The Therapy Sessions #10: "Do Not Resuscitate"

If you have been following this series, you know that, instead of going through a journey of grief using journaling like I did after my dad died, I am navigating  the valley of childhood abuse by putting my thoughts into songs. 

Specifically, I am writing lyrics and (as I am not a songwriter) Suno is helping me match it to lyrics. 

 As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I have not added details in this series, nor do intend to.  

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8, 9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. I have been learning the past few just how wildly impactful our childhood is.

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does.This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

The sixth song was not quiet. Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song let me vent.

The seventh song was a reminder that it was not my fault, though I have carried that weight for decades, and lived out that legacy by defaulting to carrying the blame for things that go wrong. 

The 8th song, "I Won't Be That Kind Of Man", was about my determination not to pass on the legacy of trauma I endured.

The 9th song is called "I Won't Be That Kind of Man." We can choose what to do with legacies: pass them on, or change them. I'm doing a bit of both. 

This song is a recent one. I have been through some dark times of the soul where life felt like more than I could handle. When I am in that space, there can be moments when I think about death - and yearn for it. That doesn't mean that I wanted to end my life; it just meant there was a stark moment when I realized I longed for my eternal rest. 

In my journey - and perhaps in yours? -  there are times I am intensely in love with this life. I have so many wonderful family and friends around me, and I have had so many blessings. Then there are the days that overwhelm with the legacies of the sinful brokenness of the world. Both are true. Hopefully, this song captures both.

"Do Not Resuscitate"


The mirror says I’m older than my years 

Every little burden leaves a mark

“God won’t give more than you can handle”

Are just words while I cry in the dark

My thoughts all now feel disconnected

Like sparks that go out as they rise

I ain’t looking for peace anymore now

Just anything to dry out my eyes


[Chorus]

Now I lay me down to sleep

And Jesus sits with me while I weep

And if I die before I wake

Do not resuscitate



[Verse 2]

I know there’s life past the curtain

Every wound finally understood

Relief from the grief will be certain

And broken things heal like they should

And I believe scarred hands will hold me

No shame, just hope to amaze 

So if God calls me home before morning

Don’t drag me back from glorious days


[Chorus]


I don’t hate life

I’m just tired

Tired of heartbreak and tears

Tired of carrying everybody’s pain

While mine just languishes here

Still…

There’s a table for me in the kingdom

And I hear my chair scraping the floor

Some nights I ache to stay present

Some nights I ache for eternity more



Now I lay me down to sleep

And Jesus sits with me while I weep

And if I die before I wake

All that’s sad God will finally unmake

So please….

Do not resuscitate

The Therapy Sessions #9: "The Sons Of The Fall"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's.

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8, 9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma.  

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does.This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

The sixth song was not quiet.  Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song let me vent.

The seventh song was a reminder that it was not my fault, though I have carried that weight for decades, and lived out that legacy by defaulting to carrying the blame for things that go wrong. 

The 8th song, "I Won't Be That Kind Of Man", was about my determination not to pass on the legacy of trauma I endured.

Today's song looks at how hard it is to live in the present sometimes. There is a danger of getting too immersed in the past, as well as being overly discouraged about healing in the future. I hope it's both honest and hopeful.

If your  life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine, my heart breaks for you.  If you care to read what I write or listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and - to quote Samwise Gangee -  "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for." 

Version #1: If you like southern rock/metal

Version #2: If you like hip-hop/rap

The Sons Of The Fall

[Chorus] I get too immersed

In the past I rehearse,

But today, I’m concerned

That the future is worse

When I think of tomorrow

I’m undone by sorrow

It’s something I have to give up

The trouble today is enough.

The past has the years

That were filled with the sin

And the memories that sear

Bring the grief back again.

In the past, I recall

All the times, for too long

That the sons of the fall

Did me terrible wrong

[Chorus] 

Today I went back

To things that brought pain

And the people who thought

That my loss was their gain.

Today, I regressed

The legacy was not done,

And those who confessed

Were not honest enough.

[Chorus]

Tomorrow, I fear

it’s too little, too late

I won’t dry up the tears

And my past is my fate.

Tomorrow, I wonder

If true healing awaits

Or will I blindly just lumber

And carry the same old weight.

[Chorus] 

And I stand in between

What I dread and have known

With a heart full of ash

And a soul like a stone

What was and what is, 

Feel like such an abyss

And the cost to be new

Must pay the devil his due.

But I heard there’s a way to cover the cost

If it’s paid blood red, on a cross

[Chorus]

 I get too immersed

In the past I rehearse,

But today, I’m not sure

That the future is worse

Today’s trouble is real

But I can’t let it steal

What the pain would conceal

That God takes it, 

and breaks it, 

and heals.

UP NEXT:  #10 "Do Not Resuscitate"

The Therapy Sessions #8: I Won't Be That Kind Of Man

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's.

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8, 9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma.  

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does.This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

The sixth song was not quiet.  Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song let me vent.

The seventh song was a reminder that it was not my fault, though I have carried that weight for decades, and lived out that legacy by defaulting to carrying the blame for things that go wrong. 

Today's song is about how I have not passed on the legacy of trauma I endured. Perhaps the silver lining in the trauma cloud is that I have stopped a cycle of abuse.

If your  life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine, my heart breaks for you.  If you care to read what I write or listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and - to quote Samwise Gangee -  "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for." 

"I Won't Be That Kind Of Man"

https://suno.com/s/NeL22GOKKMFcX7eV

I’ve been digging through a past that owes me answers,

What sinful men did to me raises some questions.

They preached Jesus but passed on their damage,

Took me down a path that led to therapy sessions.

Chaos in my chest, white noise in my head

It’s just what happens when innocence is dead

When your safety doesn’t last, you figure out fast—

The devil doesn’t need horns, just a holy mask.

[Chorus]

I won’t be that kind of man

No, I won’t be that kind of man

Give a bad man power, and the little ones pay.

I won’t be that kind of—

I won’t be that kind of man

Let’s uncover all the things that I used as armor,

Fawning, freezing, running from the trauma.

Trying to make safe every time, every place

Learning how to read every look on your face

Hypocrites with Bibles, conveyors of violence

Forced on me these tools of survival,

And I’m haunted by ghosts that continuously lurk

And learning what it takes to make life work

[Chorus]

I’m naming the damage, not carrying the blame.

I don’t carry their darkness or shoulder their shame.

If pain is a language, I’m learning new words,

I won’t translate abuse into someone else’s curse.

[Chorus]

I am not that kind of man

I am not that kind of man

What they broke, I’m breaking free

I am not that kind of—

I am not that kind of man

I will never be

That kind of man.

The Therapy Sessions #7: "You Were Never To Blame"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I've got Jesus, good therapists, a loving family and a supportive church community, but... it's a lot.  

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8, 9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma.  On the other end of the spectrum,I've learned it's not unusual for men my age to remember this kind of stuff in their 50s. 

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does.This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

The sixth song was not quiet.  Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song let me vent.

Today's song is another perspective from adult me as I look back on Little Me and speak truth to push out the lies.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to read what I write or listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and - to quote Samwise Gangee -  "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."  

"You Were Never To Blame"

https://suno.com/s/grhd2tRjpJwIhWOA

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Targeted by others who would sin

Prepare for the people, who would circle again?

With no means to defend

For a boy who was nine, maybe ten.

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Ashamed and confused by the hands of grown men,

Try to make sure it won’t happen again?

With no means to defend

For a boy who was nine, maybe ten.

Chorus

9 year old boy, you were never to blame,

They branded your soul with their own shame.

You made it through by forgetting the pain—

And their own darkness, told you your name.

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Already collapsing before it begins,

Show anyone else what kept happening then?

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten, 

Know he wasn’t the problem—the problem was them

And one day there’ll be light, but it’s dark until then…

Chorus

You carried the silence as long as you could,

Believing that darkness was stronger than good.

But truth has a voice that burns through the shame—

It calls to the boy, and it speaks your true name.

Chorus

None of their darkness, can tell you…

Your name is…

Beautiful Boy.

The Therapy Sessions #6: "I Just Want This Day To End"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I've got Jesus, good therapists, a loving family and a supportive church community, but... it's a lot.  

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8,  9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. These were not exclusive years, but they will show up more than once. On the other end of the spectrum, watch out for songs that reference my 50s. I've learned it's not unusual for men my age to remember this kind of stuff in their 50s - and it's not unusual for men to remember this kind of stuff.

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does. If you listen to all the songs, you'll see I'm not trying to stick with one style. I'm getting Suno to help me find the mood that matches what I'm feeling. This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

This one is not. Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song lets me vent.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to read what I write or listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and - to quote Samwise Gangee -  "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."  

"I Just Want This Day To End"

https://suno.com/s/Pk2gQ7ZbFz07uhsC

Today was not fine because 

Peace was not mine 

And I was ready, so soon

To try the next day, 

since at least around noon 

 

Today was not right because 

I thought I saw the light 

But I was ready, once again 

To try the next day instead, 

Perhaps as early as ten 

 

[Chorus] I just want this day to end, 

I find I’m too tired to pretend

 But broken things are trying to mend, 

So tomorrow, maybe, I’ll try again. 

 

Today was not good, because

 I’ve been in a mood 

Because trauma’s no fun 

And I wanted a new day 

Sometime around one. 

 

Today was so hard, because 

I let down my guard

 And tried to remember

A boy, so tender, and used. 

I just want this day to end,

 I find I’m too tired to pretend

 But broken things are trying to mend, 

So tomorrow, I suppose, 

I’ll try again. 

 

Today was so dark, 

As I grieve for the mark 

On my heart, and my soul, 

For the terrible toll. 

And now this day’s too long 

For all of my sorrow 

Yet again 

 

 I just want this day to end, 

And I just need it quiet inside my head

But this time the darkness will act as a friend,  

And tomorrow, I suppose, I’ll try again.

I’ll try again.

 

And tomorrow, I think that, I’ll try again.  

 And tomorrow, I need to try life again

UP NEXT: "You Were Never To Blame"

The Therapy Sessions #5: "Dear Jesus, I've Got Questions"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I've got Jesus, good therapists, a loving family and a supportive church community, but... it's a lot.   

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8,  9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. These were not exclusive years, but they will show up more than once. On the other end of the spectrum, watch out for songs that reference my 50s.  I've learned it's not unusual for men my age to remember this kind of stuff in their 50s - and it's not unusual for men to remember this kind of stuff.

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

This one needed to be quiet and gentle. If you listen to all the songs, you'll see I'm not trying to stick with one style. I'm getting Suno to help me find the mood that matches what I'm feeling. The next one is going to be noisy; this one is not.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and, to quote Samwise Gangee, "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."  

"Dear Jesus, I've Got Questions"

https://suno.com/s/8wOQshlcDA7BjX8T

Dear Jesus, I’ve got questions,

Some thoughts, and a few suggestions

And there might be a confession,

But we’ll see

I wonder why so much is bad

In a world where so much makes me glad?

And in the memories that I have

Why did so many have to be so sad?

I wonder why you didn’t end

The hypocrisy and the pretend

More quickly, with more time to send

Someone to help me mend

And just for me, for Little Me

Looking down on us, did you also see

The many things I tried to flee?

So why did you just let them be?

My thoughts are jumbled, to be clear

But I think I see a pattern here:

Confusion, questions, pain and fear.

I see at least that through my tears.

My suggestions won’t surprise you, Lord

I’ll bet you’ve heard these ones before

What if you found a way to store

My past behind a massive door

Until I was safe to explore

What happened.

What if you found a way to mend

The broken, and to send

All sins so far around the bend

We would not deal with them again.

What if you found a way to show

That when we harvest what others sow

You’re right here with us, down below

You’re right here with us, in our woe.

What if you found a way to heal

With love, and hope, and make unreal

The legacy of wounds that steals

So that in the end, you’d finally deal

with all that is so sad.

What if you finally rebuild

all of creation, reconciled,

Free of the curse; no one defiled

God’s all in all, and so this child

Can rest.

I’ll lay my questions down

I’ll lay my worries down

If You’re healing all things in the end

If Your love gets the final word

I will rest now.

I will rest now.

The Therapy Sessions #3: "Beautiful Boy"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be in my 50s and be blindsided by unveiled memories of the devastating legacy of childhood trauma. It raises so many emotions, and questions, and instability. 

My second post/song noted that for the sake of the narrative that will show up in a few songs,  the ages of 8,  9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. These were not exclusive years, but they will show up more than once. 

These songs are a journal of pain, healing, despair, hope, anger, mercy..... I tried to capture real moments, all of which matter in the journey toward healing.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and, to quote Samwise Gangee, "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for." 

This song is one of my favorites. First, the musical genre is in my bones. Second, I wrote the lyrics in an evening in which I felt a desperate need to validate the imago dei in me, the idea that I had value, worth and dignity given by God that cannot be taken by anyone.

BEAUTIFUL BOY

https://suno.com/s/dggGDnBjCzxFCPiQ

Beautiful boy,

You were young, you were sweet, you were fun.

Those who mocked you and hurt you

Taught you lies you believed one by one.

Beautiful boy,

You were true, you were good, you were blue.

Those who used you and bruised you

Told a story that just wasn’t true

Beautiful boy,

You were kind, you were gentle, you shined.

It’s not your fault that you forgot

Given the troublesome times.

Beautiful boy,

You made it, and you’ll be a man,

With a heart being mended

By the touch of His hand.

What was broken will heal,

What was lost He’ll reveal,

Through His mercy and love,

Beautiful boy.

Beautiful boy, you were lost,

But He carried the cross

To find you,

And love you back to life—

Beautiful boy.

Learning To Jump Again: The Songs ("Oh Death, My Enemy, My Friend")

Some of you have read my self-published book Learning To Jump Again, which started as a personal journal of grief after my father died. I eventually made it public in hopes that it could help others as they grieve the loss of a loved one. 

Within that book were some poems, for better or worse.

When my friend Avery introduced me to the AI music-making website Suno, those poems definitely changed for the better.

In the other songs, I altered some of the language of the original poems to get a more singable cadence; in some, I added a chorus. In the process, I tried to find a soundtrack that matched the mood in my head. This is a new poem song the kind of grew as I was reprocessing a lot of those old (and familiar) emotions.

So, here is the fifth song, with lyrics first and a link to the song second (the first song is here; the second one is here, the third one here, the fourth one here.) You can listen to all of them if you find an online music platform like Spotify or Apple Music and follow a band called The Long Repair (hint: it's me).

"O Death, My Enemy, My Friend"

O, death
My enemy, my friend,
You take those I love,
And free them from pain
What am I to do
With this dilemma
That my loss
Is their gain.

Oh, life
My enemy, My friend,
You keep near those I love
Yet keep them in pain.
What am I to do
with this dilemma
That their pain
Is my gain.

Oh love,
My enemy, My friend,
You fill when you give,
You cut when you take.
What am I to do
With this dilemma—
The love you make live
you’ll finally unmake.

Oh, grief
My enemy, My friend,
You keep close those I love
And keep me in pain
What am I to do
with this dilemma
The cost of love
Is a loss I disdain.

Oh love,
My enemy,
My friend,
You fill when you give,
You cut when you take.
What am I to do
With this dilemma—
The love you make live
you’ll finally unmake.

When loss cuts so deep,
And wounds just won’t mend,
When I’m bruised by my loss
And I’ve nothing to lend
I lift up my grief,
I pull in my breath,
And I cry for the One
Who has conquered all death.

Oh love,
My enemy,
My friend,
You fill when you give,
You cut when you take.
What am I to do
With this dilemma—
The love you make live
you’ll finally unmake.

Oh, Jesus,
My friend
my good friend,
You hold close those I love
In life or in death
I know what you do
with this dilemma
You loved them in life
And love them in death.

And I hate all my aching
But I love that they rest
And one day I’ll see them
In the land of the blessed.

The song: https://suno.com/s/OtYrvJFn2kSQegZg

The Pursuit Of Unhappiness

What does the good life look like?

We talk a lot, especially in the United States, about pursuing and obtaining happiness, but is that really all there is? What if happiness remains elusive? Is there something we are missing? Is there something wrong with us - something broken that must be fixed? Perhaps our desperation to be happy reflects a failure to understand something important about the truly important things in life. Perhaps the elusiveness of happiness is actually meant to point us toward something more profound.

In this latest episode of our Etcetera podcast, Beth and I wrestle with questions of happiness and unhappiness, depression, anxiety, hope, faith, meaning and purpose. It should be easy to sort all this out in an hour.....

As always, we value interaction with you! You can listen to this episode of our Etcetera podcast on Soundcloud or on various apps (such as Podcast Addict or Stitcher Radio). Then, feel free to comment on this blog or on our Facebook page. We value your feedback, as well as any ideas for future guests or shows!

 SOME RECOMMENDED LINKS

Freedom From The Pursuit Of Happiness (Peter Rollins, whom Beth mentioned in the show)

In Praise of Unhappiness (Peter Rollins again)

In Pursuit Of Unhappiness (New York Times)

The Pursuit Of Happiness (The Independent)

The Tyranny Of Happiness

Aristotle's Definition Of Happiness 

"The Search For Happiness (Tim Keller)

Notes From Tim Keller's Sermon "Joy"

C.S. Lewis And The Pursuit Of Happiness

S-Town: John B., Aural Literature, And The Battlelines Inside Our Hearts

S-Town (from the makers of Serial and This American Life) has become something of a global phenomenon, and rightly so. It’s a remarkably well done series: the storytelling is fascinating, illuminating and heartbreaking; the editing is superb; the way in which it reveals a compelling and eccentric cast of characters in small town Alabama is riveting.

It’s also deeply disturbing. The language is coarse (almost entirely from recordings of people in their own words), the topic is sobering if not heart-breaking at times, and the revelation of the vagaries of human nature is epically tragic – and often very hard to listen for all the reasons listed above. It will shock you. It will move you. It may well crush you at times.

(SPOILER ALERT AND A WARNING. I will be revealing crucial plot details in order to discuss this story fully. Also, be aware that this podcast and parts of this review are not for the faint of heart. If podcasts had ratings, this would be a hard R, though almost all of that material is from recordings. In other words, it's at least honest rather than gratuitous.)

John B. McLemore lived in Woodstock, Alabama, or S***town, as he called it. He believed there had been a murder that’s been covered up by a corrupt police department. When reporter Brian Reed finally went to Woodstock to meet John, he found a lot more – and less – than he thought he would find. First, he discovered that there was no murder cover up. Then John B. killed himself. That's when the heart of the story really begins to unfold.

Logan

Logan is the way the cinematic Wolverine saga had to end. It's gritty, dark, and sobering not just in the violence and language (it earns its R rating) but in the overall atmosphere. If you have seen the previews with Johnny Cash's cover of "Hurt" playing in the background, you have a pretty good idea of how the movie feels.  The story doesn't end the same way the comic book arc does, but it is a movie that makes sense as the final installment in Wolverine's cinematic movieverse.

In the comics, Wolverine is something of a sacrificial lamb. He’s the best there is at what he does so others don't have to be. In more recent years he has looked at his past and thought, "Fate has put me through these things, so I know why I have to protect those in my charge." He eventually replaces Professor Xavier as both the physical and moral leader of the X-Men. He's the guy who has seen and done the worst things in humanity and has come through it.

Not so in the cinematic universe. Logan was never a hero in the grandest sense of the word. He was a monster channeled toward the good, a weapon of mass destruction aimed toward causes that were often just. There was always an edge to him – but that’s the appeal of the Wolverine, right? He wasn’t a tame wolverine. The instincts of the Law Of Tooth And Claw always coursed through his veins.

Xavier harnessed him; various women tamed him for a time; he had a soft spot for protecting vulnerable children. We occasionally glimpsed a tender soul buried beneath the muscle, hair and adamantium-bound bone. He was a guy you wanted on your side: he was durable and loyal; he didn’t mess around when there was a job to be done; he was willing to be the monster when he needed to be and sheathe his claws when he didn’t.

But he was always a monster. There were always demons lurking beneath the surface. "There's no living with a killing," Shane says in one scene. "There's no going back." Logan makes that reality very clear. The X-Men kept Wolverine in check; they certainly played a part in his his moral and relational formation. He was a better man for having sided with them, but he was always a monster.

In Logan, we see the real Logan re-emerge.

Star Trek: Beyond

“Be yourself!"

"Be who you are!" 

"You’re on the right track, baby; you were born that way!”

Sound familiar? We hear these phrases (or some form of them) constantly. The idea is that if you can just find the real you and live it, all will be well. As compelling as that idea is in theory, it's often disastrous. I often think of Joss Whedon’s counter-commentary: “Remember to always be yourself – unless you suck.” It’s not Shakespeare, but you get the point.

The idea of “being who you are” shows up in Star Trek: Beyond, the third installment in the recently re-imagined Star Trek universe. While there's much to be said for the movie (including how critics and fans are in agreement on its merits), I am going to focus on the remarkably different outcomes in Kirk and Krall's respective efforts to be true to themselves.

Calamity (The Reckoners)

“Perseus had his magic horse, Aladdin had his lamp, and Old Testament David had his blessing from Jehovah. You want to fight a god? You’d better have one on your side too.” 

Calamity, the third installment in Brandon Sanderson’s Reckoners trilogy, continues a compelling
story of power, human nature, love, sacrifice, forgiveness, and an impressive array of super (and not so super) heroes.


In Calamity, we see David and the others face their greatest challenge yet: to restore rather than destroy someone who is evil. They have figured out how to take down Epics: find their fear – they all have one that will neutralize their power - and go for the kill. But when Prof gives in to the evil side of his Epic nature, they have to change their game plan. They need Prof - the 'god' referenced in the opening quote - to take down Calamity, the monstrous Epic who started this chaos. In order to have any confidence in this plan, they need to believe Prof can be freed of the calamitous evil that has consumed him.

This restoration will be monumentally hard. Calamity claims  “people are evil to the core.” If this is true, than those in whom Calamity’s power has manifested are doomed –as is the rest of the world. The Epics aren’t just supersized people; they are all immensely powerful villains. The more they use their power, the more they succumb to evil, and it always happens. Always.

Yet David sees hope. He does not believe people are doomed to failure, determined by their evil nature to succumb to Calamity’s poisoned power. He believes people are good. He's seen worlds in which good has prevailed even in the most fallen of the Epics. Granted, he is overly optimistic. He believes people are inherently good when the story makes clear that they aren’t (Calamity’s power doesn’t introduce evil to its victims; it merely makes the worst part of their nature overwhelming). Still, David’s hope is not unfounded. People change; why not Prof? It’s an obvious truth to him.

“I would watch the sun rise, and wish I could capture the moment. I never could. Pictures didn’t work—the sunrises never looked as spectacular on film. And eventually I realized, a sunrise isn’t a moment. It’s an event. You can’t capture a sunrise because it changes constantly—between eyeblinks the sun moves, the clouds swirl. It’s continually something new. “We’re not moments, Megan, you and me. We’re events. You say you might not be the same person you were a year ago? Well, who is? I’m sure not. We change, like swirling clouds and a rising sun. The cells in me have died, and new ones were born. My mind has changed… I’m not the same David. Yet I am.”

The ending will not surprise you, but the manner in which the journey unfolds is clever, compelling and insightful, as is always the case with Brandon Sanderson.  This is a series I have pushed my sons to read. The protagonist, David, is brave, loyal, and kind. His character is solid, and he longs for peace even as he enters a war that cannot be avoided. In the face of calamity, he clings to the hope of restoration and new life.

If he is going to lead the ones who bring about a reckoning, I’m in.

Dean Koontz's Ashley Bell: The World Is A Battleground

 “Fiction is a dangerous art… creating new worlds populated by people as real as you can make them… involves risks. Not risks just to readers who may be influenced toward darkness instead of light, evil instead of good, despair instead of hope, but also to the author.”

There are a number of writers whose works linger in my imagination. James Lee Burke’s haunting stories of life in Louisiana reveal the complexity of human nature in a way I have rarely seen replicated. Patrick Ness (A Monster Calls) and Neil Gaiman (The Ocean At The End Of The Lane) write modern fairy tales that reach into my heart. Neil Shusterman (the Unwind Dystology) and Jonathan Mayberry (Rot and Ruin series) have been building quite a reputation in YA lit, and Brandon Sanderson could drop the literary mic right now and walk with his legacy of epic fantasy ensured.

Yet Dean Koontz stands out to me. From The Corner of His Eye was the first his books that really got my attention; The Taking was next, revealing how well he could write a story both grim and hopeful. The Odd Thomas series, though, turned me into a serious fan. Pretty much everything he has written since then has served to solidify my admiration.

Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children

“I don't mean to be rude' I said, 'but what are you people?'
'We're peculiar,' he replied, sounding a bit puzzled. 'Aren't you?’
'I don't know. I don't think so.'
'That's a shame.”

Ransom Rigg's Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children was a New York Times best-seller,

reaching the #1 spot on the Children's Chapter Books list during its 90 week run. The book has sold 15 million copies, and the graphic novel adaptation checked in with a 50,000 copy first printing. A movie is in the works from 20th Century Fox (Tim Burton is the director; he is a good fit for this story). Hollow City, the 2014 second installment in the trilogy, had a 500,000 printing order for its release.

Mr. Riggs notes on his website that this book was ”born out of my love for vintage photography and bizarro stories.” It’s a cleverly told story built around a multitude of very unusual photographs he found in different vintage collections. I often don't like how pictures shape my imagination when reading a story, but in this case I enjoyed it quite a bit. Seeing the next picture - and knowing it was an actual, historical photograph - kept me engaged almost as much as the story.

Stephen King's 11/22/63: Defying the Dark

“I know life is hard, I think everyone knows that in their hearts, but why does it have to be cruel, as well? Why does it have to bite?”

There’s something about Stephen King’s writing that gets to me. Yes, he has a very grim view of the world.  The darkness in his universe is pervasive, but that's how King gets us to long for the light.

Perhaps I feel this way because I am intrigued by the religious imagery that permeates many of his books. In an interview with NPR, King said the following about his belief in God:

"I choose to believe it.... If you say, 'Well, OK, I don't believe in God. There's no evidence of God,' then you're missing the stars in the sky and you're missing the sunrises and sunsets and you're missing the fact that bees pollinate all these crops and keep us alive and the way that everything seems to work together. Everything is sort of built in a way that to me suggests intelligent design. But, at the same time, there's a lot of things in life where you say to yourself, 'Well, if this is God's plan, it's very peculiar,' and you have to wonder about that guy's personality — the big guy's personality.”

His mesmerizing 11/22/63 demonstrates this peculiar tension between the beauty of creation and the beasts with human nature. Men love their children while they beat their wives. People with the best of intentions inadvertently pave roads to hell. A winsome, religious small town hides perversions and excesses simmering beneath the surface.  These things stubbornly persists because something powerful and purposeful is shaping the course of human history. The past protects even moments of great tragedy as the world unfolds in ways that may be far better than we realize. That does not mean, of course, that we have to like it.

The Wolves of Mercy Falls

In an attempt to enter into and better understand the stories, worldviews, and messages shaping my kids and the rest of today's youth, I submit the latest review of trending books, films, and TV shows effecting a primarily YA audience. My goal is not to critique the art form as much as look at how the story reflects and shapes  the readers' worldview.

There will be spoilers.
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THE BOOK
     
Maggie Stiefvater has written a a trilogy entitled The Wolves of Mercy Falls.  While her latest, The Scorpio Races, has her on the front pages of literary news, this trilogy has excelled as well. 

THE PLOT

Grace lives in Mercy Falls.  As a child, she was bitten by what she now knows to be werewolves.  She never turned, but the connection between herself and one wolf in particular is undeniable.  That wolf saved her from the rest of the pack’s ferocity, and now he lingers at the periphery of Boundary Woods, watching and protecting her still.

 
When her guardian werewolf reverts to human form and introduces himself, the unobtainable becomes real.  Sam and Grace can finally love each other.  Unfortunately, Sam has this bad habit of reverting to the wolf, and Grace can feel the inevitable rise of the animal within her as well. 

  
Can two people so badly damaged find true love?  Can Sam and Grace find a way to put the monster behind them and become fully human? And will they live long enough to find out? 

  
Based on interviews, Mrs. Stiefvater wanted to capture (among other things) the war inside between the human and animal parts of our nature, and as such the story starkly addresses moral dilemmas and murky lines between truth and lies. She noted in an interview with Teen Ink, “I wish teens would step outside themselves and see how their actions are really affecting themselves and others — and then do their best to be heroes in their own lives.” 

  
That’s not a bad goal. The question is whether or not she achieved it.

Melancholia: Life as a Wicked Idea

"The human race is just chemical scum on a moderate size planet, orbiting round a very average star in the outer suburb of one among a billion galaxies."  

- Stephen Hawking, 1995, in "Reality on the Rocks: Beyond our Ken."

 Melancholia, a highly praised film from Lars Von Trier, follows the imploding lives of the characters as the earth awaits imminent destruction from the planet Melancholia. While stunningly beautiful in its cinematography, it is hauntingly hopeless in its depiction of a life without meaning.
   
Perhaps appropriately, none of the main characters are compelling. Justine is the melancholic whose longing for nothingness ushers in the rogue planet that will destroy earth.  She cares for no one but herself: she dumps her groom on the night of their wedding; she is casually cruel to everything around her; she can't stand the rituals of normal life.  Since nothing matters, the arrival of the doomsday planet  is not something she fears at all.  One of Cormac McCarthy's characters in the Sunset Limited could have been her spokesperson:

 “The shadow of the axe hangs over every joy. Every road ends in death, every friendship, every love. Torment, lost, betrayal, pain, suffering, age, indignity, hideous lingering illness... and all of it with a single conclusion. For you and everyone and everything you have ever chosen to care for… And there's no going back, there's no setting things right, there's only the hope of nothingness.”

Her sister, Claire, is perhaps as unstable as Justine though their personalities could not be more different. "I hate you so much," she says more than once to Justine.  Claire is married and has a child; she cares too much what others think, and follows convention with a commitment that threatens to wind her so tight she seems always to be on the verge of breaking.  Justine rejects the apparent shallowness of every social convention; Claire embraces them all to infuse them with a level of meaning they were not meant to bear.
 
Claire and Justine's parents are morally and socially vacuous. Claire's husband is a man of science and convention who places all his trust in order and predictability, with tragic results. Their friends are shallow; their servants are pawns; her boss is an ogre. In this story, there is no one for whom to cheer.

The director intended to ask a particular kind of question with this film: Is everything hollow?  Does anything matter?  Money, possessions, science, family, careers, friends, and tradition all fail in the end. Justine muses that "life is a wicked idea," a sentiment the director seems to share.  In this kind of reality, the hero (if there is one) is the person who recognizes that Macbeth was right: all is but toys.  Since our end is despair and destruction, the less we value, the less we stand to lose.

Walking Bad: Zombies, Meth, and Mesmerizing Nihilism

Two of the most popular current television shows are also two of the most grim:  "Breaking Bad" and "The Walking Dead."  If you want to go for a trifecta, throw in "Game of Thrones," which is not yet as grim as it’s going to be.  Trust me.

For the record, I love "The Walking Dead," like "Breaking Bad," and was slightly bothered by how quickly and thoroughly Martin's "Game" drew me in.  The ideas of brilliant (and slightly disturbed?) minds have been captured and communicated by people with amazing talent.  If there is a Golden Age of TV drama, perhaps this is it.

I am also intrigued by the popularity of these shows.  While they leave something to be desired (I’ll get to that at the end), they all borrow heavily from a surprisingly Christian view of the world.

1) They value human life.
 
"Walking Dead" clearly paints the dissolution of humanity as a bad thing, not a good thing.  Even among the survivors, individual human lives are of utmost importance. In the midst of the hysterical decrying of the very existence of people, it's nice to be reminded that we are not the plague. 
   

"Breaking Bad" painstakingly chronicles the impact of the main character’s decisions on the lives of all those around him.  We care about Walter White’s wife and son, because they matter. When the son of two meth-addicted parents is rescued, we cheer. Even when characters are killed we cringe, because we know that not only has something bad happened to the victim, something dehumanizing is happening inside the killer too.

Christianity has always elevated the value of human life; we are created in the image of God, and as such carry intrinsic worth.  In a world that struggles to understand what it means to be human, these shows offer a refreshing perspective: people matter.

2) They give brutally harsh portrayals of the consequences of sin, even sin committed with the best of intent.  

A person’s actions either make them or break them, if not immediately then eventually. "Breaking Bad" shows a hero who becomes a monster, slowly and freely choosing to become evil.  What happens?  As Shakespeare once wrote, “ Chaos has come again.”  The camera refuses to look away as Walter sows and reaps.

"Walking Dead" shows the downward spiral of individual characters giving in to the temptations of the moment and gradually losing their souls in the process.  There may be monsters out there, but what about the monsters inside?  What if the sickness really is myself?

One cannot read the Bible without seeing a world of consequences; yes, God offers forgiveness and grace, but we still reap the things we sow. In a world where so many comedies and realities gloss over the real world impact of our choices, these shows unflinchingly display the fallout.

3) They value community.  
   
The extinction event in "The Walking Dead" is clearly not a boon for the world. The collapse of civilization is not a blessing.  The life of a solitary wanderer is a life to be mourned, not embraced.  Solidarity is safety; camaraderie is life.  In a world where technology allows us increasingly to isolate ourselves at the expense of true community, the reminder that the people around us need to be embraced is an important one.
   

In "Breaking Bad," the value of community is perhaps best seen in the tragedy of conflict.  The longer Walter White “breaks bad,” the more we see the horrific impact as everybody around him begins breaking as well.  We cheer him not when he heads off into the desert, but when he eats supper with his family.  The fact that his secret life requires him to be hardened, deceitful, and distant reminds us that honesty, integrity and companionship make the world go 'round.
 
The Bible presents a world in which people are meant to live together in unity and self-sacrifice. Sure, the rugged individual gets all the press,  but it's not the way life is meant to be lived.

4) They long for a better world.  

With this longing comes the idea that things are not as they should be, but a solution exists.  To borrow from C.S. Lewis’s language, they know what crooked is, and even if they don’t yet see the straight, they long for it.
   
The zombies in "The Walking Dead" are not right; they are human, but they aren’t.  There is a search for a cure to bring health back to the sick; there is a desire to rebuild communities; there is a longing for a world with trust, peace, hope, children and families.
   
"Breaking Bad" attempts to draw very clear lines between the good and bad actions of all the characters.  Everyone has insight into what ought to be done in certain situations, even if they only consistently uphold that standard for others. Perhaps it is true that our moral compass is best shown in our reactions to others even more than our deliberate actions.
 
Christianity claims that there are objective ways of understanding good and evil, and we are all called to fight to overcome evil with good. In a world that so often refuses to take a stand on morality, these shows are not afraid to claim not only that evil is real, but also that we must agree to fight against it.

5) They look unflinchingly at the capacity for both evil and good in everyone.

The stories draw us viewers in because we sense that something meaningful, important, and deep is happening.  Within each character, a war is raging between selfishness, pride, greed and power or selflessness, humility, generosity and servanthood.  All the characters have situations that challenge them, and even their smallest victories or compromises matter.
   
We will all one day be held accountable for what we did with the choices we have been given.  I believe it was Lewis who once said we don’t interact with just people, but with beings who will one day either stun us with angelic glory or horrify us with demonic ugliness. In this life, we catch glimpses in ourselves and in others.  In these shows, we watch the trajectories of everyone unfold.

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John Stonestreet talks about entertainment being good, true and noble: good, in that the quality is high; true, in that its portrayal of the world matches up with reality; and noble, in that it inspires us to be better people. In many ways, these shows meet the criteria.
   
Here’s the problem:  none of them offer hope.  Sure, particular situations end well - occasionally.  But the pot at the end of the rainbow is not filled with gold.  The characters are forced to create their own meaning in a meaningless world; to find their own kind of hope when there is none; to rage agains the dying of the light while not actually believing there will be any end other than darkness. (This isn't limited to TV shows, of course. I'm also thinking of films like The American, Hannah, The Grey, Sucker Punch, and No Country for Old Men).
 
These movies and shows may all be good and noble. But without hope, the truth about reality is incomplete, so…it’s really not true.  And a partial truth is a lie.
   
I am starting to think "Breaking Bad" and "The Walking Dead" move me because I bring to them a hope and a belief in redemption that is not actually in the story.  If I  step outside of my Christian presupposition about the world - through Christ, all can be made well -  the shows strike me as mesmerizing nihilism. (UPDATE:"Better Angels" on 3/11/12 seems to confirm this even more.)
   
If that is true, what does the popularity of these shows say about our culture?  Do they make us feel better?  I don’t think so.  Do they remind us of the really important things in life?  Well, yes, but to what purpose?   These shows have a lot of brilliantly packaged sound and fury -  without hope, do they also signify nothing?  Walter White is Macbeth, but there is nobody to clean up the kingdom when he’s gone.  Rick Grimes is as nobly doomed as Eddard Stark, except humanity’s winter has now arrived, and there will be no summer.

George R.R. Martin is a stunningly good writer, and his characters and his worlds move me.  But the relentless, brooding fatalism of the 7 Kindgoms is offset only by individual stories, lives occasionally lived well in the midst of a universe and a kingdom that simply do not care and are not fair. "Game of Thrones" will break new ground, I think, in its beautiful presentation of despair.  It has at least 4 more seasons ahead of it, and the road to darkness has been largely paved already.