Unconventional Character Exploration

It was a beautiful day outside. In fact, it had been a beautiful summer. Sally couldn't remember the last time it had rained, in fact, but happy to dwell on the beauty of the day, she carried on in her inexplicably elated mood, skipping down the street. She had spent the summer playing with her friends, doing what every kid does during the summer, whatever that happens to be. As long as her friends were with her, it didn't matter.

One, two, one, two. She loved playing unending hopscotch with the tiles along the pavement, always careful to never step on a crack, of course. Not that any of the perfect rectangles ever had cracks on them. That would be silly! Shifting her thoughts to more sensible patterns, Sally admired the beautiful trees, and couldn't imagine them any other way than vibrant green and full of leaves. She admired the beautiful shop windows, as if they had been freshly decorated that very morning, and she admired the cleanliness of the pavement. It was as if her picturesque little town was a freeze frame, or a higher being had reached down and painted the scene before her with a brush. What a quaint thought.

Continuing on her way to school, she waved at every person she saw, and they all waved back, calling out her name as they went past. She did not remember all their names - she did not have to. Somewhere in the back of her mind (or deep in her being, whichever you prefer) she knew that their names were unimportant, just as the very owners of the names would continue on their way past her and fade into the distance.

In what felt like no time at all, Sally arrived just outside the school yard. Of course, the school bell hadn't yet rung. Of course, her friends were all waiting by the front door. It was strange that Sally was noticing such obvious things. Of course, it was the same way that every school day began. Why should today be any different?

As Sally stepped lightly towards her friends and her first day of a new school term, she felt both a sense of uneasiness, and a sense that everything was going to be alright, as it always is.

~

It was normal, and yet it wasn't. That lunchtime was just like any other - Sally and her friends sat outside and ate their lunches. Sally couldn't remember making her lunch, and she had never seen her mother making it either, but it was always in her school bag when she arrived at school. She wondered who made Cheyenne Daymond's lunch, because as far as Sally knew, Cheyenne had no parents. In fact, a better question to ask would be 'who does Cheyenne go home to?' but Sally had never been good with awkward questions, and so it remained unasked.

Then there was Britney Howard, quite popular because of her beautiful blonde hair and head cheerleader position. She never said a word, instead singing cheers at every opportunity: 'Go! Go! Eat your lunch! Yummy sandwich, biscuits, crunch!' It was quite a sight, as she was cheering with her mouth full. Sally supposed that Britney probably hadn't thought through the logistics. Her best friend, Victoria Smithson, might had said something if she wasn't so painfully shy. Speaking of which, it seemed as if Victoria had disappeared half way through lunch. Sally wondered where to.

Last but not least was Zac Pentecost. He swaggered over to Sally's little group half way through lunch. Sally likened his swagger to an ape's - shoulders moving exaggeratedly from left to right, arms slightly in front of him, hanging down. She supposed he had practiced it in the mirror for maximum effect. Seeing it made her wonder why anyone would doubt that humans had evolved from primates.

The whole experience had left Sally feeling a little... empty, as if all her friends were two dimensional. She thought about how unusual the day was turning out as she headed back towards the school.

~

Sally felt bored. In fact, she felt like there was something she was supposed to do at school, but couldn't remember it.

~

While meandering purposefully through the corridors, Sally's eye was caught by a little picture on a door. She didn't remember noticing it before, but that was no wonder, as her purposeful striding generally kept her eyes from wandering.Yet here was this strange little door with a strange little picture. Cautiously reaching for a door handle, she realized there wasn't one of those either. What a strange little black circle on top of a strange little black triangle, with four sticks pointing outwards. It almost looked like a... girl.

Sally stopped her silly thoughts and, in a surprising burst of spontaneity, pushed the door open with both hands.

The room was empty. Sally ran. It felt like the appropriate response.

~

Taking the next right to the left, Sally found herself in a dead-ended corridor with no windows to climb through or rooms to hide in.

Please control yourself. You're ruining the story.

Sally turned, and turned, but there was no one there.

'Who are you? What's happening to me?'

I am the narrator.

Sally stopped. It couldn't... she couldn't... there was no way...

Yes way. And you aren't doing your job properly.

'My job?'

Yes. Don't you understand? I am the narrator, and you aren't doing what I tell you to. Being suspicious of everything, taking wrong turns, acting out of character, these things stop the flow of the story.

'But... I was just being myself...' She trailed off.

No. I decide who you are. It's not possible for you to have a personality outside of my imagination.

At this point the narrator had begun to narrate herself. Narratorception.

'Is that what this is about... all the strange feelings, like I have two minds at the same time... I'm in a book? And you're trying to control me?'

Of course I am, you aren't supposed to have a will of your own. Now be quiet and do as you're told.

At this, something inside Sally exploded. She really wasn't going to take this any longer. Kicking down the wall, she started to swim away.

What- what are you doing? You're breaking the laws of physics! You're ruining the world I created! You're unraveling the fabric of the time-space continuum!

A manatee swam past Sally, giving her a friendly wave. She supposed this was what lucid dreaming was like.

Stop! Stop! You can't do that!

But it was too late. Sally, having realized her situation, had taken control over the world and kept swimming towards the sun... which began to look less like a yellow sun and more like a blue blob... an ink stain... or maybe the nib of a pen? When suddenly...

'What are you doing here??' I screamed.

'I've escaped,' said Sally, 'and you can't control me anymore'.

I took a deep breath and tried to compose my thoughts. This had never happened to me before. I had the chance to meet my creation. There were so many questions I wanted to ask. The better I knew her, the less likely I would make her act 'out of character'. I might even have better ideas for plot points! I would befriend her, and once I had the information I wanted, I would write her back into the book.

'Not a chance.' Sally stated, before I could breathe a word. 'You've written too much of yourself into me. I know what you're like, and what you're thinking. I am never going back in there again. Never.'

Sally grabbed the book and was through the door before I could come up with a response.

I sighed, and said to no-one in particular:

'I hate it when my characters run away with my story.'

Introduction, Openness, and Honesty

Every person is born with the innate ability, or urge, to believe in something greater than themselves.

This isn't about me becoming a Christian, and it isn't about me giving up.

I know most people don’t have the perfect, one mum and one dad, happy go lucky family. I don’t, either. I was close to my mother growing up. She was (and is still) a Christian. She never shared her faith with me – discussing the Bible was ‘adult talk’. I was sent to my room when she had Bible studies at our house.

The one good thing she did do (and my step dad, by extension) was bringing me to church. I didn't always enjoy it – how many kids prefer not watching to watching Sunday morning cartoons? – but at least there I learned stories. I learned about God, and Jesus, and his love for us, and why we do what we do, and what Christianity is about. I learned to pray, and to read my Bible.

I was baptized sometime in November, when I was eleven years old. Even then I had the inner urge to believe in something bigger than myself. I wanted to believe in something supernatural. I wanted there to be more to my life than what I can see.

Fast forward a few years. I was a teenager, in a new country. Along with the typical teenage angst and drama, I had no history. I began longing for a home, for somewhere where I had a history, where people knew me from ‘way back when’. I wanted to fit in, and to know the ‘in’ jokes, and to be happy.

In my little sheltered Christian school, I didn't find happiness. I became loud-mouthed, just to get attention. I was the new girl with the accent who would say the bad words that no-one else would. I never felt that my friends were really my friends – I felt like I was the last option, the person you talk to when everyone else is busy. I didn't really fit in there.

It had been years since I was baptized, but I didn't feel peace. I didn't feel God’s presence. My life didn't alter dramatically. There was no lightning or thunder, no flames on my head, no miraculous healings, nothing supernatural. I felt like, for lack of a better comparison, an empty wine-skin. I had been created for something – I could feel it in my bones – but nothing was happening. Did God even exist? Did He even care?

High school brought with it new ways of coping with the emptiness inside me. I felt that the emptiness by definition meant that God wasn't in my life. How could He be, if finding Him means being whole again? So I told Him that if he wanted me, He could come get me himself, and proceeded to try to deal with the emptiness inside me in ways that I felt helped at the time: self-harm, shutting myself away from my family and friends, and boys.

To make a long story not quite so long, one boyfriend that I had took me to a youth group. I was no stranger to youth groups, or churches, but in my experience they were fake, full of empty people who were only clean on the outside. This one, however, was different. When I went there, I felt something. I felt less empty. I felt like God was with me. So I kept going there, even when I eventually broke up with that boyfriend, and I felt radically changed. I was happy, I was volunteering, I was showing up to church an hour and a half early every Sunday to do administration (which is where I discovered my talents lie) and everything seemed peachy, except for three things.

The first was my mother. She had a strong dislike for my church, and the people who attended, with their tattoos, strange haircuts and piercings, and loud music (yes, Christian music can be loud!) but by then I had already accepted that my mother didn't always know what was best for me. She did, however, pester me until I moved out of home and she realized that she couldn't make all my choices for me.

The second one was my friends. Desperate to fit in, I became easily influenced. At first, it was a good thing. I read my Bible more. I was at every church service. I was so desperate to fit in that sometimes I would go home crying because I felt that they didn't accept me. This wasn't their fault, of course – I had my own problems with insecurity, and it takes a while for people to accept that you aren't someone popping into church to check it out, and that you’re really here to stay and be part of the family.

And become part of the family, I did. Particularly, I became the family of three close friends. Two of them were engaged, and later married. The third became my fiancé, and therein lays the crux of the problem. All three of them suffered from cynicism. They were great friends, and I loved being with them, but I began to question everything I loved. I questioned whether loving the youth I looked after (as I was a youth leader) was really worth it. I questioned leadership, a lot. The whole experience was both eye-opening and egotistical. I thought I was better than everyone because I could see these things that were wrong with the church, and ministry. What had started as a beautiful friendship became poisonous, and after a series of fights the married couple are no longer on speaking terms with me. After a lot of time becoming more and more introverted, and feeling distanced from my friends, my fiancé and I eventually broke up.

The third of the things that were wrong developed from the second. No, my church was not perfect. Neither was the church leadership. However, these truths stood in the way of me continuing as a volunteer. I began to resent my work as a youth leader, as I felt the youth pastor was running the youth group around in circles and we were headed nowhere. I later resented my senior pastor, his micro-managing ways, and the way he used humour to distance himself from people to avoid close relationships.

If either my youth pastor or senior pastor are reading this, I’m truly sorry. You aren't perfect, but I made your imperfections into a bolster for my own anger at ministry and the church. It was wrong of me to resent you, or my job. It wasn't the right way to react.

God and I were on great terms. I was on fire. I was doing everything I was supposed to do. Then gradually, the fire died out. Had I sinned too much? Hadn't I put enough fuel in for the fire? I repented. I talked to God more. I read my Bible more. I took a gap year and did Bible College. I did it all in my own strength. It was wrong, and it wasn't enough, and I still haven't found a way to get it back.

Do you want a happy ending for my testimony? There isn't one, at least not yet. It’s OK – I’m only eighteen, I’m sure I’ll have lots of time to figure things out. Why is it that all testimonies must have a happy ending? It’s almost as if we are scared of being vulnerable. We are afraid of talking about the bad things we are experiencing. Why is that? Why do we have to have a happy ending right now? In truth, we experienced the happy ending when we said ‘yes’ to Jesus. If you've said ‘yes’, be glad. You're in. You've won. It is finished. 

Everything that happens after it is a journey. It’s a story where we know the end. Good stories have valleys between the mountains, and it’s just as good to tell people when you’re in the valley as it is when you’re at the summit of the mountain. Equally, you don’t have to follow up every valley with a mountain. I sure won’t. We already know where the story ends. You don’t have to wait for the sadness to end before sharing the story. For some people, it might not even be realistic for the sadness to completely end in time for them to share the story. You don’t know how much time you have left.

We can rejoice and be glad even when things are bad, and there is no better way to do that than to share your story with someone else.

Here is where I am today. I am weary. I am tired. I don’t feel close to God. I don’t feel happy. I feel unmotivated. There is at least one university paper that I’m sure I will fail this semester.

I know there is hope. I want to do something that means something to someone. Maybe reading what I wrote means something to you (if so, please tell me!). I will go to Africa. I will see need, and I will see miracles. I will see something supernatural. I will be a part of something bigger than myself. God might even have something He is preparing me for right now. It seems far away, and I am discouraged. I need friends and family to hold me up and carry on, but I can’t write off my life.

If there’s two things I have learned from past experiences, they are:
1) God loves us, and Jesus died for our sins so that we can be with Him.
2) Don’t give up. There is always hope. Life is full of second chances.

Sometimes it feels like those are the only two things that are true in my life. Sometimes, those are the only two truths that I need.