The Shack

The Shack is an interesting book.  I'm not really sure what to say about it.  The author specifically requests that when telling people about this book, please don't give away the plot.  As one who loves to write and loves to experience writing in its "best" form, I tend to agree with him- the less you know about this book going into it, the better.  So I'm not going to tell you what it's about, or what it's like, but I am going to tell you that I found it a very, very good book.  Lots of people will go out and read this and call me an idiot, but, well, this is one of the best reading experiences I've had in a very long time.  I devoured the first 100 or so pages.  It moved so fast I didn't even realize I had been reading for over an hour.  But the rest of the book took me a lot longer to read, not because I couldn't have read it quickly if I wanted to, but because I wanted to take it slow, savor everything I was reading, and really take in the meaning.  I admit that I have read better "written" books- many of them- but it's been a very, very long time since I've so appreciated what was written.  So I say, very good book, I think nearly everyone would benefit from reading this.

The other thing the author suggests is that when talking about this book, rather than give stuff about it away, talk about what it did for us, the reader.  Okay, that is far too touchy-feely for me to acknowledge... but again, I really respect this book so I'm going to go ahead.  So be warned- the rest of this post is about ME, not about the book, unless you really want to learn something (probably more than you want to know) about me, well, stop reading.  I won't care.  I won't even know.  That's the beauty of it... free to choose.  :)  Oh, and it's going to be a long post.  Real long.  If you're foraging into the rest of this mess... get some wine, you're going to need it.

So, the entire time I was reading this book I was reminded of something that happened to me when I was younger.  I was out with a guy who I spent a lot of time with but never really did that official hookup thing.  I had a lot of guy friends when I was a kid- still do- because I am really, really bad at relating to girls.  (That is another book all together.  I believe some psychologist wrote it.)  Looking back, this was probably a huge disservice to those poor guys who may or may not have been looking at me in a way that I may or may not have been looking at them- I just enjoyed my friendships and never really thought about taking them further.  This is completely irrelevant to the book, except I'm trying to set the scene for this particular evening- I was out having a great night, enjoying the company, the conversation, and especially the food- because God bless this wonderful young man, he introduced me to lobster that night- and this poor guy was throwing out everything he could to let me know he was interested.  Um, I was pretty naive.  But come on, I was raised in Middlebury, Indiana.  How was I to know that lobster was the pre-20 code for "I can't afford an engagement ring, but this ruddy crustacean will tell you how I really feel."  So anyway, I missed the boat.  But I was still enjoying myself.  

At one point, he excused himself from the table for a moment.  I took the opportunity to do what I always did- and still do- the second I'm alone at the table.  Grab the mirror, check the teeth, check the nose, check the shine, put it away before there's a chance they come back.  Chapstick, always update the chapstick.  And then depending on how much time is left, one of many games will come out: catch-the-ice-with-the-straw (especially awesome if the ice is that cool cylindrical kind with the hole in the middle), make-the-sugar-packets-pretty, coffee-creamer-tower, doodle-napkin, origami-napkin, leftover-sculpture, how-bright-can-the-candle-flame-get, or there's-got-to-be-something-interesting-in-my-purse.  As this particular establishment was semi-classy- meaning condiments had to be requested, cloth napkins were provided, and the table light was oil rather than candle, lending itself to some serious burns if I got too tricky, I was reduced to the basest of all games: stare-blank-eyed-whilst-quietly-singing-favorite-tune.  This is dangerous- it usually means that I completely lose track of time and get caught doing it, which is exactly what happened.  I started to realize that I had been alone for far longer than was proper for anyone to be in a public restroom, so I suddenly looked around and realized my "date" had been watching me for quite a while from across the room, leaning against the wall with an amused... and even I couldn't fail to miss this... sparkly-eyed, charmed look on his face. 

Uh-oh.  

He came back and sat down and the real conversation began.  I always liked talking to this guy and considered him a close friend, so we were pretty honest with each other.  (About ourselves, but apparently not about our feelings.)  Anyway, he asked me what I wanted to do with my life.  

I had an answer ready, because this was something that I already knew 100%.  See, by this time I was around 19 or 20 years old, and if you know me at all, you know I'd already had some pretty significant events in my life to that point.  So at that young age, I didn't have all the answers- still don't, who does?- but I did have perspective.  Without hesitation, I said, "I don't know."  

"You don't know?  How can you not know what you want?"

"I just don't know where my life is going yet.  Wherever God wants to take me."

It's as though I spoke Klingon.  Wait, this guy probably knew Klingon.  It's as though I had pulled some obscure Tahitian dialect of Mongo-sela-kok out of my hat and thrown it at him.  He stared at me for a minute- still amused, but not so charmed-  and finally he decided what to say.  He must have thought I misunderstood him, because he clarified for me.  "No, I know you want to do what God wants you to and all.  Everybody knows that about you, you always do the right thing.  But what I'm asking is, what do you want to do?"

I contemplated this.  Never before had I differentiated the two ideas.  I gave it a few seconds, then answered- honestly- "But what I want to do is what God wants me to do."

He was beginning to get frustrated with this stubborn female.  "I know, I know.  But just for a minute, take God out of the equation.  If you could do anything at all you wanted, what would you do, and forget about what you think God wants."

I was completely flummoxed.  How could anyone take God out of the equation?  I was too young and too lobster-happy to realize that I was pushing my limits.  Besides, I still thought we were just having what I actually considered a normal conversation.  I really didn't understand why he didn't understand me- this was a person who shared (I was pretty sure) my religious beliefs.  Sure, he lived a different lifestyle, but who cared about that when we were all headed for the same goal, right?  I pressed on.  "No, you don't understand.  I can't "take God out" of it.  See, what I want to do is what God wants me to do.  It doesn't matter what it is, because what He wants is what I want."

"Then what do you want?"

"I don't know."

"Then what does God want?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know what to do?"

"I do what God wants me to do."

"And what is that?"

"I don't know."

This went on for, as you can imagine, quite some time.  It was a very circular conversation, with him growing more and more flustered and me growing more and more calm and confident in my answers, which, admittedly, were telling him nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  He knew of my loves for music, for writing, for animals, for travel, for nature, for BIG BIG WONDER, he really knew a lot about the inner workings and dreams of my mind.  I'm sure he was looking for exactly which one I was going to run headlong after so he could decide if he was going to run along with me.  But what I couldn't make him understand was that none of those things- and all of those things- mattered.  They of themselves were mere byproducts of God's love for me- He had given me all those things to love, and made me enjoy each and every one of them thoroughly.  He put the desire for them in my heart and gave me wonderful gifts to enjoy them.  How could I not follow this same path that had served me so well so far?  And how could he not understand that God was my music, was my writing, embodied creation, and consumed my wonder?  How could these things possibly be separated?  God was, is, and always would be, and there was no need to quantify or qualify that.  There just was, I AM THAT I AM.  

In the end, I must have chosen the one goal that guy couldn't hitch his star to.  We eventually changed the subject after much head shaking tsking.  I know he thought I was such a waste, a naive little girl who would one day find out that God meant us to BE SOMETHING, not just to be.  It was years before I heard from him again- he needed a favor, which I happily obliged, after which me met and married a wonderful girl and now lives happily ever after pursuing his dream.  I am very glad he's living the life he has always wanted, and I mean that.  But this isn't a story about him, it's about me (and really I just threw those little tidbits in there because I know at least half of you won't really rest until you figure out who he is, and the answer is I'm not telling).  But anyway, that night taught me something- that I was weird.  I thought I was perfectly normal and had, well, not all of the answers, but enough to make me content.  I stopped telling people how I felt about my life and about God.  I started second guessing my feelings.  I started using human logic instead of Divine Love for both big and little decisions.  And while I never lost that contentment, I lost my focus a little and I made some bad decisions.  I left my Leader and took a rock-bottom crash to come back to it.

I did eventually come back, and I did figure it out.  I still have the same contentment that I had before, but even more so now.  If you know me you know that it doesn't take much to get me riled up, but it takes something major- unidentifiable, really- to truly upset me.  I live in reassurance that there are no big things because there is only One Thing.  Oh, sure, I'm still a jerk.  I have major flaws- jealousy, selfishness, laziness, pettiness, to name a few- but those are a gift so that I can be even more grateful for what I know.  

I could go on and on about this, but I'm pretty much done.  The reason this rather uninteresting jozi-revelation is stuck here in this book blog is because this book is about many things, but one of the things that I was shocked to realize it was about was me.  Things I have been trying to put into words for years are so clearly spelled out by an author much more eloquent than I. If you want to know me, if you want to know how I look at life and how I look at God, then read this book.  But that is a really, really stupid reason to read this book.  Who cares about me?  You shouldn't.  But you should read this book to find out about yourself.  I really do not believe that anyone can read this book and not find at least one good reason to have done so.  

So there's my plug, my promo, my Shack Story.  I should probably edit or cut this down a bit... but I'm not going to.  Right now you're wondering why you read all the way to the end of this post- so am I, to be honest- but hey!  You can get something out of it!  Go read the book- you'll enjoy it a lot more than you did this.  :)