How empty are you?

From Journey Inward, Outward, and Forward - the radical vision of the Church of the Savior by Jeff Bailey:

The breaking free of our "addiction to the culture" is something the Church of the Savior gives great attention to. Says Gordon: "Most of us are living, to some degree, as addicted persons, striving anxiously after power and money and prestige and relevance, trapped in the turbulence of wanting more. These addictions are so subtle for most of us that we have the illusion of being free people when in actuality we are immersed in society's expectations. We have given ourselves to God, but who decides what we do with our lives? Usually, we do. We are subtle control freaks, truly believing we are turning over to God but demanding a minimum of comforts, whether it be good health or a secure home or caring friends. We are addicted to having more and more comfort, which society says we deserve."

"We are addicted to things that money and power can buy. We spend more on entertainment and pet care and toiletries that on the needs of children barely existing in poverty; we strive after positions that seem important in our jobs and churches, whether or not God is calling us to them; we long to be noticed and honored, superficially if necessary. We forget that Jesus, 'though he was in the form of God, did not consider equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself.' Our culture promotes a constant filling up, but our disciplines will draw us toward greater emptiness, so that we can be better prepared for obedience and, ultimately, for finding our place in God's plan - finding true relevance."

Convicted.

I constantly have to remind myself that the name of this blog is ICON... as in, I con nobody but myself. It is easy to take a trip to Kenya and ride that wave of self-righteous feeling for a few years. I've DONE my part. I'm so far ahead of all those Wall Street capitalists! But the reason I feel the way I do about Kenya was precisely because I did empty myself (and my bank account ;) to make that journey. It was an act of faith. But, so what? Did I remain empty?

No, I filled myself up with lots of other non-Christian junk. This is my own doing really. My re-immersion into American culture was part and parcel with my Kenyan transformation. As one made me more aware of the plight of third world countries in a way that has to be experienced, the other was a reminder to myself that I live in the greatest country on Earth and, gosh darn it, it's good to be king. (Hmm... I just had a thought. I have a character in the novel I'm writing describe someone just like me (in a poor light, to be sure). Maybe I was channeling some of my internalization?)

I realize now that I've been coasting. I've been going back to the world when I had gone so far to remove myself from it. Its time to rededicate my life to God's purpose... again... for the zillionth time. I hope I haven't used up my 70 times 7 Forgiveness Plan yet.

The Nicholas Sparks Formula... in reverse...

Everyone knows the Nicholas Sparks formula. For an author that has written such modern love stories as The Notebook, Message in a Bottle, and Nights in Rodanthe, the formula is pervasive and yet never seems to limit the enjoyment of the story. Boy meets Girl. Boy and Girl fall in love. Tragedy befalls Boy (or Girl). Love endures.

Now normally I'm not one who thinks of formulas as being anything other than author-made shapings of the universe to serve a creative need. Nicholas Sparks writes to his formula because, quite frankly, it makes him gazillions of dollars. I wish I had thought of this formula years ago. However, in my case, I have quite a different formula in mind - one that actually happens... in real life... to me... every single time.

I call it my curse. It goes something like this. Boy meets girl (or is set up on a blind date... either way). Boy and girl agree to go out. Boy shows up and... tragedy befalls... always... on first date. It's actually comical in some ways.

So, after many years of avoiding this curse, I finally met someone that I thought it would be fun to hang out with. Now came the tricky part. I had to figure out a way to hang out together without bringing the curse. I very carefully phrased the invitation as a friendly affair - two chums kicking back for a nice lunch and a movie. Totally casual. Everything cool. Best buds. Nothing more, oh fates... nothing more.

Well, to make a long story short, Fate wasn't fooled. On Saturday, I drove over to pick up my "Not-A-Date!" for our little friendly adventure. She was waiting for me out in front of her apartment looking rather beautiful in a white sweater and pants. I pulled up in front and unlocked the door... and in her eagerness to get started on our not-date, she reached down and yanked open the door so fast that it smacked her right in the face.

I was horrified. Was she okay? She climbed into the car and sat down and checked herself out - a small gash on her face, a tiny amount of blood, and a lot of embarrasment, but other than that, she was fine. It was only then that I realized that the curse had struck again. No matter how much I was trying to pretend that this wasn't a full on date, no matter how much I was trying to keep hidden the fact that I liked her potentially as more than just a friend, Fate had seen right through my obfuscating shenanigans and walloped my date with the curse anyway.

Needless to say, I laughed. It was a mixture of relief that she was okay and a realization that fate was confirming that this was, in fact, a date. Besides which, if I was going to have the curse hit, the first ten seconds of a date are infinitely preferable to the last ten seconds.

We had a great lunch at a Japanese restaurant. Then we went to see "Hugo" at a local movie theater. Afterward, I drove her to the mall where she needed to get her sunglasses repaired and then I took her home. No other calamity befell our adventures for the day - in my book that almost counts as a perfect first date.

Now, next time, I will lock the car door, get out of my car, and come around and open the door for her. Of course, fate is tricky. Who knows what else might happen? Stay tuned...

Overcoming and Forgiving (Lord, its not easy being cool...)

I used to drink the kool-aid. My Dad's first computer was a TRS-80 - the first home computer on the market. It wasn't a toy, but I played with it all the same. He taught me how to program. When I went to Jr. High, they had just been given a grant of brand new Apple II's. None of the teachers knew what the hell to do with a computer. Apple was aggressively trying to capture the education market. They placed the computer in the library where, you know, the nerds hung out. I taught many of the school's teachers how to program the Apple Computers. They were sleek, star treky cool. It was a love affair - a doomed love affair, as it turned out.

All through high school I was an Apple lover. I had my own personal Apple IIe that I loved to death. I would be up until all hours of the morning typing away all my great stories and an occasional homework assignment. When I graduated from high school, my Apple IIe went with me to college and then to the Navy. I plunked away on it and thought that our love would never end. When my printer finally crapped out while I was stationed in Hawaii, I bought a brand new one. It was like taking my cherry red Lambourghini and making it into a convertible. That was the best printer I've ever owned.

I got out of the Navy and went back to school. Five days after the warranty expired on my great and wondrous Apple printer, it died. BAM! Just like that. I tried to fix it. No luck. I tried to call Apple to see what I could do. They couldn't give me the time of day. I was in despair. I left for Idaho State with my computer and my busted printer and hoped that I could somehow get it working again. That didn't work. So I signed up for an Apple loan to get a new Apple computer and printer... and I was denied. Denied. My love affair was dashed and my sincere love for all things Apple turned into anger, frustration, and then hatred. I refused to use their products ever again.

Today, I read with obvious disgust the news that Apple wants to once again corner the educational market by putting text books on to Ipads. Duh! Naturally! The multi-billion dollar text book industry would be beholden to Apple. It was a real no-brainer for Apple.

But, suddenly, in the midst of all my distrust and long standing hatred for Apple, I had another realization - a glimpse back to that nerdy library loving student in Jr. High playing with his Apple computer during his lunch hour. In a rush of strange feeling and long lost nostalgia combined with a clear vision of students flipping through cool educational software and interactive books on their sleek star-treky type Ipads, I melted. I knew that despite the horrible customer service that I'd received from my favorite computer company years ago, this idea was a perfect one - a synthesis of modern technology and educational reform that is long overdue.

There are problems with Apple's proposal, but the gist of it is dead on. I, for one, think all students in America should be replacing their old text books with Ipad's.

And that's the way forgiveness begins.

Sacrificial Lamb

Something occurred to me yesterday while I was thinking about my play and I wanted to run this past my very smart readers for comment.

Its perhaps not a coincidence that the Last Supper was at the time of a passover meal. Passover, after all, was to be comemmorated annually by the Jews as a remembrance of the fact that God directly intervened to free them from bondage and to begin their journey to the Promised Land. Jews were required to kill a young lamb without defect and spread his blood on the lintel of the door or be killed. God did this to honor the covenant he had made with Abraham.

Jesus, of course, takes the opportunity of the passover feast to create a new covenant with his disciples - a covenant of wine and bread, symbolizing blood and body. Jesus then offers himself up as the young lamb without defect to be sacrificed so that whosoever believes in him shall have everlasting life. This being the final culmination of the law and the prophets.

Anyway, I hope you can get the gist of what I'm saying here. I'm curious to read what you all think about this.

The Emotional Journey to The Last Supper

I've been tasked with updating my The Last Supper play that we performed at my church last year. Considering that it was my first play and that I was sorting out a complex story in a short space, it wasn't performed so much as workshopped. I took a great many notes from my co-Directors and vowed that I would return a much pared down version of the play this year.

But in starting the re-writing of the play, I realized that it wasn't enough to just take the stuff I'd written before and shorten it. While I do need to shorten the play, I also need to still have a valid journey for the audience to follow whether they be Christians early on their walk or those who have walked around the block more than a few times. This means that I, once again, will need to reexamine this oft told tale and find a new "shorter" relevant story that I can tell while still constrained by the format issues and other restrictions placed upon me from the earlier version.

To wit: I need to introduce all 12 disciples and show the events leading up to and including the Last Supper (and this year I also wish to add the Garden of Gethsemane) and I need to do it in half the time.

But this post isn't about the literary journey I will now embark upon, but upon the (very abbreviated) spiritual journey I must take in order to tell this story once again.

While I love the Christmas story and the Christmas season, from a writers standpoint Holy Week is way more compelling for story telling purposes. Here you have a group of men that have been together for nearly three years coming into Jerusalem to celebrate Passover together little knowing that their week will end tragically before turning miraculous. But here's the thing - I don't get to explore that last part of the story. I only get to tell the story up until the point of the betrayal. And that's what makes the story so compelling. If Jesus had gone to Jerusalem and just been arrested for inciting a riot, I'm not sure this story would have been as interesting. But no... he was betrayed... and by one of his own men.

We've seen this theme before - many times - in movies and television. The hero is taken out by one of his own men. I always find it hard to fathom. I've been on the losing end of many a fight, but I've never been betrayed by a friend before. And I've never had a reason to betray a friend either. I can understand the motivation from an intellectual point of view, but let's be honest - betrayal is almost always emotionally motivated.

What could have been Judas's emotional motivation? Greed? Jealousy? Some sort of twisted misplaced love?

I know that the rest of the disciples were completely perplexed at the idea that anyone would betray Jesus. Their emotional journeys are a little harder to map because everyone has their own insecurities and internal questions that they need to answer. In a good story, thought, words, actions, and emotions all follow the same pattern - so that what a character does is part thought, part word, part action and part emotion. Or, in other words, what a person does is who that person is. Braveheart refuses to ask for mercy at the end because that is who he is. On a deep level we understand his thinking, his lack of words, his actions, and his emotions. To try and capture that sort of journey for the disciples in half the time... well, it's fun to try.

I think writing this play the first time through taught me the story in a way that I had never actually understood it. But this time, to perfect the play, I need to own it. I need to be not just the fly on the wall, but the thirteenth disciple (the one painting the group portrait ;) who explains the story in a way that makes it relevant to today without changing the story one bit.

Oh... and I have to deliver a final copy in like three weeks. It's time to put on some track shoes... this is going to be an intense, but short, journey...

Spontaneous Faith

A man walks up to you on the street. He's clearly seen better days. He asks you if you've got money cause he's hungry. Do you... A) Give him the money, no questions asked. B) Take him somewhere to get a meal. C) Pat your pockets, mumble something about not having any money, and walk past him. D) Ignore him.

Now, let's be honest here... Sure, we'd all like to answer A or B to every single guy that walks up to you on the street, but I'm guessing that the vast majority of the time we actually answer C or D. Does this make us bad people?

Actually, that's not the question I want to answer, and its not the blog I want to write. You see, the short answer should be that we answer A every single time - without thought or question. Lord, when did we see you hungry and on the streets and refuse to buy you food? But that's a guilt trip that none of us want to consider. And yet, consider it we do. In that split second of time before we roll off one of four answers, our minds run through an entire gamut of questions. Who is this guy? Why is he hungry? Is he a drug dealer? Will he harm me? How much money do I have? Should I even take out my wallet? What's the right thing to do? Am I being a bad person? Will I be a good person if I give him money? Do I have time for this?

If you read my last blog post you may recognize this pattern of behavior. In my writer's mind this is what I call looking for the perfect answer to the situation. And yet, whether its a homeless guy on the street asking me for a sandwich or a potential girlfriend standing in front of me and I'm contemplating asking her out, the endless amount of questioning all point to the same set of insecurities.

The only thing human beings really want in life is to be loved unconditionally. Since we are all gravely disappointed in this desire, we form neurosies about love, connection, and trust. We know that humans being human means that there is nobody on this planet that will ever love us unconditionally. As a result, our minds put up barriers and tests and all sorts of flotsam and jetsam that prevent us from ever loving anyone else unconditionally as well.

BUT, that doesn't mean that unconditional love doesn't exist. God has unconditional love for us. So much love, in fact, that He sent His only begotten son, Jesus Christ to us and then allowed us to kill him.

Apparently, human beings can be counted on to kill those things that threaten us with the one thing we most desire. I've seen it play out again and again and again. The more someone loves and trusts someone else, the more they try to sabotage that relationship in some sort of misguided attempt at proving that their love is unconditional.

Anyway, God loves us unconditionally. When we desire unconditional love, we desire God. That's it. That's the only place you're ever going to get it. God IS Love. LOVE is God. Quite frankly, its hard enough to believe in God, let alone believe in the idea that God has unconditional love for us - but that's because we're human and, because we're human, we have this misguided desire to prove that God's love is unconditional.

What the correct answer to the first question asked is - and this is going to be hard to wrap your noodle around - that this is not a question. At heart you know that God desires you to love your neighbors as yourself. If you were hungry, you'd get something to eat. If you saw a guy that was hungry, therefore, you should get him something to eat. No questions need to be asked. You'd just do it as easily as you breath, or think, or speak. Because you'd be so in sync with God's love that you wouldn't have any questions to ask. Your faith, then, would be spontaneous... ingrained... part of you in such a way that thought becomes deed at the same moment.

Abraham, perhaps the greatest of humans when it comes to faith, was asked to drop everything and move to another country. He didn't bat an eye. Okay, he said, and he started to pack.

Me? It'd take me six months just to plan the trip. And then another year or two to raise money to go. And then finally, I'd pack up, send out change of address cards, attend several farewell parties, give a few speeches on the importance of my journey, blog about it a zillion times, make sure my camera was charged... before I finally took one step out in faith.

Sorry for the rambling... but this post was anything but spontaneous. I've been thinking about it for a while... perhaps a while too long.

Spontaneous Courage

There have only been a few instances in my life when I've delved into spontaneous courage - usually events thrust upon me that required me to make a choice right then and there. Some worked out well for most parties - when my Mom fell down the stairs I called 911 and then took care of her until the ambulance arrived, remaining calm all the way - and some worked out not so well - when I saw a young skiier stranded in a snow bank, I went in to help only to become trapped in the snow bank as well. The fact of the matter is that I didn't lack courage or overthink the situation, I just dove right on in.

For most people, jumping right into a situation is not an unusual trait. I was born differently though and given the gift of a writer's mind. The writer's mind never shuts down. Honestly, it is a 24/7 mind that keeps on churning out ideas even while I sleep. The problem that this creates is that I am used to thinking first and then acting. Now that might sound like a very good principle to follow, and generally it is, except that my writer's mind doesn't just think about things - it perfects them first.

The classic example of the way my mind works:

As a child, I would play make-believe, as kids are wont to do. But unlike other kids, I would replay my make-believe scenario over and over and over again until I got just the right amount of drama applied. It wasn't enough that my hero had to jump on the rocks to escape the lava. No. There had to be dinosaurs. And demons. And a sword that had to be snatched. And a big fight scene with the Devil where limbs were hacked off. And the world was about to end unless the hero saved the day. And there was a princess... I think you get the idea. Over and over again, I'd replay this make-believe scene until I had just the right amount of complexity and pathos for it to be the BEST scene ever.

Now apply that kind of thinking to something mundane like asking a girl out. Most guys would simply walk up to a girl, take a deep breath, and spit out the words. Five seconds later, win or lose, they guy would have his answer. Not me. I would run through every single scenario. Every possible win. Every possible failure. I would determine what was the best way to ask. When the best time to ask might be. What I should be wearing. Where I might do the asking. And how I might sound incredibly romantic and cool. I would do this in my head, over, and over, and over again. Each time looking for just the right amount of complexity and pathos for it to be the BEST attempt at asking a girl out ever.

I didn't ask a lot of girls out. Way too many possibilities of failure. It wasn't that I lacked courage, per se, but that I lacked the sort of courage that allowed me to brave the outcome regardless of the odds against me.

I lack the courage to let the chips fall where they may. I have been trying to control every single variable of every single situation my whole entire life. Its what writers do. We control the information we give you. We control what side of the characters you see. We purposefully keep things back, as if secrecy adds to entertainment value. And the real sad thing about it is, I can't imagine doing anything else. My brain is not wired to react differently.

Even now, as I write this, my mind is trying to churn out a way to ask a girl out. I'm creating some compelling reason as to why I should, or shouldn't do it. I'm putting it in writing, because that's what I do - it's the way I think. I simply can't walk up to her and say, "Hey, want to go out for lunch some time?" Or should I say something else? Maybe coffee? Dessert?

The problem with analyzing yourself is that you start to ask why you're analyzing yourself and then you question your need to analyze yourself and to analyze your analysis... etc, so on and so forth. It's an endless rabbit-hole that you've started down.

I'm working up some spontaneous courage. This, of course, will never work. Because for it to work, it would have to be spontaneous.

Maybe I should just settle for courage and leave the head shrinking to someone else?

Climbing out of the pit

At lunch today:

Me: You know a friend of mine was showing me a want-ad on Craig's List for a Publishing Assistant. It pays $40K a year. I wonder if I could do the job part time like at night or something...

My Human Resources Person: $40K a year is not enough to live on.

Me: :{

My Human Resources Person: (Oblivious)

Me: (To myself) I only make $30K a year now...

This is the crux of my problem. I live in one of the most expensive places on the entire planet and make a salary that, quite frankly, is laughable. Heck, I know kids fresh out of college with no damn experience in anything that make more money than I do. If I were to walk around town with my salary printed on my forehead, people would look at me in shock and assume there was a typo.

BUUUUTTTTT, that being said, I don't consider myself poor. I have a great network of friends and family that keep me sane. I know lots of people that have helped me for free and others that I have helped as well. Since giving is greater than receiving and I spend every free dollar I have giving back, I guess I've achieved something that richer and smarter people will never have.

I'm tired of maxing out my bank account though. I'm tired of limiting my potential because of my salary. I need other sources of income - which is what started this conversation today. If I'm going to climb out of the pit of working poverty, I don't have to work harder, I just have to work smarter.

So if you've read this far then you should know that I've installed a virus on your computer and have completely raided your entire bank account by now. Thanks. My new plan is to become an evil super-villain.

Okay, that was a lie. I wish I was that smart. I guess it's back to the old tried and true work harder. Somehow I've got to find someone that's willing to pay me twice as much for doing what I already do now for half. Wish me luck!

Who am I really?

I've been slogging through the beginning of 1st Chronicles for a fortnight or so and it begins with a LOOOOONG geneology of seemingly every single person in the country formerly known as Israel (which at the time of writing may or may be Judah, Israel, or Judaelastan - 17th Province of Babylon... okay, I made that last name up). Anyway, I'm a sucker for lists and even though I can't pronounce half the names on the list, it kind of makes me wonder about the geneology of these people and why it was so important to them.

Here are the geneologies I can remember...

I am Will Robison III, my Dad is Will Robison Jr, and my Grandpa is Will Robison Sr..
Or
Anakin begat Luke and Leia who begat a passel of annoying literary Jedi kids that hopefully will never see the inside of a movie theater.

But back in the day, geneologies were important for a variety of reasons. First, being a nomadic people, Israel was essentially one giant family that had been given one kick ass inheritance - an entire land of milk and honey... and a personal relationship with God. Of course, land being important the Israelites had to be able to show that they were, in fact, part of the family by being able to trace their family line back to one of the twelve inheritors of Israel himself (one of the 12 tribes). Everything was divided that way.

So, then, skip ahead a few thousand years and the subsequent conquest by the Babylonians and then God bringing the survivors back to the land of milk and honey and the question comes up - Who gets what? Now knowing who you are, by knowing what tribe you belong to, lets you know what land you inherit.

It kind of makes me wonder. Beyond the land inheritance and all that stuff, how much of who we are is inherited from that that have gone before. Each generation makes its own way through the world. We are directly connected to the generation before ours and, in many way, the generation after ours, but what about other generations? Where do we fit in the grand scheme of things? Are we just one of those names listed on some list somewhere that no one can pronounce and about which nothing is known? Are we at least a historical footnote - Yes, that Will Robison that slew the giant lion with his bare feet? Or do we rate an entire book written about our exploits and downfall before God? Don't we try and look back on our own ancestors and pick out the ones that make us sound more glorious than we actually are? Hi, I'm related to Paul Bunyan. Or does that make us look sad by comparison?

Just some thoughts noodling around in my head. What else are you going to think about when reading a list of all the sons of Issachar?

Overwhelming to the point of panic

Sometimes I have anxiety. This is usually brought on by my own actions mixed with the actions of a world that just likes to pile on. "Hey, look at Will, he looks kind of busy... come on boys, let's jump on him and drag him down!" As a Baptist Pastor in Mississippi said to me, "The Devil doesn't want you to succeed and he'll do anything to prevent that."

Which, of course, leads me to a logical question, "Am I really doing anything that ticks off the Devil?"

Okay, yeah, there are some things - but those aren't usually the things that cause me to be overwhelmed. No, no... usually the overwhelming stuff is of my own doing. I've got a lot of pokers in the fire. A lot of those pokers were placed there by myself. In fact, there are days when I can't see the fire through all the pokers. Seriously, if poker collecting were an Olympic sport, I'd be a Gold Medalist every single year!

So last night, lying in bed trying not to think about the overwhelming amount of pokers burning in my mind, I closed my eyes and just prayed, "God, help me out of this mess."

The power went out.

Okay, it may not have been in that order. I don't think God has a PG&E hotline or anything (although that Monday Night Football power outage is still unexplained) but the end result might as well have been the same thing. I needed the power to go out. It forced me to sit in the dark, close my eyes, rest, relax, and simply bathe in the light coming from those red hot pokers.

I decided that the best course of action would be to get some of those pokers out of the fire as soon as possible. I looked at the long list of stuff I have to do, re-prioritized it on the basis of which items I could most quickly finish, and then, remarkably, the panic started to slip away.

What a great way to begin the new year. The panic is still there in the background waiting to jump out, but at least I have a plan now. Progress will be made and pokers will disappear. The Devil might still rise up to defeat me, but at least this time he'll really have to try hard since I won't be defeating myself.