I call this A Writer’s Blog….a place where I can have my say, stating my case in my own words and my own way.
So why have I been sitting on this piece for weeks, rereading it, tweaking a word or two, wondering if it belongs here? Why the reluctance? Whether we admit it or not, October people like you and me have spent a lifetime creating their own answers to the questions I am about to address. Heck, I’ve written whole stories about them. There is no logical reason to be so timid. So here goes nothing.
As you might imagine, writing about late-life, what I call the October years, is different than writing about the Aprils and Mays we so fondly recall. For one thing, most of us have moved beyond those adolescent dreams. Our October expectations are probably different, and more realistic, than those youthful visions of how we hoped life would treat us. Though we like to revisit those memory-laden Aprils and Mays from time to time, by October we have hopefully developed the inner resources to help us cope with what life sends our way.
Of course from time to time everyone seeks out those soul-deep ‘inner resources,’ the ones I am inclined to call “spiritual.” Yet steering clear of such personal, introspective subjects is one of the most conventional bits of advice given to storytellers….whether they are blogging or writing a novel.
When it comes to matters of the “spiritual,” and especially “religion,” we are advised to tread softly. The odds of offending are just too high. Still, though I certainly don’t want to offend, I do want to my October stories to reflect the real world….and for me that includes matters of the soul.
After all, in the course of a lifetime I have learned there are times when this sometimes-fragile psyche of mine needs reinforcement….spiritual reinforcement. To ignore that inconvenient fact for the sake of literary correctness would have me overlooking a basic truth about the people who populate my stories
Having reached their sixties and seventies, the fictional October friends I have imagined into being have experienced the “spiritual” side of life first hand, whether or not they are willing to call it that. Hopefully in the process they have created their own ways of integrating those impulses into an acceptable life-view.
Near as I can tell, that need is universal….common to all cultures in all places. No matter what answers they construct for themselves, the fact is everyone faces those “matters of the soul.” In that case, why would I allow my stories to shy away from something so central to the lives of my October characters?
Over the years, as we’ve moved across life's calendar, you and I have found our own ways of dealing with those soul-deep questions. How else could we have made it this far? In the course of my Tanner Chronicles stories I have touched on a wide range of those October trials….hurtful times of loneliness and isolation, the emptiness of a life-partner lost or retirement gone wrong, a promising future turned sour by a failing economy, and the pain of dementia forcing its way into a long and loving relationship. Every one of those situations is more than simply a life-experience dilemma….they are the stuff of a deeply spiritual challenge.
As a staunch advocate of October Boldness and October Becoming I view our late-life spirituality as a place where “Belief” and “Becoming” come together. By this time of life we have experienced some of the ways our spiritual "beliefs," in whatever form they take, can impact our unique and very-personal “becoming.”
You may wonder how Belief and Becoming might be blended together in an October story? How about a brief example? It’s from a story I call Becoming. Maria Ruiz is a middle-aged caretaker, a life-long captive of a God she was taught as a child to fear….the one who promises harsh judgement for every failing, and dire consequences for long-ago transgressions.
Carl Postell, on the other hand, is left to counter Maria’s unyielding faith with little more than his own stumbling intuition of a God who asks us to be “givers,” who sends each of us off to “become” the person we are meant to be. Not surprisingly, the common ground Maria and Carl are seeking often seems out of reach. What follows is an excerpt from Becoming.
“The other day you asked me if I believed in God,” I said, pushing myself away from the fence. “Well, just so you know, I do. But I know for sure the God that I can imagine is nothing like the God you talk about.” With that I started toward the porch, ready to check in on Dad before I left.
Before I reached the back door Maria’s question was loud and demanding behind me. “How is it different, Carl?” she asked. “What makes your God different than mine?”
“Look, I’m not sure I can explain that. I’m not exactly a church-going kind of guy, you know. Let’s just say we have very different ideas and let it go at that. Okay?”
For an instant I was remembering a time when I had been “a church-going kind of guy.” When our children were young Sandra had insisted that we be in church every Sunday….certain that the kids would benefit from Sunday School and seeing their parents in church.
It was not the kids’ favorite thing, or mine….but for several years we were there most every Sunday. Strangely, Sandra’s religious logic had grown more flexible over time, allowing us to “outgrow” church as the kids got older. By the time Trish was twelve or thirteen Sunday morning had reverted to its original status as a well-earned sleep-in-day.
Now, looking back at Maria leaning against the backyard fence I was half-laughing to myself, aware of the startling irony. That nice lady, my father’s caregiver, was struggling with the deepest of faith questions ….concerns that had apparently haunted her for decades. Now, in the very depths of her seeking, she was asking me of all people to elaborate on my muddled notion of God. She deserved so much more than I had to offer.
At that moment I should have turned away and kept moving. Instead I paused long enough to suggest, “Maria, there’s nothing about what I believe that would help you. It’s just too different.”
“That’s what I’m asking. How is it different?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, knowing that I was not at all sure, She nodded her affirmation, so I took a deep breath and threw caution to the wind.
“Okay, here’s the deal. You talk about a God who has rules for every step you take….and who comes down hard on you when you break those rules. Your God sounds like a tyrant to me.…one who depends on the ‘fear of God.’ The God that makes sense to me is one who gives everyone the freedom to become themselves.
By then my unfamiliar role as spiritual advisor was growing more uncomfortable by the second. “The God I can imagine gives every person and every thing It creates exactly what they need to become what they are supposed to be. And then It sends that creation off to become that ‘something.' That’s true for a tree, a flower, or an animal. They use what God gives them to become what they’re meant to be. And I believe that it’s the same way for people.
“That’s what I think we’re doing with our lives….at least we’re supposed to be doing,” I continued, hoping that Maria was still listening. “We are ‘becoming.’ A part of that process is learning what we’re supposed to be….that might be a caregiver like you, a storyteller like me, or anything else. There's no end to the possibilities.
“But I'm certain that once we've figured out what it is we're meant to be, we’ll discover that we have everything we need to become that person." I paused to read her reaction. She was giving me few clues so I added, “And I guess that’s about it.”
“That’s all?,” Maria asked incredulously. “That's what God is like to you?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” I shrugged, knowing there was at least one more piece I ought to be including. How would she accept that? “Except for one last thing,” I said. “Something that seems to be very different than the God you know.”
“What’s that?”
“Like I said before,” I continued. “We have choices in the matter. We do the choosing. We can even decide not to become the person we’re meant to be. We all do that sometimes. But when that happens….when we mess up….I don’t believe that God gives up on us. The God I can imagine doesn’t forget about us, or get mad, or punish us because we took a wrong turn. He, or She, knows that everyone does that from time to time. Most of all, God is ready to help us when we’re ready to try again.
“It seems to me that’s important.” I was ready to end this. “Because even when we get off track, and we all do, what I call God is always ready to help us. We’re surrounded by Him, or Her, or It. The people who care about us, who lend a hand even when they don’t have to….they’re God’s way of helping us.
“Anyway, that’s how God looks to me. But I don’t see how any of that can help you. Not if you can’t accept a God who forgives the times you’ve gone wrong. I wish you could do that, because Dad and I would really like to see you smiling again.”
How about that? There I was, having Carl Postell take the first unpromising steps toward a relationship by debating the nature of God. Unlikely perhaps, but apparently necessary. How else could Maria, who viewed life through the blurry lens of a vengeful God, be guided to a more fruitful becoming? How else could she become the person she was born to be?
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