Clash of the Titans

Movie themes tend to follow certain trends or fads in order to please their audiences. For awhile we saw an influx of superheroes, then witches, then vampires, and now Clash of the Titans appears to be resurrecting the Greek pantheon and its deities. If the movies in our theaters reflect our culture, then the 2010 remake of The Clash of the Titans shows our nation has a seriously warped perspective of God. The movie trumpets the age old humanistic maxim, “No god will save us. We must save ourselves.” While I do not recommend the movie, I believe it is an interesting portrait of the worldview of our culture.
For those unfamiliar with ancient mythology, Clash of the Titans tells the story of Perseus, the son of a mortal queen and Zeus, the arch deity of Olympus. This makes Perseus a demigod, not quite a god but certainly not a man. When Perseus’ family is killed by Hades, god of the underworld, Perseus is propelled into a quest to free mankind from the oppression of the gods. The main conflict of the film is that man has turned away from worshipping the gods and as a result the gods, especially Zeus, punish mankind in order to reclaim man’s worship and love. The god’s strength is fed by the prayers of men. In order to remind mankind of “the order of things”, as Zeus says, he unleashes a terrible beast onto earth. Zeus hopes that this punishment will finally turn man back to him.
Why is it so significant that this story is back in theaters in 2010? Just look around. Economic crisis, foreign political disturbances, volcanoes, earthquakes, and tsunamis have become common occurrences over the past decade. Are all these events the will of a despotic god purposefully tormenting man in order to increase his own power? The ancient Greeks would have answered yes. What will our answer be? Will we join culture and shake our fist at God when tragedy touches our lives? Or will we show the world that our God is nothing like the capricious deities on Olympus?
Instead we must choose to have the fortitude of Job. Even while facing the unexplainable loss of everything he once prized listen to Job’s response to his wife in Job 2:9-10;
His wife said to him, "Are you still holding on to your integrity? Curse God and die!" He replied, "You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” In all this, Job did not sin in what he said.
While we may never be able to answer the question of suffering, we can answer the question about the nature of God. He is a loving merciful father, nothing like Zeus. While Zeus in Clash of the Titans says, “I wanted mankind to love me again but I didn’t want to lose a son over it,” our Father God says the exact opposite. He loved man so much that he offered his only Son in order to redeem us.

It has been a while

So...it has been quite a while since I have written anything on my blog. You will have to forgive me. In fact I am sure you will forgive me when I tell you that the reason I have not written is because I am courting!!! Yes, that's right! I am courting Ben Mahnkey, the most wonderful man in the world! On Christmas day, I went to mass with my grandma and when I got back home their was a huge box in my living room. Ben was inside. I was so shocked and surprised to see him. But I knew exactly why he was there. Did I say I was shocked? Well I was. I do not think I said anything intelligent or intelligible for about 30 minutes.

As of yesterday, we have been courting exactly a month. God is doing so many good things and He is bringing our hearts closer and closer together. I thought I liked him before we are courting but now I am completely head over heels crazy about him. I cannot believe I have such an incredible man in my life. I am so blessed.

I know that God is bringing me into a new season in so many ways. The most obvious way is Ben. But my writing is also taking off in new directions. In S.P.A we are going to begin writing our novels. I am definitely going to keep going with the story about Thien. Tracy Higley, a published author, was with us last week. She gave us some incredible tools for how to actually formulate a complete novel. WOW! It was great. I do not think I will be posting much of the actual story here though-- maybe just a little teaser now and again. I want to leave the bulk of the story as a surprise.

Writing Download

So excited!!! because last week as I was editing one of my short stories for SPA I got a massive writing download. I realized that my story was actually a full length novel. In about thirty minutes I had thirteen unique characters. I knew the general plot. I knew the crisis moment. I knew the hero and heroine. I knew almost everything that it would take to make it a full story.

THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. Although I have dreamed about writing novels for a long time, I have never been able to see an almost complete story unfold so quickly. The story is about a sixteen yr old Vietnamese girl named Thien who is sent to San Francisco by her mother to work at her aunt's nail salon in order to get her away from the persecution of Christians in Vietnam. When Thien arrives in San Francisco she is sold by her aunt to a brothel. And so the story begins... a story about a radical Christian girl who is facing unimaginable pain..

There are several characters I am also so excited about, including a gay college student who is also a backslidden Christian, a feminist police officer who is out to prove herself, a journalist who believes his writing dreams are dead, and a corrupt political figure.

It is a big step of faith for me to finally start working on a full length novel. But I believe God's hand is all over this story. I started writing it today and I am going to continue writing a little bit every day. Honestly, I have no clue how to go about writing a novel. But who cares! God is all the help that I need.

So far the working title of my novel is "Untouchable"

Familiar Stranger

“The DVD should start reading automatically,” said the tall nurse. “Just push play on the controller to start the movie.” The nurse slid the controller into Megan’s twisted hand, walked quickly out of the room, and let the door close behind her with a soft thump. From the hospital bed, Megan followed the nurse with her eyes and winced at the sound of the door closing. Megan heard the swish of the nurse’s scrubs as she walked quickly down the hallway. She wished the nurse had stayed a little longer. She would have like to talk to someone.

Megan fumbled awkwardly with the controller in her hand. Even if she could not move her arms and legs, being able to push the tiny buttons gave her a small feeling of control over herself. Megan lay in the bed, one crooked hand wrapped around the controller and the other curled awkwardly around her My Little Pony named Jewels. Megan zoned as she watched the Muppet characters bumble across the TV screen. Her eyes were fixed unmovingly on the screen mounted on the wall and her mouth was slightly open. Halfway through the movie Megan lost interest in the fuzzy creatures. She stretched her thumb for the red power button at the top of the controller and turned the TV off, her whole hand shook with the effort. The screen went black and the room was quiet. Too quiet.

“Jewels” Megan said to the purple pony in her other hand. “We have to stay here awhile. I know you don’t like it very much but Mommy will be here soon and then nurse will bring us grape Jello. And if we are good she will also bring us Macaroni and Cheese.” Megan craned her neck to see her twisted limbs. “And if we are very very good nurse says we will get better and go home... if we are very very good.” Megan stared at the ceiling. It was white, like the walls, like her sheets, like her hospital gown. Everything went suddenly white.

Megan opened her eyes without realizing that she had closed them. She heard the children before she saw them. Their laughter came floating towards her like a friendly and familiar breeze. The children surrounded her. Two girls about her age grabbed Megan’s hands and pulled her into their circle. Megan stood—she stood!—enveloped by the children in the middle of a gigantic green field. Megan laughed as she looked down at her perfectly straight legs and pudgy hands. She stepped cautiously once and then jumped up and down ecstatically. The other children clapped their hands and smiled as Megan joined their gleeful play in the field. Covering the field were snow white flowers that she did not recognize but they came up to above her knees and seemed to be nodding their heads to the laughter of the children.

Megan felt herself being twirled around and around, her blonde hair whirling around her face like helicopter, until her feet left the ground. It felt delicious. From somewhere a single child’s giggle echoed across the field above all the other laughter. It sounded so unique and hilarious that Megan could not help but smile. She looked around for the laughing child before realizing it was her own laughter—which made her laugh all the harder. As she twirled, Megan became aware that someone strong held her by the arms and was spinning her. As she slowed down a man’s face came into focus. He was laughing along with her as he set her down. The children were gone.

“Do I know you?” Megan asked breathless. She tottered slightly.

“Yes, you do.” The stranger smiled at her. He was rather plain looking, with a wide forehead and high cheekbones. Megan was sure she did not recognize his face but something about his eyes seemed vaguely familiar...and his smile.

“Yes, I think I do.”

“I want to show you something,” the man said. He took her by the hand and ran with her faster than Megan had ever dreamed it was possible to run even in her wildest fantasies about what it would feel like to run. He ran and she felt like she was being carried along by the wind. Her feet barely seemed to touch the grass. They ran right to the edge of the green field where it suddenly dropped down in a sheer cliff to the ocean below. The sea looked like it was made of glass and the Sun was just setting beyond the horizon. It filled the sky with rays of purple, gold, and some other color Megan did not know the name of. The colors reflected off the waves of the ocean were mixed into even more amazing shades. The whole landscape seemed to be a moving symphony of colorful sounds and light.

Megan stood breathless at the very edge of the cliff. The ocean breeze whipped her hair back from her face and her cheeks glowed rosy with delight. “It is so beautiful.”

“I am glad you like it” the man said. “I made it especially for you.”

“You made it for me?”

“Yes. I have made many many things for you.”

“You have?” Megan thought for a moment. “Oh, yes I remember now... the forests, and the beautiful rainbow slides, and the ponies, and last time I was here you taught me how to twirl.” Megan stepped back and spun around. “And now I am really good at twirling.”

The man laughed. “Yes you are. And next time you come back I will show you something else... but it is a surprise.”

“I have to go back?”

“Yes. You do,” said the man becoming suddenly serious.

“I wish I could stay here with you.” Megan looked hopefully up at the tall man.

“I know. And I want you to stay with me too. But there are still a few more things I need you to finish back there.”

“I can’t stay then?”

“No child, I am sorry. You cannot stay. There is nothing worse than being called away before the right time. I would never do that to you Megan.”

“Oh,” said Megan. “Is back there very important then?”

“Yes. It is the most important thing. If you do not finish well there it will be much harder for you to fully enjoy being here with me.”

“Oh,” said Megan. “I guess I don’t really understand. When I am here with you I never want to leave. But when I go back I seem to forget you every time. I don’t know how I can finish well if I keep forgetting you.” Megan looked up at the man and slipped her little hand into his huge one. “I don’t want to forget again.”

The man grabbed Megan’s other hand, knelt down next to her, and looked into her eyes. His eyes were multi-colored like the beautiful sunset that had just finished fading in front of them. Megan saw an answer in his eyes that did not fully make sense in her mind but seemed to wrap itself around her heart. She knew everything would be okay.

“I will be coming back very soon. Won’t I?”

“Yes, you will sweet one. But next time you come you will be able to stay much much longer. In fact next time you won’t have to leave.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Then I had better finish well.” Megan’s forehead crinkled. “I don’t even understand what that means. Will I be able to finish well?”

“Of course you will, darling. Of course you will.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I. More than you even know.” The man kissed Megan’s forehead and tweaked her nose.

Somewhere far away Megan heard a voice calling. “Wake up honey. It is time to wake up.” The beautiful field with the flowers and the familiar stranger melted. The last thing she saw was his smile before the white ceiling of the hospital room returned. Megan saw her mother’s face and felt her warm hand on her cheek.

“Hello sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Mommy, I just had the most beautiful dream ever.”

“You did? What was it about?”

“Yes, I was... it was....” Megan searched her mind for the disappearing fragments of the dream but nothing remained except a beautiful peace. “I can’t remember.”

“That’s okay sweetheart.”

Megan closed her eyes and smiled. “I remember his eyes though.... I remember his eyes.”

The Throne

The throne of God is untouchable, unalterable, universal, unshakeable, unconquerable, and unlimited (Norm Willis, 2009). How does this truth impact how we write fiction? As Pastor Norm has been highlighting the immense power of the throne the last few weeks, I was reminded of the story of Beowulf. In this Old English legend, Grendel, an evil bloodthirsty monster, hunts and slaughters men by the hundreds. But listen to this line from the beginning of the story: So Grendel waged his lonely war, inflicting constant cruelties on the people, atrocious hurt. He took over Herot, haunted the glittering hall after dark, but the throne itself, the treasure seat, he was kept from approaching” (Beowulf, 165-169). Even though Grendel is incredibly powerful, he is unable to come near the throne. The throne cannot be touched or changed by evil.
As writers we must remember that no matter how dark a situation is, good will always win. We are not in a battle were the outcome is unsure. We are sure that evil will be overwhelmingly conquered by good. It is only our perspective that needs to change.
Remember in the Lord of the Rings how evil appears to be an unconquerable force. Frodo, a tiny hobbit, must go on a mission that will most likely fail. While evil appears to be growing greater and greater, good is nowhere in sight. As Sam and Frodo crawl up the side of Mount Doom, it looks like they are about to fail. However, Sam in the face of despair still believes that good will win.
“It's like in the great stories, -the ones that really matter. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end, because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer” (Tolkien, Return of the King).
In all the stories we write, we must remember that evil is always conquerable. The throne is untouchable. God cannot be changed by evil. So as we write we do not write from the perspective that God is battling against Satan and the outcome is unclear. We write that good will ultimately overcome evil. The battle is not over who will win but over who the characters believe will win. The battle is over perspective. If one of the characters gives up and decides that evil will win, they are right because through their lack of faith they have joined the enemy’s side. The conflict is not over the final outcome but over whose side we will be standing on when the story ends. If we choose to preserver we will be on the winning side.

A Very Merry Christmas (based off a true story)

It was one of those rare and magical winters were the first snow came the morning of Christmas Eve and promised to stay until at least the end of Christmas day. During the night Jack Frost had decorated the houses in the neighborhood by scribbling all over their window panes and hanging icicles from their gutters. The air was filled with a biting but delicious crispness that made the boys reluctant to breath out once that had filled their lungs. Tom and Freddy chased each other through the deep snow, hollering and pelting each other with powdery snowballs. Both of the boys had to heave their knees almost to their chests to get their little boots out of the snow and take another step. The neighborhood was filled with their gleeful laughter as they titled back their heads and tried to catch snowflakes on their tongues. They had already erected a snowman in the center of the yard—complete with scarf, stick arms, carrot nose and a grin made of pebbles.
David sat inside staring at the ungainly snowman’s pebbly smile. David’s thin legs dangled from a wooden chair and his feet in their baggy socks barely touched the floor. His back hunched over the kitchen table where he sat as if it had grown permanently into the shape of a letter C. At twelve years old, his body looked as small as a seven year old but his melancholy gray eyes looked closer to eighty. For a moment his eyes fixed blankly on his little brothers wrestling in the snow before he turned back to the bank ledger on the table. David penciled in the amount for the electric bill that month—nearly twice what it had been last month. David scanned the ledger and sighed.
David knew there would be no Christmas presents tomorrow morning. He knew that his little brothers Tom and Freddy would have to go without new shoes to pay the electric bill and his older sister Jane would have to wear her old dress for prom so they could buy groceries. He knew it would take exactly twenty nine years and eleven months to pay off their credit card. He also knew why his mom cried herself to sleep every night. David knew far more than any twelve year old boy should know.
He flipped back a few pages in the ledger and allowed his frail fingers to trace his father’s bold handwriting. It did not seem possible that only a few months ago his dad had sat in this same chair doing the family budget. David has always enjoyed peering over his father’s thick shoulder watching him add the monthly bills into neat little rows. It has seemed like a fascinating game to David. He never would have imagined that it could make him so sad.
“Your daddy is sick” his mother had told him. “He has to go away for a while.” David knew she had been lying but what are you suppose to tell a twelve year old when his father is a schizophrenic? Tom and Freddy were too little to understand. But David remembered all too well what the last few months had been like when Daddy’s mind had finally slipped away forever. He remembered the fighting. He remembered his Dad’s senseless gibberish. He remembered the day his dad had not recognized him. He remembered.... David closed the ledger quickly—too many terrible memories in there that he did not what to think about on Christmas Eve.
Had not been for the snow that covered the ground with a powdery layer of white, David could have almost forgotten that it was Christmas Eve at all. David glanced out the window again at his two brothers who were now stockpiling mountains of snowballs behind their snow forts in preparation for an epic battle of snow war. David smiled an amused smile. He pulled the wooden chair across the kitchen to the microwave, letting it squeak against the linoleum floor. Climbing on the chair, he put the bank ledger back on the shelf above the microwave.
As he climbed off the chair David noticed the Santa Claus cookie jar sitting on the counter. Every Christmas his mom always took it out of the attic, ceremoniously unpacked it from the bubble wrap and filled it with homemade cookies. He already knew without peeking inside that the jar was empty. Something about the fat jolly Santa’s face annoyed him. For an instant David wanted to smash the Santa jar into a thousand pieces. Empty or full, Santa would always have the same rigid stupid grin on his face David thought.
As David stood having a staring contest with Santa, Emma walk out of the hallway from her bedroom. She was already dressed for the Christmas Eve candlelight service. David thought his mom looked like a red and white stripped candy cane. Her red hair, lips, and blouse contrasted sharply with her pale skin. Her eyes, small and gray like David’s, were rimmed with red as well. Emma sniffed once before calling Tom and Freddy from outside. Twenty minutes later David, Tom, and Freddy were all dressed in their Sunday best along with Jane, packed in the family van, and on their way to church.
As Emma parked their van in the church parking lot, David looked at the nativity scene on the snowy grass by the playground. It was one of those plastic and nearly life size nativities that lit up. The plastic Mary, Joseph, shepherds, and wisemen all stood smiling at the plastic baby Jesus. Something about their inflexible grins reminded David of the cookie jar on the counter at home.
Tom and Freddy ran laughing from the car and were delighted to discover that the parking lot was as slick as an ice arena and their black dress shoes were almost as good as ice skates. They ran and slid in short spurts across the parking lot to the church entrance. David walked gingerly behind his mother and sister, watching his feet to keep from slipping.
The candlelight service was a typical assortment of classic carols but something about the music this year seemed to grab David’s heart in a new way. The minor notes of the carols reached inside his heart and plucked at the secrets that David had so carefully hidden. It was as if the music was a special friend who knew all about David’s dad without David having to say a word. David breathed in deeply as the music grabbed his soul. It was so beautiful that is made him want to cry. For the first time that day, David knew that Christmas had come. David sang along with all his might and stood with the congregation as the service concluded with rousing version of We Wish You a Merry Christmas. After holiday pleasantries and greetings had been exchanged with the other congregation members, Emma herded her family back into the van.
It was not until they arrived back in their neighborhood and David saw that their house was the only house on the whole block that did not have Christmas lights up this year that he remembered the loneliness that hung around his heart. David did not want to go inside their little house. It looked too dark and unfriendly.
Tom and Freddy as usual chased each other out of the van and inside. David could hear their delighted squeals from inside the house as he neared the porch steps. Moments later they were back outside on the porch waving their arms and jumping up and down like jack-n-the-boxes. “David! Come and see David!” shouted Tom. “Mommy, Jane come see our house!” echoed Freddy. Both Tom and Freddy both ran whooping like Indians back into the house. David skipped two steps and ran through the open door into the living room.
The whole house smelled like turkey dinner and pumpkin pie. The fire was lit. The table was set with china and there was a piece of chocolate wrapped in bright paper on each of their plates. But the best part was the Christmas tree. David could not remember when he had ever seen so many presents. Tom and Freddy jumped around the tree looking at name tags and squealing every time they found a package with their name on it. Emma and Jane stood in the door way speechless. Emma found a letter from their good friends the Petersons propped against a candle stick explaining the welcome but unexpected Christmas miracle. Emma’s hand covered her mouth and her eyes filled with tears that trickled down her face. David’s face broke out into a goofy boyish grin as he joined his brothers pawing through the presents under the tree. “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” he shouted. David danced around the tree and his gray eyes twinkled in the light of the fire. It was indeed a very Merry Christmas.

Les Miserables

So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation which, in the midst of civilization, artificially creates a hell on earth, and complicates with human fatality a destiny that is divine; so long as the three problems of the century—the degradation of man by the exploitation of his labor, the ruin of woman by starvation, and the atrophy of childhood by physical and spiritual night- are not solved; so long as, in certain regions, social *asphyxia* shall be possible; in other words, and from a still broader point of view, so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, there shall be a need for books such as this.

Introduction From Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables