there's a redemptive piece to all of my stories, and that hope is just that, hope, found in the epiphany in the midst of mire. Well, I write this to inform you that my latest piece of fiction is woven with less pathos. There are fields of barley and boyhood ballyhoo. There are dreams, visions, and fruitful labour. There are no car accidents, mental breakdowns, or broken bottles. There is joy. The piece is in process, far from finished, but it feels good to be writing. I hope you will enjoy reading this one when it is finished.

Love,

Your beloved son.

old stories

In a fit of creativity this evening, I sat down with a guitar and wrote a song. I will often dilly-dally about with guitars, ukuleles (or continue to try and teach myself piano), but never write down the words to the songs that form. Tonight, I decided to buck that trend and searched for something to write down the coming words. I ended up finding an old, sketch journal from a few summers ago and made use of it. What came as a surprise was finding a bunch of extremely short stories or beginnings of stories inside - my junkyard of false starts. I'm going to end the evening reading over them. Perhaps tomorrow I'll bust out the trusty typewriter, and this sketch journal, and see if anything good comes of it.

A Novel in Four Parts with Epilogue

I finally finished reading "The Brothers Karamazov" on Sunday. It took months to read, because I didn't want to finish reading it. I could have torn through it, but I always had to step away and contemplate. It is the first book I seriously considered reading again from the start once I finished it. I can not explain the merits of this book enough. This is a joyous book that is flowing in suffering. To hold and understand both joy and suffering at the same time has been one of the valued lessons the spirit has led me through these past few months. This book has played its part in the process of wholeness I find myself in, and the fruit of new life.

I have an old, good, friend back in my hometown whose face often appeared in my mind as I read this book. One day in the near future, he is going to receive a surprise package in the mail with a note attached to it that goes something like this:

Dear ______,

Just under a year ago I found this book in a used bookstore and felt compelled to buy it. Read it I did, and my heart burned. I speak truthfully when I say the voice of God was heard as pages turned, and the hero Alyosha navigated the world his beloved Zosima sent him into. From early on I knew I needed to send you this book, purely as an response to a burning heart that I'm still learning to acknowledge. So read this treasure, my friend, and as you finish I hope you will speak the novice's penultimate words with me: "Certainly we shall rise, certainly we shall see and gladly, joyfully tell one another all that has been."

Until that day,

Dave

This is a masterpiece. Even LOST Season 2 thinks so...

damiel und marion

There's no greater story than ours...
that of man and woman.

It will be a story of giants...
invisible...
transposable...
a story of new ancestors.

glen and marketa

Just because.*

*Click the picture to download "Fallen from the Sky (live)"

Here's a Thought...

No Fringe. No Flashforward. No Office. No 30 Rock. No Sportscentre. No new sitcoms. No new dramas. No daytime news. No late night talk shows. No time wasted. No television.

On May 24th, this might be my new reality.

I have enjoyed the six year run of LOST immensely; some might even say a bit too much. For me, the show has permanently raised the standard for what I'm willing to invest my time in watching. As such, it is now rare that a show is able to garner my attention, let alone deserve my attention. I fear, but secretly delight in knowing, that once LOST is off the airwaves, I will no longer have any reason to spend time watching television. So perhaps once the show wraps up on May 23rd, it might be the last time I watch television (save for a good hockey game with my dad, or something of that sort). The thought of this is rather exhilarating.

We'll see how this idea gets executed, but I can already see more time

freed up to do more enjoyable things, like read a great novel; paint a picture; write a letter on my typewriter; make a cassette mix tape; listen to an LP on vinyl, sans interruption; write a book on my typewriter; take a walk; phone a friend; make travel plans; go to the theatre; enjoy coffee with a friend; volunteer somewhere; explore the kingdom; write a song on the piano; dream of endless possibilities...

I think I might just do this.

On Mexico, Joy, and Wholeness.

I really wish there was a more flattering picture of me in the market in Mexico City.

It’s been a few days since returning to Toronto from my five days in Mexico City, and I’m still thinking a lot about the whole experience. Many people have asked me about what was meaningful about the trip – and to be completely honest, to share everything I’m thinking about post-Mexico would fill far too many blog postings. So the highlights:

Content:

So I went to Mexico City to be trained on how to lead a Global Partnership in the future (interesting notion, considering I’ve never been on one before), and these were some of the key criteria touched upon that a good director should be pursuing:

-Finding the Teachable Moments

-Planning for the Future

-Inspiring Character Development

-Building Effective Teams

-Developing Cross-Cultural Competency

Each of these areas were discussed at length, and the most exciting part (at least for me), was visioning around what the implications of a vibrant and growing field of Global Partnership means for the future of our ministry. Seriously, it was way too much fun dreaming about the future. All of the content was serious gold, and I’m really excited what this means for the students coming on a GP with me, and for future exec teams at U of T.

Location/People:

We were based out of the Gran Texas Hotel and the Casa de Los Amigos for the five days we were there. My room was on the fourth floor of the hotel, and I had to actually exit the building and walk on the rooftop patio to get to my room (great!). The view was pretty fun too as I looked out on the rough-around-the-edges-but-beautiful neighbourhood. And as always, the people were pretty fun too. Seriously, I love IVCF folks. It’s near-impossible for me to spend a week with 25 Canadian staff and not have an enjoyable time. I think there’s a sense of deep understanding and respect we all share – a common commitment to the gospel – that allows us to all get along famously. It’s like going on an adventure with your best friends (both old and new).

Joy and Wholeness:

I feel like I’m in a season of joy right now. I am so thankful for many of the experiences I’ve had as of late, and have seen nothing but good things happen on campus since returning (which is especially meaningful given the ups and downs of the year thus far). So Mexico = Awesome; Returning home = Awesome; Awesome + Awesome = Joy!

Another reason for my joyful attitude these days stems from this process I seem to be finding myself in where I’m seeing the many formerly-divided parts of myself being reintegrated and contributing to a feeling of wholeness. Consider this: For years I have had three competing desires that never reconciled with each other. 1) the desire to influence and shape lives [which led me to want to be a high school teacher]; 2) the desire to travel and see the world [which almost led me to drop out of university; and 3) the desire to write, film, and create [which still pulls at my attention]. Now, all three of these things are being brought together in my job.

I get to mentor and disciple university students on a daily basis, invite them to travel with me and engage foreign cultures in a way that is far more invested than mere tourism, and I ‘hopefully’ get to document my upcoming summer GP with a camera and microphone. So basically I get to be a Cross-Cultural-Documentary-Filmmaker-Campus-Minister. And I get to be trained in places like Mexico City. I seriously love my job!

There are many, many, MANY more anecdotes to share from this trip that are better shared over a cup of coffee and conversation, so if this post intrigues you, track me down.

Paz,