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| A girl sitting in the middle of the theater was passing out paper
crowns for everyone, stirring up excitement for the movie. She was
obviously a big fan, as were most of the people at the late showing I
went to.
The movie began with the Warner Bros. symbols being scribbled over by
Max’s own drawings, and then cut directly to a scene of Max chasing his
dog down the stairs, screaming. The fast cut was jarring, and I sensed
everyone in the theater settle into their seats. I loved the way the
title of the movie popped up with Max paused, mid-scream.
The first twenty minutes of the movie were spectacular to me. The
camera moved like a documentary, but I never felt nauseous. Max was
quickly established as an adventurous and imaginative boy, and I
enjoyed seeing the novelization by Dave Eggers play out on the screen.
I have never seen such great camerawork before, and something about the
way it was filmed, the way Max acts, rings so true.
I don’t want to give too many details of the movie away for those of
you who haven’t seen it yet, but we know that Max lands on an island.
The scene where the waves are crashing up against him is astounding; I
genuinely felt scared.
Max climbs up a cliff to where a fire is raging, and sees the Wild
Things tearing up some nests. Carol, the leader of the pack, is
shouting manipulative things at the rest of his group. We immediately
feel that something is off with this group. We see that they are
unhappy, both with themselves and with each other.
After Max decides to join in the fun and break stuff with Carol, the
other Wild Things get angry at him and start saying manipulative things
to him. By far, the worst is Judith, telling Max that he is selfish for
being so small because his bones are going to get caught in her teeth.
This scene was scary, because the camera angles made me feel as though
I was going to get eaten too.
Max is backed into a corner and shouts, “Be still!” and Judith asks,
“Why?” Then Max goes into a spiel about how he was king in his old
homeland. They ask him a series questions, and Max replies quickly
because of his imagination. The whole banter reminded me of playground
talk and having to convince people of ridiculous things in elementary
school.
The Wild Things make Max their King, and soon Max find himself being
pressured to fix everything. Max tries to fix things as best he knows
how, first with a rumpus and then with a dirt clod war (something I did
all the time when I was younger).
_______________________________________________________
I want to start with the technical aspect of the movie, and then talk about the figurative nature of the film.
The combination of puppetry and CGI is surreal. I didn’t once feel like these creatures were cheesy or unrealistic.
From a writing perspective, there were a few moments that felt a tad
forced, particularly the scene with the owls. In the novel, the owls
didn’t have names or talk, and the only reason K.W. retrieved them is
because Max said he wanted them as guard owls for their fort. I
understand the owls were needed to move the plot of Carol’s controlling
tendencies forward, though, so I don’t fault the writers for it.
Overall, the movie addresses and expands on everything Maurice Sendak’s
original work does. I felt like the story was very full.
From a figurative perspective, this was one of the richest movies I
have ever seen. I think the while movie was about Max finding out what
it is like to be his mother, to live in a place bombarded with
immaturity and fighting, to feel the pressure to make everything
better.
Carol was the most interesting character to me, and I think the movie
was as much about carol as it was about Max (perhaps Carol is a
manifestation of Max's animalistic qualities). I sensed Carol truly
wanted his clan to stay together and that he wanted things to be good.
He just didn’t have the mental capacity or patience to deal with the
realities of life and the need for space (evident in the scene where
Max asks for a secret room for himself). Carol had an overdeveloped
sense of responsibility, which became apparent after Max told him the
sun was going to die someday. He was worried but didn’t want to show
it, and then stayed up all night to make sure the sun came up. We have
all been Carol, carrying the weight of things we don’t need to carry,
and it was hurting him and the people around him.
Another perspective I picked up on was the perspective of atheism. In
the film, Alexander says, “There is no such thing as a King.” And to
me, I took this to mean that the Wild Things had been searching for a
being that would make sense out of everything, who could make
everything broken in their lives better, and Alexander’s statement
showed they were giving up on the idea that it was possible. In the
end, when they are all saying goodbye, I think the Wild Things weren’t
saying goodbye to Max as much as they were to the idea of a person who
could fix what they had created: a culture of control and manipulation.
When Carol stumbles into the sea and looks longingly at Max, I think he
was really saying goodbye to the idea of someone else fixing his own
problems, and something in his eyes said, “We have to figure this out
on our own.”
I saw the Wild Things’ plight as a place where God had been shut out, a
place where selfishness reigned supreme. And this was why Max would
never have succeeded as a King, and why the Wild Things ate every other
King but Max. They wanted the King to serve them, and not the other way
around, and perhaps this is why the movie was so haunting to me: they
are so much like us. They wanted to have a King operate in their
current frame of life without rocking the boat too much, not change the frame altogether. So Carol
stumbling into the sea with teary eyes, to me, can also be a hopeful
scene, because he was letting go of his current frame of wanting things
to get better without having to change. He was accepting that life
can’t go in the same way anymore if anything is to change. Some things are too broken to be fixed, and we can see this realization in Carol's eyes. This moment,
while painful for Carol, will ultimately lead to his redemption and the
redemption of his community, but he had to go to that dark place of
realization, that breaking point, before anything could change. Perhaps
it was his moment of baptism into a new life.
I was amazed to see how Max found pieces of himself in many of the Wild
Things, especially Alexander and Carol. Without realizing it, Max had
done to Alexander what his sister’s friends had done to him. Max was
also able to identify with his mother because he had to play the role
of peacekeeper and mediator to the Wild Things’ selfishness and
immaturity.
Once the movie abruptly ended, everyone in the theater sat silent and
still for about ten seconds before quietly getting up to leave. And
that is the kind of movie Where The Wild Things Are is – something that
should be absorbed. I went with my friend Sean, and he just recently
got a Where The Wild Things Are tattoo on his leg. I was a little
worried that he wouldn’t like his tattoo anymore after seeing the
movie, but he told he that he saw the movie as a completely separate
piece of work than the children’s book. He said he saw it as an
interpretation of Maurice Sendak’s original work, and I thought that
was a good point.
I think many people won’t like this movie because they will have gone
into it wanting Max to be the King who made everything better, not the
human who has problems like everyone else. Everyone who left the
theater last night felt differently about their crowns, I think,
because this movie forces us to take a look at our own limitations. The
movie forces us to address the Savior Complex we all have, and that is
refreshing if you think about it. Movies like this place God back at
the center, and help us all to relax and let go of our need to feel
like we are saving the world. They also act as a reminder that God is
not going to wave a magic scepter and make everything better.
There are many lessons to be learned from this movie, from what happens
to communities that are wrapped up in controlling each other to what it
looks like to be honest about who we are. In the end, I think this is a
story about the raw hope and gritty salvation that comes from
understanding and the acceptance of human limitation. | | |
| This past year has been the craziest year of my life.
AUGUST
MacKenzie and I were sitting in her car at a stoplight. Suddenly we
were moving and MacKenzie was screaming. My neck jerked forward and
back so fast that my teeth felt like they were ringing.
“Are you okay?! Do we need an ambulance?!” I yelled to MacKenzie. I had
been in a wreck thrice before, so I went into autopilot. I unbuckled my
seatbelt, jumped out of the car, and ran to MacKenzie’s side of the
car.
MacKenzie was delirious but okay, so I unbuckled her seatbelt and
calmly told her to get her out of the car. She walked to the back of
her car to look at the damage. It was bad. “LOOK AT MY CAR!” She
yelled.
The man who hit us got out of his Explorer. He didn’t have license
plates. He was panicking, shaking. The light turned green, and cars
started making their way around us. We were an annoyance to them, I
guess.
“I…I’m…Oh my gosh I just looked over there for one second…Are you okay?” The man was shaken. His eyes were red.
He asked us if we wanted to go to the parking lot across the street to
sort out insurance stuff since we were both okay. The parking lot was
empty. There were no witnesses. We were stupid.
We followed the man to the parking lot and I pressed him for
information. He kept pacing and going back to his car like he needed
something. He kept talking about how he needed to pick up his niece
from daycare. “If I’m late, they charge extra,” he said. I told him he
was staying until the police came. He got more and more nervous. I
started to get a weird feeling. I realized this guy was easily 400
pounds and could crush me and MacKenzie at the same time if he wanted
to. Since no one was in the parking lot, no one would ever know either.
He kept talking about how he needed to pick up his niece. He said he
had to go. I realized that not only could we not keep him there, but if
he was lying and his car was stolen, then telling him he needed to wait
was possibly going to make him violent. We didn’t know what he had in
his car, so I made him promise to come back once he picked up his
niece. “Of course of course sure sure,” he said. He left, didn’t peel
out of the parking lot or anything, just left.
And he didn’t come back.
We waited for about 45 minutes. Realizing we were duped was an
incredibly painful thing, and it hurt so much to watch MacKenzie - who
is so trusting of other people - lay next to her car and cry. "She
doesn’t deserve this," I said to myself.
OCTOBER
It was Halloween. It’s been almost a year now since I was studying for
a math test and my phone vibrated on the table. It was my mom. Right
then I knew.
I found out about my dad’s suicide around 1 pm, and 13 hours later I was in Texas. MacKenzie and her mom drove.
I actually wrote a short story about everything that happened that I can post sometime.
My dad shot himself with a shotgun. He had gradually been cutting off
contact with everyone, and the last time I had verbally spoken with him
was in August.
Here is a portion of the words I spoke at his funeral:
"The last time I hugged my dad, he squeezed me tight and readjusted his
face so our cheeks touched. His face was scruffy from not shaving and
his skin was cool. He smelled like Irish Spring and Old Spice. He was
wearing a khaki jacket, blue jeans, a dark blue sweatshirt, and tennis
shoes. I look forward to seeing my dad again. I don't know when that
day will be, but when it comes, I will see dad walking toward me in the
distance, hand in hand with God, and I will run to both of my fathers.
And, outside the chains of time, outside the ailments and limitations
of this world, we will embrace once more."
I carried my dad to his grave. And it was there, sitting at his grave,
the preacher droning on about some faraway paradise, that I began to
get angry. I didn’t deserve this. I looked at my siblings, my mom, my
grandma, MacKenzie. "We don’t deserve this," I thought.
DECEMBER
For Christmas, I bought MacKenzie a kitten from the pound with some of
the money I inherited from my dad. New life out of death. And as she
played with Luigi on Christmas, hugging him and holding him close, I
thought, “We don’t deserve this.”
JANUARY
I had been sneaking around for weeks, turning MacKenzie’s grandma’s wedding ring into a new creation for MacKenzie.
I took MacKenzie’s dad out to lunch at Jerusalem Café a few weeks
before to ask for his permission. I still get goosebumps when I think
about that.
This time of the year was the strangest for me. I was beginning
counseling, and I was journaling about 80 pages a month. It was during
this deeply contemplative season that divine sparks started showing up.
I would have moments of intense joy, like the night I was watching
televangelists on TV and I just burst out laughing. At that moment,
everything was so ridiculous to me, and the tiny man selling bottle of
miracle water illustrated the ridiculousness of the world so perfectly
in that moment.
And then I proposed. I got down on one knee one night at the place
MacKenzie and I first kissed and asked her to marry me. When I got down
on one knee she yelled, “SHUT UP!” Haha!
She, obviously, said yes! As we were standing there, holding each other
while our favorite song played, I thought to myself, “I don’t deserve
this.”
FEBRUARY-JULY
This period was a time of tension. Grief and joy are not mutually
exclusive, and I experienced both in waves. I often felt the pressure
to be happy for the coming wedding, but some days I was in such pain
that I felt guilty about the fact that I was thinking about my dad. Of
course, I had no reason to feel guilty, but in the moment, I felt like
something was wrong with me.
As the winter turned to spring and the spring turned into summer, I
began finding joy again. I found that this past year, my life has been
in lockstep with the seasons. Cold and dead in the winter, signs of
life in the spring, and new life in the summer.
By July, I was ready to begin this new journey. All the anger I had
felt at the graveside was being healed. We had found a new apartment
and started moving MacKenzie in. We fell in love with the place
immediately. It was so cheap, too, and in a really safe area.
We thought to ourselves, “We don’t deserve this.”
AUGUST
My bride. My beautiful, breath-taking bride. The doors swung open and
my heart soared. My eyes widened as I saw MacKenzie looking more
beautiful than anything I had ever seen before.
There, before all our friends, family, and God, we devoted our lives to
one another. We fed each other communion. And at the reception, we
danced.
The officiating pastor noted how our wedding went smoother than most of
the weddings he had ever done before. I had to agree. I was expecting
something, anything to happen. MacKenzie and I were secretly afraid
that one of us was going to die on the way to the wedding. We were
waiting for the rug to get pulled out from under us. But no, only
beauty.
And the honeymoon in San Diego. It was so relaxing, beautiful,
carefree. It was truly perfect. We went to the beach 4 times, hung out
in the city, ate all kinds of different foods, and watched a grown man
wipe his dog’s butt.
When we got back, both of our hearts were soaring. We were starting our
life together. This was it. After some time hanging out at MacKenzie’s
parent’s house opening presents and eating blueberry pie, we were
headed back. We had all of our presents in the trunk.
We thought to ourselves, “We don’t deserve this.”
AUGUST
Something seemed off as we pulled into the parking lot. Where was my
car and my scooter? Were they stolen? My eyes scanned the parking lot,
and I saw they were moved to a corner of the lot. Huh? There was a big
dumpster where my car and scooter were when we left. And caution tape.
I looked at our apartment. Black. Boarded up. I looked at the one below
it. Black. Boarded up.
“WHAT?!” Everyone in the car yelled. I jumped out of the car and ran
upstairs. It was about 10 o’ clock, so everything was pitch black. The
streetlight let some light in. The smell was horrific. I opened the
front door of our apartment. The ceiling was gone. Total destruction.
Devestation. I couldn’t breathe. Our new life, all our stuff, our
plans, gone. I yelled, “OH NO!”
And then I heard MacKenzie crying.
They came inside the apartment and we were all in total shock. I
started punching the closet door out of anger. It was all coming back.
We were on the phone, frantic with our landlord, when MacKenzie cried out, “MY WEDDING DRESS!” It was gone.
And that was the moment everything broke.
“WE DON’T DESERVE THIS!” was our cry.
AUGUST
We spent the next week at MacKenzie’s grandma’s house. Thankfully, I
still had a week before school started. I was at the apartment at 8 am
every day, pulling things that were saved out of the destruction and
putting them into a new apartment that our landlord had given us.
And within a week, we were asleep in a new apartment, with all new
furniture. People have come out of the woodwork from EVERYWHERE to
bless us with money, prayer, food, everything. Our landlord is giving
us 2 months of free rent, and helped cover some of the damages since we
didn’t have renter’s insurance.
We now have a new place to stay, and honestly, we like it better than
our other apartment. Within 1 week we were moved into a new place. 1
week. Some things that were lost will always be painful to think about.
But far more than that, MacKenzie and I have grown so close throughout
this past year. We have both held each other through some of our
darkest moments and our most joyous moments. I held her when we got in
a wreck. She held me when my dad died. We held each other when I
proposed. We held each other as we danced our first dance. We held each
other after we lost so much in the fire.
And last night, as we watched a movie in our new apartment, we held
each other, smiling, thinking about what God has done, and saying, “We
don’t deserve this.”
| | |
| I know it is hard to believe, but I used to work in an oil refinery.
The August after I graduated high school, I moved in with my dad. He lived in a small Texas town called Dumas. He worked at Valero Energy and helped me get a job as a "contractor", which is just jargon for temporary worker. Apparently getting a job at an oil refinery in a small Texas town is a really big deal, because my dad kept telling me that every five minutes. It is partly true, but I think he also didn't want me to feel like I was going from high school to a dead-end job. Man, it sure felt like it.
I worked in a warehouse. I was hired because the warehouse needed...cleaning.
The warehouse was full of these huge sections of metal bins, which were 30 feet long and 10 feet high. Each row had about 40-50 bins, and my job was to 1.) take everything out of each bin, 2.) clean out dust in the bin with a rag, and 3.) put everything back. I did this from 7am to 3:24pm (everyone left at exactly 3:24 for some reason), Monday through Friday.
Sounds easy enough, right? I thought it would be too, but working in the warehouse was a tough job. I had to wear a blue one-piece suit, which, in the Texas August heat, was...unpleasant, to say the least. I was always crouching or climbing a ladder, always on my feet. The bins had apparently never been cleaned, because the dust in each bin was 1/4 of an inch thick in some places. At the end of each day, my hair was matted down and my teeth were fuzzy with dust.
I made the mistake of not wearing a mask for the first few weeks while I was working there. Dust was flying around me constantly, and I inhaled a lot of it. I developed a constant sneeze, which made me need to constantly blow my nose. Eventually, I blew my nose so much that I wore tiny hole in my septum that bled all the time. I eventually had to go to a doctor to have silver nitrate injected over the sore, and it cauterized the wound (and stuuuung!).
So I started wearing a mask, which helped. Sometimes I would cry when I wore the mask because nobody could tell I was crying. I cried because I had no idea where my life was going.
And at the end of each day, I would go back to my dad's house. I only had a couple of hours before I went to night classes at the community college. I was taking a few classes, but the worst was microbiology. It was three times a week, from 7-9:45 pm. The professor spoke in monotone and looked like a skinny Colonel Sanders, except bald - so maybe not like Colonel Sanders at all. I sat in the back, next to a cancer survivor named Chad. I took picture of myself on my laptop to pass the time, but time still draaaaaaagged on in that class.
As you can imagine, all this came to quite a load for me to handle. So I talked with my boss, Danny.
Danny was a nice man with a Tom Selleck mustache and a thick southern drawl. He had a tendency to ramble on and on, but I didn't mind. I just sat there politely, listening to his drawl. When I asked him if I could take one half-day a week to catch up on homework, he didn't even blink before enthusiastically granting me my request. He actually thanked me for making the effort to communicate with him. This was Tuesday, September 19, 2006. I asked him when I could start taking hald-days, and he told me to take the next day. Wednesday, September 20, 2006.
So I did. And that is why I am here today.
| | |
| I went to a concert a couple of nights ago with MacKenzie.
I love when the sound is turned up so loud that the bass thumps and I can feel it in my chest. It's like the music has replaced my heartbeat, like the music is my heartbeat. I become the music, something eternal and untameable, permeating everything. I become a force of nature, a vibration and an echo, something that cannot be charted or conquered or controlled. I become free.
It's like I go to heaven for those brief moments, and all the restrictions and limitations of this world slip away and I am one with God as we dance together to my heartbeat, which is really His heartbeat. His heartbeat is my heartbeat. I am not God, but I am in God and God is in me.
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| I have a friend who is a great storyteller. Whenever he tells a story, you feel like you are there. He isn't too descriptive or too vague, but knows how to hit all the right notes at all the times. I struggled a lot for a long time with comparing myself to him. I saw how his gift with stories touched people's lives, and I thought (and still think, at times) that I needed to be like him in order to make a difference.
When all this was happening, I also started writing. I found that my way of telling stories comes out best in my writing. I am a good speaker, too, but writing is the foundation that speaking comes out of. It is the opposite for my friend.
What was hardest for me was that, when I would hear the stories my friend would tell, I wondered why God wasn't doing similar things in my life. Do you ever feel this way - that God must be giving them more attention because they are doing something "better" than you are? I felt the same way until recently.
I realize now that God trusts us with our gifts. God gave us each specific gifts to do one thing: tell God's story. Gardeners tell stories. Writers tell stories. Painters tell stories. Teachers tell stories. Secretaries tell stories. And each person relates to God in a different way, because we need each other to get a more complete vision of who God is. When we are trying to develop gifts that truly aren't ours, we are quenching God's Spirit in our lives.
Which answers the question that has tortured me for so long: Why did my friend have such crazy things happen to him? Maybe because God knows he will do a good job at telling the story. Once I really got into my writing, let me tell you, the craziest things started happening. I met a girl online. I moved to Missouri. I got a full-ride scholarship in an urban education program. And now I am marrying that girl.
I'm not saying that all this happened because of something I did, and I'm not saying that this is my story. It's God's story, and He's letting me be a part of it. I embrace my gifts, and freedom comes from that. Maybe a reason why we so often can't see God is because we are too busy trying to be like other people, when God made us a specific way so He could reveal Himself through our gifts to us.
For people who speak, things may happen to them that won't happen to other people because God knows they will faithfully retell it.
For people who write, the world will look different because God gave writers different eyes.
And the list goes on, and on, and on.
So when we aren't living out our respective gifts, whatever they are, we are really shutting God out. But if we accept our gifts, then we give God elbow room to move around and reveal Himself to us and through us.
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