Eleven years...

"Will give you such a crick in the neck!"

Remember that one (albeit with a few more years tacked on...) from 'Alladin'? Great entrance for Mr. Williams as the Genie.

"Look at me from the side....Do I look different to you?"

A lot of time has passed since then.

Eleven years ago tonight my wife and I were married.

Eleven years.

How crazy is that?

I was telling her last night that in some ways it seems like a very long time and other times it feels like it was just a week or two ago that we met.  Tonight it's eleven years, and four babies later.

We were walking downtown tonight on a 'mini date' for our anniversary; only able to escape for an hour or so.  See, our kids have the flu.  Daughters to be exact. 

Sarah got it boxing day and was up all night (from 11pm 'till 6am) puking her guts out.  Then Zoe got it and she's been randomly barfing for two days.  Niki and I feel like our whole life is wandering around cleaning up puke and waiting to see if it'll hit our boys or us.

We got sick 'cause we're nice.

My brother and his family are in town from Jerusalem for Christmas and they had the flu December 23rd and 24th.  We were going to stay away on Christmas day but felt like we just couldn't do it.  So we went and hoped for the best.  I can't bring myself to say that two out of six is getting 'hosed' exactly but it's too soon to say that JJ, Sammie, Nik and I have well and truly dodged the bullet.

We have faith though.

We ate mexican tonight.  With beer.  That's gonna' be just awesome if it comes back up.  Enough to make you invoke the sweet baby Jesus.  

So Niki's Mom (also nice) came to watch the kids for us to get out for a bit.  We bought skates for the kids (yes, I'm trying to embrace winter...) some books and stuff for her Dad and Stepmom who arrive tomorrow, then hit our favorite Mexican place.  After dropping Niki off I went to get her flowers and a card then arrived home to her holding the "I just puked" Zoe in her arms while Sammie howled at the moon from fatigue while Jordan did his best to walk through the puke spread all over the kitchen floor while Sarah ran around trying to avoid being put to bed.

They're great kids, really.

So we got them down.  Sat on our couch.  Ate Mexican.  Watched "Meet the Robinson's" (made me cry).

Now she's wrapping tomorrow's presents while I write this to memorialize our eleventh.

Eleven years.

I'm a fan of marriage.  I have one of those great marriages (if I do say so myself).  Like my parents.  One of those marriages that don't feel like a trap, don't feel boring, don't make you resentful.  

I love my wife.

We've worked hard at it.  So hard, it's changed my whole life.  

They say the two become one.  It's true.  More and more my wife and I are in sync.  Connected.  On the same page.  We understand each other and have found a way to help each other build a life.

Plus we enjoy each other's company, and still have a dynamic romantic life.

She's a gift.

I said in her card that I've learned what love is over these past eleven years and that having learned that (or begun to learn it) I've realized that I've never truly loved anyone but her.

She's glorious.

My Niki.  The hottest wife around.

All hail the Niki and the Jesus who gave her to me.

This is a thankful (though flu-ridden) man, signing off.

[And I'll write some about my 2008 very soon.  You have no idea what these deals are doing to my schedule.  Plus--in late breaking news--a new set of wheels might be materializing sometime soon.  Uploading that pic is gonna' call for some celebrating or some such thing.]

Nite, nite, sucka's.

T

When it rains...

And, well, you know the rest.

Deals have closed.

I'm sorry, lemme' just repeat that one time...

Deals have closed.

Oh thank God.

Can you believe we started working on 'em last (as in, 2006) October?  May 2007 brought 'em back from the dead, then they died again.  August 2007 I got a call that they might be back online, then in September we heard we'd have 'em closed by the second week of October, third week latest.

It's the week before Christmas and all through my house my wife and me keep pinchin' ourselves..."We're not gonna' lose our house!"

Or something like that.

I'll update the details later this week and will write some about the whole process and the 'perseverance imperative' that's built into show and church business.

But for now I'm just grateful that once in while...

It pours.

T

Happy eggs...

O.K, so the eggs didn't look quite that happy.

But close.

T'was breakfast as usual.  Coffee on the 'perk' ('on the bodum' didn't sound as good...) bagels toasting, kids trying to steal the fruit as we slice it.  Morning as usual at the Cantelon's.

I figured I'd make scrambled eggs.  I sometimes feel like my life is an endless sequence of trying to figure out new and creative ways to get a balanced breakfast into our systems each day.  Scrambled sounded good so I broke three eggs and dropped 'em in a bowl.  I was about to add the milk when I saw it.

Happy eggs.

Two of the yolks had stayed intact and one had broken.  The one that had broken was on the bottom and had curved slightly toward the two unbroken yolks above it (gravity, conservation of mass, etc...) on both sides forming a smiling mouth to sit beneath two happy yellow eyes.

If I had a digital camera (yeah, I'm still 'film'...Director, remember?)  I would've snapped a shot.  "Ah, just google 'smiley eggs'..." said Niki and I agreed, sure that I'd be able to find that the random happiness that had happened to me had happened to someone else with a digi-cam to hand.  

No such luck.

Sure I could dig a little, but who's got the time.  Instead I grabbed the image above and got on with it.

Random happiness.

Needed some.  In addition to the ongoing 'transitional stress' (which we hope comes to an end this weekend...) in our lives, we decided to watch 'Waitress' (Keri Russell) last night.  A bunch of people had recommended it, it's getting awards buzz, and the descriptor on the DVD box clinched it.  "Funny, heartwarming, lighthearted..." were some of the words used.

Lies.

Turns out 'Waitress' is a serious, dark comedy, masquerading as a romantic comedy.  I hate it when they do that.  I mean, I 'get' why they do it.  Who really wants to be sad for an hour and forty-five minutes then get five minutes of half-hearted happiness tacked on at the end?  I remember when "Message in a Bottle" (Kevin Costner) did it to us; pretended it was a lovey-dovey valentines flick then went and offed-him.  Niki and I had actually gone to see it as part of a valentines date and, man, did we feel ripped off.

The marketing guys aren't stupid you know.

If they actually told you what "Waitress" was about, you most likely take a 'pass' on it 'cause, if you're like us, there's probably already enough pain in your life without adding any gratuitous 'Hollywood-art pain' to it.  

Right?

Don't get me wrong, "Waitress" was really nicely done.  Well written, acted, and directed.  A strong picture worthy of the buzz it's getting, just not a 'happy' way to spend a night with your wife.

I keep realizing I'm not the kind of storyteller (for the screen or from the pulpit) who wants to take life that seriously.  I don't get 'jazzed' by the thought of training the camera on a story of pain for two hours.  I don't come to a text looking to find anything but the best, most inspiring, encouraging way to tell the truth of it to my audience.  

There's just too much pain in the world.

Did you know that the Writer/Director of "Waitress" was murdered before the picture released?  Did you know she had a baby girl (for whom the movie was a 'love letter') and a loving husband?  How 'bout the fact that the 19 year-old who killed her just lost his temper and punched her while the two of them were arguing over the noise he was making while renovating a loft beneath hers in Greenwich Village in NYC?  If you add the fact that he then strung her up with a sheet from her shower rod to make it look like she killed herself and that that's how her husband found her the next morning, it'd be enough to make you sick with sorrow.

Welcome to my last night.

'Geez.

So I figure 'happy eggs' are about what we needed today.

When you're lucky enough to take the pulpit and a hundred or more people show up, spending those moments of their life hoping that you'll enrich theirs, you need to frickin' remember that they're likely sad and needing encouragement.  

When you decide what story you're going to spend two years of your life bringing to life for the screen, you better make damn sure it's worth your audience's time and investment.

'Course some of you are thinking I'm advocating an exclusively 'Osteen-ish' approach in the pulpit and a Disney-fied take on all filmmaking.

(I'm telling you, "Enchanged" made me cry like a baby and not 'cause it was sad but 'cause it was beautifully redemptive, in a simple way.)

The older I get the more like a kid I feel.

I don't want 'sophisticated' and 'erudite'.  I don't want 'lofty' or 'arty'. I want someone to tell me that it's going to be o.k.

"But it's not going to be o.k, Todd.  That's the point."

No it's not.

The point of the redemptive story or urge is that it IS going to be o.k.  We're not o.k, I get that.  We need to become o.k, I believe it.  But the central, core message of the redemptive story is that it's been made right.  Life has.  

It's gonna' be o.k.  

And yes, tell me the whole story of creation, fall, incarnation, death, resurrection, redemption from the pulpit.  Yes, take me from 'normal' to 'abnormal' to near disastrous to alright when you make a movie.  But please tell me the whole story. 

Because not all of life is loss and not all men are beasts and not all women whores. Not all kids nightmares.  Not all jobs 'dead end'.

There is light at the end of the tunnel and our films and our preaching need to reflect it because it's Christmas and...

Even the eggs cry out.

T

Addicted to the shivers...

Everybody gets 'em this time of year.

The first major case we ran into this time was courtesy of my eldest son, Jordan. We were visiting the Eaton Center in downtown Toronto-- a 'Christmas Mecca' of sorts for my family.  We used to go at Christmastime when I was just a kid, and to take my kids now is time warp city.

Anyway, this was our second or third trip this year and each time we've made a point to visit 'The Big Guy' (as our kids call 'Santa').  It's a neat experience to see all four of them sitting with the old dude.  We have pictures of Jordie with the same 'Santa' from when he was just a baby.  The same Santa, all these years.  So strong an impression has the Eaton Center Santa made on my kids that they're sure he's the 'real' one and that all the others are just 'helpers' 'cause they know Santa can't be in two places at once and can't move faster than light except on Christmas eve.

So, on this second trip to the Eaton Center there was a different Santa in place of the 'real' one. Our kids were a little 'thrown' by this, but after some coaxing, made their way up to him.

And he gave Jordie the shivers.

"Seriously Dad.  All the way up and down my back.  He gave me this warm feeling. He must be the real Santa!"

And that got me thinking about 'The Shivers'.

See, I bought Niki a Christmas album yesterday, Josh Groban's "Noel" (a wonderful CD buy the way, well worth the purchase--not a dud on it) which we've been listening to non-stop since I brought it home.  I do this every year, show up with a Christmas album as an early Christmas present for her.  She loves Christmas. Intensely.

So I'm cleaning up after dinner last night and Josh is singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" from the living room.  It sounds glorious (in the authentic sense) and I find myself in the living room, transported.

I got the shivers.

And I got to thinking about the glory of God and the way in which that glory is strong enough that it works its way through all our fallenness to connect to us and call us to the heights.

See, David Foster produced the album and since I'd had the misfortune to tune into his reality TV show a couple of times for a couple of minutes last year I had come to realize that he doesn't seem (and I use 'seem' intentionally 'cause, after all, who the heck am I to judge or label anybody?  I'm just sayin' it's how it seemed to me...) to be the kind of guy in whom the thirst for godliness runs especially deep.

And I got to thinking about friend David standing in the recording space as Groban and the London Philharmonic ripped through the glorious tunes on that album and I wondered if he would have been feeling 'em.

The shivers.

Then it hit me.  Of course he's feeling 'em.  That's how he knows what's good and what's not.  That's how he writes the theme to the '88 Winter Games in Calgary and it's so damn good.  That's how he knows how to arrange the songs so that they soar so high they make us all want to take wing.  

That's how all great artists (filmmakers and preachers included) create work(s) that are worth the audience's time and investment.

They must know God.

To what degree, in what capacity, to what end, these are not for me to discern or decide.

What I can do is marvel at the greatness of the 'Author of the Shivers' and the way in which He causes people to experience those moments of clarity and transcendence where they connect to that great unknown whose incarnation (aka: making Himself 'known') is being celebrated this time of year by 'shivers addicts' the world over.

Noel, indeed.

T

The Beautiful Things...

Nothing like uncertainty to focus your vision.

I do realize that this 'season' of blogging may come across a little more 'mopey' than my "I'm a strong, cool, got-it-together kind of guy" self-image would typically be comfortable with, but them's the breaks when you're waiting for a deal to close.

Update on that:

Last I heard, days ago, the 'honcho' was going to look over the budgets then get back to us with what I was told would be a 'green light' as they wanted us to start actually working the first week of December.

Well it's the first week and I'm still waiting.

My biz-partner is fond of telling me that things are moving 'lightning fast' by 'corporate standards' and that I should relax.  The harsh reality is that things aren't moving anywhere near fast enough for me, since it's Christmas and I've got four beautiful things to take care of.

See 'em up top?  Lovely no?

One thing my parents never did (and my parents are wonderful by the way) was talk to us about money.  We never really had any clear sense of what they made or how they managed their money.  My impression (and I could be wrong, y'never know when your Mom might find your blog...) was that they kept it to themselves by way of sheltering us from the stress of it and because it was kind of a 'generational thing' inherited from their parents...you just don't talk about certain things.

I wanted to be a little more transparent with my kids.  

Now, I've certainly not gone 'full disclosure' with them.  They're not aware of the particularities of our current 'transitional financial state' but they do know that we're waiting for these 'deals' to close; to the point that they've started praying for it.  

In classically 'childlike' manner, they're praying for the deals to close so that we can buy them the things they've asked for from us for Christmas.  They've got no stress about the things they've asked Santa for since, according to them, "The Big Guy's made of money..."  But that ne'er do well father of theirs, well he's gotta' close them deals.  Sarah said at breakfast today; "Well, why don't you just close 'em daddy?"  

My thoughts exactly.

So we wait.

And our mental state while waiting is increasingly fragile.  Niki and I typically wake up stressed, don't talk much while prepping breakfast, calm down a bit by our second cup of coffee then ramp up to stressed again by lunch then off a bit for the busy afternoon, then back up for dinner after which we try to do our best to not think about anything other than the next episode of 'Lost' or the latest romantic comedy I've rented for her.  And, yes, I'm aware that food has a lot to do with our emotional cycles.

In all seriousness, it's a dance to keep one's state of mind (and spirit) in healthy orientation.  I keep thinking of Job and spurring myself on to love God in the midst of this 'dark' (relatively speaking of course, I'm consistently reminded that there are many [MANY] out there suffering to much greater degree than us...) season that's stretching on to two years now.

Niki said it yesterday... "Man, we've been 'church-less' for two years..."

Two.  Years.

Jordie picked up on the phrase; "Yup', we're ChurchLess", like he likes how it rolls off his tongue.  The kids have started lobbying for us to plant another Church. They still ask about our old one which is endearing 'cause when asked for specifics about what they remember of it, things get real hazy real fast.  

Adding to the tension is the lack of a 'backup plan'.  That'll cause your heart to constrict right there (and God help me if my Mother-in-LAW find this...) Amazes me sometimes.  I wonder if I'm irresponsible or faithful.  After thinking on it for a bit I tend to land on the latter, simply because I decided to sell my life out to following the path of faith many, many, years ago now. I don't really have any other options.  As I've said many times before, it really does come down to whether or not you actually believe that God exists.  If you don't, then live your life.  If you do, well then, "My life is God's life now..." is how I put it once.

So, reduced to that kind of faithful foolishness, one has very little recourse but to live life moment to moment doing one's best to focus on all the beautiful things you encounter along the way while you wait for God to do His thing.

Things like a great egg and cheese sandwich made for my wife and I this morning. Things like a great sex life (oops, Mom or wife might be reading this...) and a marriage that is still glorious after nearly eleven years.  (We were sitting by our Christmas tree this week, eggnog to hand, candles burning, and Niki looked over at picture of us on the wall.  "We've been doing this a really long time."  She said. "I'm so amazed it hasn't gotten old." 

Things like glorious kids with eyes that shine.

I've been thinking about atheism lately (there's been some ruckus about it and connected to me at an online community I'm part of) and I just can't square it with my gorgeous kids or the lovely way in which the bark on my backyard tree spirals up towards the sky.

None of those beautiful things make any kind of sense in a world with no God.  

Last time I checked, 'natural selection' didn't care about beauty, just survival (and don't go commenting about how 'beauty' enhances reproductive ability...I already thought that one through...) and all around me I see...

The beautiful things.

So I keep on believing.

T

Thanksgiving...

I do realize I'm not American and will confess to the fact that I 'feel' American and often wish to be.

It's just that we've always celebrated American Thanksgiving in addition to the Canadian one. Pretty good deal huh?  Two turkeys, two apple pies, two afternoon naps, then (on the second one) the endless NFL games.  Wonderful childhood memories.

This year, as father of my own family, we didn't really celebrate either.  We're not yet at the 'cook a turkey and a pie ourselves' stage.  Mostly our life is about trying to survive.

But I was online today at 'Wordplayer', a screenwriting community I'm part of, and had the chance to read a post I'd submitted earlier this year about the first public screening of my first feature-film, "THE STORM".  It was really healthy, and quite humbling, to see 1) how thankful I was post-screening and 2) how quickly I'd forgotten the joy/high of that moment of thanksgiving.

I happen to think that thanksgiving is the definition of what it means to be godly.  

So I repent.  For being ungrateful, for getting calloused, for losing my first love, for being un-childlike.

And on that front...

Was making breakfast this morning and talking with my wife about my eldest son who's as crazy and eccentric as all get out (and we have NO idea where he gets that from...) and who was in the process of storming upstairs 'cause I wouldn't let him put MJ's 'Thriller' on the iPod (he's become quite the fan) because Mommy and I typically like to listen to John Mayer when we cook breakfast.  I said to Nik, "Classic.  The child coming to grips with his utter powerlessness. Someday he'll be able to identify as he tells his kids that, no, they can't listen to 'jayden spears' because Daddy wants to listen to 'Thriller'."  

And then it hit me.

Maybe when the Bible's talking about us being like little children it's not just saying that we should exhibit all the great things kids exhibit (fearlessness, faith, hope, lovingkindness etc...) but maybe its telling us to get in touch with our utter powerlessness.

"Unless you embrace your utter helplessness/powerlessness, you cannot inherit the kingdom of Heaven..."

How you like them apples?

All this time.  All these years.  All those sermons.  And I'd missed that point.  

I am powerless.

Even as an adult, wielding power over my eldest son, my power is temporary, passing away, mostly an illusion.  There's a radical admission of weakness there that I'm not intuitively comfortable with.

And how can you be thankful, truly thankful, for something you deserve?  Isn't that the essence?  I've been given good things I don't deserve and for that-

I give thanks.

T

Literally true...

This is me lacking a 'communicative outlet'...

About to hit the sack last night.  Phone rings.  It's my biz-partner.  It's 11:00pm (which I do realize is early if you're 23 and single, but I'm 33 and father of four...) and I'm cursing under my breath as I reach for the phone.

"Are you watching 'The Hour'?"  

So I turn it on.  Georgie is interviewing Creflo Dollar.  One question in particular got me thinking.  George was asking Creffie about the whole literalist approach to interpreting scripture.  Creflo did the typical "You can use the Bible for whatever you want if you take it out of context..." thing.  I got to thinking how I would have answered.

See, if you're going to pull the whole 'literalism=fundamentalism" card there's not much I can do about it.  Put aside the verbal jousting for a second though and I think there's another way to look at it.  Naturally I wouldn't want to say I don't believe that what the Bible says is true, absolutely true, because to do so is to take the teeth out of Christianity.  If Christianity is just another philosophy you can try on for size it ceases to become that which it is intended to be.  It's Christianity's exclusivism that is both its great asset and liability.  If we were just 'one among many', nobody'd hate us and we wouldn't mean a thing to a World in pain.

But is it 'LITERALLY' true?

How hard you going to press me?  See, George mentioned how his Christian mother had forbidden him to get an earring because of an obscure passage in the Bible that forbids cutting/piercing of the body.  So George is like; "That wouldn't really work for me 'cause I couldn't shave if that was true and I'd be, all bushy and stuff."  Classic.  Either it's all completely literally true or it's all completely subjective and open to interpretation.

I thought that maybe Creflo could've pointed out the following...

Perhaps it's not just about what's 'literally true' but rather, maybe it's about what's 'actually true'.  See?  Did the Bible literally forbid cutting, piercing, etc?  Well yes. But why?  What did God actually mean (for us) in that passage.  Now, granted, I recognize we're delving into dangerous territory here as I (a human with all the cravenness that goes along with that...) attempt to say what God was thinking. The thing is, this is what guys like me (Preacher/Pastors) do.  We interpret the Bible in an effort to help it 'speak' to our audience today.  That's the job.  Which, by the way, is why so many Preachers are so lousy, but that's another story. 

[also, 'interpreting' a piece of text, like a screenplay, is what Directors do. The two jobs aren't very different in actuality.  Different canvases and different mechanics but very, very similar] 

What was actually at stake with the whole 'no cutting/piercing' thing was idolatry. Worshipping something other than YHWH, the God of Abraham, Issac, and Jacob the God who, we Christians believe, took on flesh (incarnate) by being born of a woman and entered into human history as the long-promised Messiah of Jewish prophecy to live and die and rise again so that we-the-dead might live.  You're only supposed to worship Him, is what the Bible's saying.  One of the great tensions of all of scripture is the tension between God's desire for us to be devoted (captivated by) to Him over and against the constant pull of the life that surrounds us with its constant pressure to place other 'things' in the highest place of attention in our lives.  

Creflo could've turned that corner.  Could've said: "Y'know George, what's at stake there is not a literal interpretation of 'don't cut/pierce' but rather the actual call of God to you to be His, to love Him, walk with Him, devote your entire being to Him."  Yes the Bible literally says that and here's what it actually means.  Instead we got to see another 'liberal talk show host' bests 'fundamentalist televangelist' by pointing out how silly it really is to believe that the Bible is literally (actually) true, moment.

Sigh.

Sometimes I wish I could jump through the screen.

Someday.

T

Hanging 'em out there...

So I'm at it again.  Back at the keyboard.  Trying to pull some 'magic' out of my...

Imagination.

By way of background:

For the past six months, at least, my business partner and I have been 'courting' a significant deal with a major television network.  I can't remember the number of times we've thought the deal's dead but I recall clearly that by the end of this summer my wife and I were looking for a 'day-job' for me.

Now it's quite common for people in show business who're working at 'breaking in' to have one of those- a job that keeps them fed- while they wait, and wait, and wait to see if they're going to get their break.  The thing with me is that I've got four kids.  'Yup, count 'em. 1...2...3...4!  All under the age of seven.  My house is busy and my bank account, in the year and a half since leaving my former career (as a Church planter), mostly hovers on the edge of some degree of panic.  A day job's not really an option for me since most of 'em don't pay nearly enough to float our family-packed boat.  For me it's either 'this works' or 'we're dead'.  

And as uncomfortable as that kind of intensely 'faith-demanding' lifestyle is, the thing that occurs to me is that living this way is almost pre-requisite for 'making it'. The more I read, the more common it seems that my experience is.  Somebody leaves their old 'way' of living to pursue (or more fully pursue) the way they've always thought they should be living; and that kind of a 'lifestyle choice' comes at a cost.  It's almost always at the end of their rope that things come through.

And if you're reading this you're thinking, "Yeah and that's saying nothing about the countless thousands who take the leap and fall.  Straight up fail."  You're right. That's what makes this so terrifying.  

We have babies to feed.

So, back to the 'craft' (I'm always trying to mix something 'spiritually useful' with something productive for those of us living in 'the biz') part of this post.

We've got four (like the kids...how scary is that?) deals pending right now.  Three TV series (for a combined total of 364 episodes!) and one new media project.  As they firm up I'll talk more about them, but for now it's enough to say that this deal is the biggest of my career so far.  

And it just won't close.

It was supposed to close a month ago and every week that passes brings with it a new 'hoop' I have to jump through.  I'm blogging today to say that I'm almost through the last hoop. 

The biggest series (aka: most risk-filled for me and the network) is the one holding up the whole deal right now.  Until I've got them fully and finally 'hooked' on this one they won't approve the other three which are, otherwise, almost academic. So I've been sitting at my desk, mostly procrastinating, waiting for the muse to sing loud enough and for time to work its magic strong enough so that the disparate ideas floating around in my head combine into something that looks like something a TV network would like to plop down some serious cash to have.

How scary is that?

I have to write it.  If they like it, we're good.  If they don't, my kids don't eat.

So as soon as I finish this I'ma kiss my wife, sit myself down at my desk and do my best to pull magic out of thin air.

"Faith is the evidence of things hoped for, the substance of things not seen."

T

That Pesky Voice...

So I alluded to it a little in my last post, referencing the whole journey from preacher to filmmaker.

Growing up, two men in particular (other than my Dad) really influenced me in terms of the man I hoped to grow up to be.  I've got a little plaque on my desk as I write this, a gift from the lead actor (Jeff Stout) on my first film.  It's a picture of two stars on the 'Hollywood walk of fame'.  The left star is Billy Graham's (never knew he had one...) the right is-you guessed it- Mr. Spielberg's.  I wanted to be those guys. Well, not be them, but try to grow up and do, to some small degree, a combination of what they do.

It's not so different if you think about it.

Billy gets up on a stage and tells a story to tens of thousands.  When you combine the TV broadcasts of his 'meetings' over the years he's reached millions.  Steven Spielberg makes movies, which many of my 'Church-oriented' peers have confessed is the 'new preaching' in our day and age, and those movies reach millions.  Billy's work is adaptation, taking an ancient text, studying it, working his imagination around it, listening to what it's trying to say, and crafting a message (or story) based on it to inspire, 'touch', and speak to, his audience.  Same thing Spielberg's doing.  Taking a script (whether he wrote it or not), studying it, listening to it, finding a way to translate it from paper to 'real life' in order to 'touch' an audience.

Storytellers.

And, in even later breaking news, it seems to me that both of them have a similar motivation.  No, Steven's not trying to 'save souls', granted.  But he's certainly trying to 'convert' his audience to his way of seeing things.  All filmmakers have a bias.  They see the world a certain way and the great privilege of being a director is being given the resources and the opportunity to tell a story that will be delivered to millions and that, if done well, will shape the opinions of those same millions.  One 'sermon' every two years or so, if you're a director.  But those 'sermon-movies' live forever, if they're good.  

On the other side of it, a preacher preaches and, if he's any good, that sermon rises to the level of 'great entertainment', almost live theater if he's really on fire.  The audience is moved, provoked, inspired, convicted, and on some deep level (if the preacher brings it back to the 'redemptive urge' as he ought) told that 'everything's going to be o.k'.  Week in week out.  Delivered then (mostly) forgotten, a sermon is a little 'movie of the Spirit', gradually hacking away at the listener's lives.

That's the kind of filmmaker Steven is; the 'it's gonna' be alright' kind.  That's why, when he makes a departure from the kind of story we're used to him telling (from E.T to A.I), some of his typical audience of millions stays away because he's thrown them off-balance.  It's cool for him to make that departure, that's his right as an artist, just like a preacher can mix it up now and again switching from a 'topical' approach to an expository one (or whatever) but at heart we've come to expect a 'thing', or a 'tao' (way), from our preachers and when they don't deliver we're disappointed.  

That's the kind of work I try to do.  I've always figured life is dark enough without me adding any to it.  I tried to write a horror script a few years ago, but it scared the shiz out of me 'cause I happen to believe in 'evil' and the power of the dark.  I had to stop.  Plus my wife, who's ultimately the only one I'm trying to impress, would've hated the movie anyway.  So I try to write, and preach, 'The Light'.  Even while battling a minor depression (and a deep disillusionment) in 2006, the year after resigning from my Church and 'the year of the movie' ('The Storm') I tried very hard to live and preach and write and direct 'The Light' from the darkness.

That's not to say all is good all the time in my life or yours or in the world of our stories.  Just that, from my perspective, much of life is about finding a way through to the good, the light, the life.

So here I sit, continuing to struggle with this voice that comes from inside and outside.  I'm itching to shoot another picture and am itching to get back in the pulpit and just yesterday I get another facebook comment from a dude who used to listen to me preach week after week asking me when I'm going to stop playin' and get back at it.  Seriously, I've been getting at least one of those per week, which seems to me to not be about ego or encouragement but rather about 'The Voice' prodding me to get at it and keep at it.

So, we'll see how it goes trying to keep both sides (and both voices) fed and well-served.

T

Enough already...

So it's been months now, lurking around, reading four or five blogs with some consistency and (stop the press) actually getting something, quite valuable, out of the whole experience.  I guess, at heart, it's because I, like you...

Am a bit of a voyeur.

A voyeur who needs to be encouraged and who needs to learn.  A voyeur who's trying to find his way through to the life I had imagined having while living in the midst of the life that's 'happening' to me.

The other thing that's been driving me (a life-long 'non-diarist') in this direction is the slowly dawning realization that, in spite of my best efforts to ignore it, I'm starting to 'age' a bit and that means, among other things, that I have to exercise more and that my options (in terms of career etc.) are 'narrowing' but it also means that I've gained some (italics mine) limited experience (maybe I should've italicized the 'limited' too...) in what I do and that said experience might, in some small way, be of 'use' to some other voyeurs out there.

So what is it, exactly, that I do?

Well, I used to be a full-time preacher.  The kind who preaches at big concerts and small retreats.  The kind who started a small 'youth church' in the mid-nineties then another independent one in 2001.  A preacher, son of a preacher, son of a preacher, son (no kidding) of a preacher.  

Then I got into the movies.

Last year (2006) I directed my first feature-film.  I'm sure I'll be writing more about it as this blog unspools but it's enough for this first post to say that the experience (t'was a very small film with an even small budget) nearly killed me and (nearly a year and a half later) has opened up some very interesting new doors for me to, potentially, continue my trip into 'directordom'. 

I feel some things strongly about faith in practice and about organized religion.  I hope some things strongly about story and the art-meets-business of making picture-stories for the screen.

These themes will come up here and I'll try to be really honest about it all.

That way, at least somebody, even if it's just me, might get something out of it.

Peace,

T