About six years ago, I felt strongly compelled to write about the importance of wonder to human flourishing. Now, serveral years later, I look back upon this piece of writing and find that I still agree, for the most part with its contents. This unedited piece became the basis for several motivational talks and lectures. I will follow this post up with some of my more current views on the subject.
I have entitled this autobiographical piece, Recovering Wonder.
The Door
In the quiet stillness of consciousness, there exists a place of infinite possibility. While most thoughts are usually deficient of the creative pigment of imagination, an ancient, rugged door with a handle severely discolored by years of accumulated dust protects a secret passageway that leads to a pocket of our existence that knows not the life-taking powers of self-imposed routines, deadlines, and appointments. This is a place of being that we believe defies every arrogant effort to diminish its magnificence through reasonableness and maturity. This magical place allows us to fly at higher altitudes and faster speeds than even the quickest planes and to warp ourselves right through linear time. But when we think of this place now, it always is through the nostalgia of childhood. The ignorant, innocence of childhood! Oh I wish I could return to that life of carelessness! But I can’t. The realities of adulthood forced me to grow up. Besides, I’ve evolved over time. I know more and make more than I did back then. But it sure was great! An occasional home video has the power to generate a quick tear as we are transported to the Utopia of our past that now seems so distant it can easily be mistaken for a fantastic dream generated out of our perceived need to take a trip and get away for a while. But the rugged old box in our parent’s attic containing that torn, stained cape and that first blanket that unbeknownst to anyone else used to talk to us is still up there. What happened? How did life become so predictable and sterile?
The once brightly lit, easily accessible annals or our mind leading to this self-ordered supernatural reality have become skillfully elusive of our ability to recover their whereabouts. The passageway now is almost impregnable no matter how much we may desire access. The undergrowth and brush of worldly concerns have condemned us to life of immanence or inwardness. The place once streaming with vibrant colors and multidimensional worlds now exists in the forbidden realm of irresponsibleness, daydreaming, and excessive leisure. If we are able to make our way through the tempestuous sea of seriousness and the briars of busyness of learned adulthood to this place of timelessness, we will probably not proceed beyond the ancient door of childhood awe. For we have forgotten how to unlock it. To learn how would be irresponsible. Besides, there is a paper due tomorrow and the cell phone is ringing. Year after year our minds become more entangled with worldly growth that suffocates us of any possibility of ever finding our way home. Eventually, it is almost certain that our vow of thisworldliness will strangle any of the fresh air of creativity right out of our minds. We become nothing more than casualties in our society who have died of self-inflicted wounds to the imagination. We have bought into the American dream, which says, “Produce, Work, and Produce more! The more you do, the more you are! Start early! It’s time to grow up!”
Digging Our Own Grave
At first glance, it appeared to be a summer day like any other. The Michigan sun was punishing any who dared to walk outside, neighborhood kids could be heard splashing in the pool, and the crackling sound of tires riding over gravel announced that something big was going on in my driveway. Today my family was having a garage sale. Usually days like this filled me with a sense of elation being the young entrepreneur that I was at age twelve. For our annual garage sale always paid big dividends as I sold wood burned plaques and various other crafts that I made. But this day was different. There was a somber heaviness in the air where I sat underneath the big walnut tree in my backyard. I was a child deep in thought. Should I do it or not I asked myself over and over again. A funeral was held that afternoon and I was the only person in attendance. After twelve full years, I decided to lay my imagination to rest. It was time to sell the toys that used to make the world of a young boy come alive. In a couple of months, I would be going to the junior high school and no one had toys in junior high. Besides, my friend Eric across the street sold all his toys a whole year ago and now only played Atari games and listened to Michael Jackson tapes. He had ascended the summit of human development and now existed in the world of his older brother and the rest of the big people. He had arrived! The misunderstood enchantment of adulthood was compelling. I slowly began walking upstairs to my bedroom to finish the act. Gathering up my Voltron, Thundercats, He-Man, and Transformers action figures that had filled my world with so many hours of magical battles caused me to pause for a moment. What price should I assign these objects of such great worth? How do you appropriately quantify such wonderful adventures? After carrying the large box of treasure outside to the garage and assembling on my table for display, I paid final respects to my vibrant imagination and walked away, saddened and empty. I was now a man.
The Nothing
The absolute number one movie of my childhood is The Neverending Story. I am sure that I have watched it at least fifty times. The movie tells the story of a boy named Bastian who, like me escaped the treacherous world of adolescent social awkwardness through reading books that could unleash the imagination and allow us to run free through the extraordinary landscape of human creativity. This world of possibility and hope makes the lifestyles of adults seem like nothing more than exercises in futility as they constantly busied themselves with activities and therapies that promised to deliver them from the curse of predictability and boredom.
Bastian is introduced to an incredibly new reading experience as his ability to stifle his awareness of the common reality around him is accentuated far beyond his expectations. The power of detachment from his environment becomes realized as the sights and sounds of the room he is reading in begin to slowly fade away. He finds that he sees, hears, and feels everything that is known by the characters of the story. Transported to the fictitious world of Fantasia, Bastian joins the young purple buffalo hunter Atreyu on a quest. An invisible force called The Nothing that quickly envelops everything in its path and rendering all space void obliterates this magical world. Atreyu and Bastian try to stop it. As Bastian quietly follows Atreyu on his journey he meets many of the inhabitants of this strange land including gnomes, a Rockbiter, a Luckdragon, and Gmork, the servant of The Nothing. When I watch The Neverending Story now, I am aware of a rich, deeply meaningful message that was indistinguishable as a child. As Atreyu nears the end of the quest, nearly losing his life a couple of times, he encounters Gmork, a larger talking panther-like creature. Let’s join their startling conversation as Atreyu is confronted with the identity of The Nothing.
Gmork: “Fantasia is the world of human fantasy. Every part, every creature of it is a piece of the dreams and hopes of mankind. Therefore, it has no boundaries.”
Atreyu: “Why is Fantasia dying then?”
Gmork: “Because people have begun to lose their hopes and forget their dreams so The Nothing grows stronger.”
Atreyu: “What is The Nothing?”
Gmork: “It’s the emptiness that’s left. It is like a despair destroying this world and I have been trying to help it.”
Atreyu: “But why?”
Gmork: “Because people who have lost hope are easy to control and whoever has the control, has the power!”
When we are young, we are unaware of The Nothing. The terminal illness of evaporated wonder that adults suffer with is usually unimportant to us. They have their world and we have ours. Though we are excited about one day becoming one of the big people and able to enjoy a career as an astronaut or a fireman and even have our own children, the possibility of our minds becoming old is an unexplored concept. As far as we know, the excitement of this life will always be a perpetual present. Life will always be one big adventure. But The Nothing attacks his prey slowly and subtlety. He works through the persuasive marketing strategies of television, the Internet and magazines that encourage twelve year-olds to be more conscious of their physical appearance and social image. Girls are instructed that it is normal to aspire to be at least the sexually provocative younger sisters of Brittany Spears. The Nothing even works through what many have lauded as exciting technological developments in children’s toys. The lights, sounds, and motion leaves young children in a quandary as they try to distinguish which is more real: their battery operated car that they ride in or their parent’s Pontiac in the driveway. Their senses are instantly stimulated by the toys themselves. The heavier demands of the outdated, obsolete toys of previous generations leave the child wondering how their older siblings ever had any fun with silent action figures. These great advances stimulate the senses but retard the imagination. The Nothing also works through popular television shows portraying young children in heavily involved relationships with the opposite sex. Taking on the pressures of premature intimate relationships is normal. It is expected. The pure innocence of childhood is no longer desirable. It is a disease, which can be prevented by early exposure to The Nothing. Once they have helplessly succumbed to the temptation to eat of the fruit that looks so delicious on the outside but tastes unpleasantly bitter they become drones at his command.
The attractiveness of this highly romanticized evolved self eventually leaves the victim regretful. For the skilled attacker has done a thorough job. We now become fearful of the future, haunted by the present, and nostalgic about the past. Time has a new meaning for us. We end up spending much of our lives looking back, reminiscing about how things used to be. Frederick Buechner describes our perception of time before we experienced The Fall:
“What child, when snow is on the ground, stops to remember that not long ago the ground was snow less? It is by its content rather than its duration that a child knows time, by its quality rather than its quantity-happy times and sad times, the time the rabbit bit your finger, the time you had your first taste of bananas and cream, the time you were crying yourself to sleep when somebody came and lay down beside you in the dark for comfort. Childhood’s time is Adam and Eve’s time before they left the garden for good and from that time on divided everything into before and after.” ( The Sacred Journey, 9-10)
The enchantment of the perpetual present that we get to enjoy as children is sometimes lacerated or destroyed by those who are closest to us. Though their intentions may be pure, the damage inflicted upon us by those whom Michael Yacconeli has described as dream stealers can be incalculable. Dream stealers encourage us to think small, to be realistic. These people to some degree have influenced us all. Many of us may have even taken their advice. I am not advocating that we not encourage friends or other loved ones to be realistic when making decisions. I am, however cautioning us to be very careful when discouraging others from pursuing their dreams. Many of us don’t consider the impact that our lovingly offered advice can have upon another.
Dream Stealers
Growing up in a small blue-collar suburb of Detroit meant that a large percentage of the working population was employed by the automobile industry. Many decent men and women work long hours and endure harsh conditions to provide their families with a find home, fashionable clothing and a couple of cars. This was the occupation of my father and his father and mother. For many years, it was supposed to be my vocation of choice as well. Though I respected my own family for all of their hard work and never once questioned their love for me, the frequent expression that I was “just a chip off the old block” did not fully ring true in my ears. I was a learner, a reader, and a dreamer. I was the type who would die of boredom in a job requiring me to commit to performing the same task for eight to twelve hours six days a week. At age fourteen, I decided I wanted to open a small business as a mobile disk jockey. Now I like most teenagers was entranced by excessive bass and exceptionally loud music, but my aspirations were a little different. I desired to be an entertainer, to interact with an audience while playing music at weddings, school dances, and even retirement parties. This could be highly lucrative, I thought- and most importantly, fun! “But Tony, you don’t have the money to get into this business. How are you going to pay for it? You should have a job like the rest of the kids your age- like at Wal Mart.” Eventually, I raised enough money by cutting lawns, washing windows, and just about whatever else I had to do to open my business. Even though I didn’t know the difference between automobile audio systems, professional PA equipment, and home stereos, I bought a combination of all three. It may not have sounded pretty, but it got me started! I called my business venture Sound EFX DJ Service. Though jobs as a DJ were few at the beginning, my company took off within a year. I was traveling all over Michigan and Ohio getting payed well to play. The attempt of the Dream stealers had failed.
Another highly effective attempt of the Dream stealers occurred about a year later. My family had begun attending a small church in the area and I decided that it was time for me to become involved in a ministry. The pastor had been speaking for a couple of weeks on the importance of giving our lives totally over to God so that we can help build his kingdom on earth. He said that when God sees us, he doesn’t see someone who is young or disabled, he sees the hands and feet and mouthpieces of God. I pondered these powerful ideas for a while. God really wants to use me, I thought. That year I had enrolled in an Explorer’s program for high school students who wanted to learn more about television production. We met once a week at the local public access station. I was finally able to work with professional cameras and editing equipment. What a rush. I not only learned how to use the stuff, but I soon was able to watch my own programs that were broadcast to the community. I decided that I wanted to use my newfound talent for the work of God. Why not? The pastor said that wanted to use even young people. I had a vision for a weekly televised program that featured our Sunday morning worship service. After securing approval for the program from the station manager, I approached the pastor with my ideas. He indicated that I would need to make a formal presentation to the elders at the next business meeting. That was next week, I thought! I better start working. For a whole week, I diligently put together my presentation. I knew that it was important that I appeared professional. I carefully typed out my presentation, prepared handouts for the men, and even practiced my speech in front of the mirror to make sure that I got it just right. Finally the big day came. As soon as the morning service ended, I made my way across the sanctuary and threw open the double doors leading to the meeting room. The presentation was flawless. I confidently marched out of the room and walked outside and expressed my excitement with a loud “YES”. I couldn’t wait for my mom to arrive in the van to pick me up so that I could tell her all about what had happened.
For the next three Sundays, I intentionally made sure that I greeted the pastor on the way out of the sanctuary after the service. Every time I got close to him my heart skipped a beat. Maybe this week he will let me know what was decided. He never said a word. A whole month later, I couldn’t contain my anxiety any longer. I patiently waited in line once again to speak with him. As soon as I reached him, I shook his and asked the question. “Did my proposal get approved?” He replied with a blank look. “What proposal are you talking about, Tony?” I thought maybe he was joking so I smiled and waited. He continued to glance at me with this strange stare so I explained again. An eternity later he said, “Oh, yeah, I know what you are talking about. We decided not to go that direction.” Like a dead weight, my heart sank to the floor. Before I could reply, the pastor stretched his hand out to the person behind me and began discussing problems with the nursery. That day an enthusiastic fifteen year old who wanted so badly to serve the Lord in his church went home devastated. His heart crushed.
The third and most harmful attack of the Dream stealers came during my senior year of high school. I, like many students had chosen extracurricular or “nonessential” activities over academics and I was preparing to graduate. I took classes like WEJY 97.5 FM, our school radio station, music theory, speech, newspaper, and piano. Though I did well in those courses, my “academic” classes like math and science suffered a bit. I knew that I had the potential to work harder and earn higher grades than C’s, but I was content. I was actually having the time of my life. One afternoon, while in class, a student worker delivered a notice to me indicating that I was to report to my guidance counselor for a meeting. I assumed that it was the same “exit interview” that the rest of my peers were required to complete before graduating. Although I knew that my 2.7 GPA would not get me into Harvard, I was excited to let my counselor know that I had decided to enroll in the local community college in the fall. My dream was to become a high school speech communications teacher. Excited, I walked up the long flight of stairs to her office and knocked on her door. I just couldn’t wait to tell her my decision! The meeting was exactly what I thought it would be like. We went over my grades, talked about my classes, and finally got right to the point. “So, Tony, what are your plans after June?” She asked. With a big smile on my face, I told her my plan. The response that I had been anticipating all afternoon never came. With an almost mechanical tone, the arrows began to fly. “Tony, I really don’t think that you are college material. Just keep working on your DJ business and forget about being a teacher.” I sat in my chair expressionless, paralyzed. Even now as I reflect upon that conversation that took place eight years ago, I can still feel the emptiness that invaded my soul that day when my dreams were taken from me. I wonder if there are countless others who may have been negatively affected by the guidance of this professional. There have been numerous occasions where I have wanted to visit her and allow my burning anger to burst into flames. How could she say such a thing to an impressionable high school student? Wouldn’t it be fun to carry my degrees with me and throw them on her desk? Mrs. Harrison (not her real name) was a dream stealer. She did her best to convince me to put away my immature, irresponsible thought and settle for a more practical, realistic vocation. I was instructed to put my imagination to rest and pay my last respects to my dream of becoming a teacher and walk away forever. I needed to grow up.
Dream Starters
A skilled archaeologist may invest his entire lifetime in pursuit of a valuable artifact. He may sacrifice his time, money, even his reputation upon even the mildest of inclinations that something of great worth lays below the sandy surface. Most of the time, his efforts promise little fortune as he uncovers those everyday, common pieces that can be found for sale at the market down the street. He dreams of the day when fortune smiles upon his work as he uncovers treasures of inestimable worth. This discovery erases all frustration, disappointments, and even that overpowering sense of defeat that used to beat him up every time he tried to sleep at night. When dream stealers perform their jobs, they do so with the utmost of efficiency. The victims remain haunted by the stinging words of the assassins, sometimes for several years, sometimes for their entire lives. The raw nerves that the arrows exposed leaves the victim feeling helpless and hesitant to ever reveal his inner thoughts to another person ever again. Like the hopeful archaeologist, many of us long for the day when God looks down upon us from his lofty view and points us in the direction of wonderful riches. He sends dream makers into our lives. What the dream stealer seeks to systematically dismantle, the dream starter tries to reinforce in us- to point us away from our past failures, inadequacies, and other insecurities and see ourselves not as we think we are but as who we can be. They help us to cling to our child-like wonder and keep dreaming. Instead of criticizing us with admonishing words designed to help us keep our feet on the ground and remain realistic, they encourage us as Mother Robin does her young to spread our wings and give it a try.
I have crossed paths with two such people in my life. Since I was not fit for college, I chose to continue building my musical clientele through Sound EFX. This proved to be a strategic move as I now was earning more than one hundred dollars and hour. It was wonderful. I was essentially paid to play. The sounds of bass pumping and crowds cheering were music to my ears and money in my wallet. In the midst of what many would consider adolescent entrepreneurial success, I became distracted by a gnawing emptiness inside of me. Why am I doing so well, yet feeling so unhappy? God was speaking to me. He was exposing the inevitable void that would remain in my life if I continued to succumb to the advice of the dream stealers. Late one night, an ancient but familiar sensation slowly crept back into my life. It was almost euphoric in nature. All of a sudden, I felt hopeful, even excited. An image of running through my backyard by the old walnut tree chasing after alien predators returned to me. I felt invincible. The world of enchantment that I had abandoned so many years earlier was tugging at me. It was begging me to come out and play and I was “it”. That night the dust was removed from the handle of that old door and it was unlocked. I walked in. I met God. My knowledge of him gleaned from a couple of years of youth group attendance was infused with a new life. I revisited my old love for reading and did I ever read! This time not the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries or the Adventures of the Boxcar Children or even the exciting stories about Ramona Quimby and Henry Huggins. This time I read about God. I found the Bible, texts about cults, the religious heritage of America, and church history to be the most enticing. Within a year I had consumed nearly one hundred books and I was ready to meet my first dream starter.
He was young, passionate, and brilliant. Never in all of my life had I sat on the receiving end of such powerful teaching. The evening newspaper posted an advertisement for a new Bible college program being offered at a local church. The class titles immediately invoked intrigue: Christian Doctrine, Person and Work of the Holy Spirit, Methods of Bible Study. The exceptionally cool Tuesday evening that I attended my first King’s Institute class changed my life. Joe Byrd was a gifted communicator who knew how to properly gauge his audience and to interact in such a way that culture and message of a Book alien to us was illuminated with streaming clarity. Not only did I find myself keenly interested in the subject matter, but saw that I was devouring the material and wanted more. One evening, Joe pulled me aside after class and asked if he could talk with me. My heart started pounding. What was he going to say? Was he pleased with my performance or did he want something? He said, “Tony you are an exceptional student. Have you ever considered going away to college?” I am not sure what I said as I fumbled over my answer, but I am sure that my awkwardness was apparent to Joe. He continued. “Do you have plans to go into full-time ministry?” I let him know that I had been working as a volunteer youth leader at another church for about six months and had entertained the possibility of some day working on the staff of a church. “Why don’t you create a job description and ministry proposal for a new young adults ministry?” I was exhilarated yet apprehensive, still haunted by memories of the last proposal that I created four years earlier. I don’t think that I slept for very long that night as my mind raced with ideas. Three months later, I stood on the large red stage of the sanctuary officially welcomed as the new college and career pastor.
When we are young, we seldom look back. We usually only look ahead, eagerly anticipating what new adventure awaits us. Because of the consumptive society we live in, our childhood arrives and departs with the blink of an eye. “It’s time to put the toys away and start thinking about your future. What do you want to be?” “But I am only twelve. I don’t know.” It isn’t too long after that that we cover our childhood wonder with the last shovel of dirt and begin to enjoy the privileges of emerging adulthood. Pretty soon we are driving our first car, proposing to our high school sweetheart, sending our kids away to college, and considering what to do after retirement. Where has the time gone? The nagging pain in our neck could easily be attributed to the onset of old age, but perhaps its origin is of a more peculiar sort. Maybe it all started that sunny afternoon so many years ago when we took that boxful of toys to the garage to sell. From then on, time had new meaning and we couldn’t stop looking back. So where does this leave us now? Now that the ground has settled over the grave and is covered with a mixture of weeds and grass what can we do? Should we become so obsessed with the nostalgia of our childhood that we try to become kids again? As a youth minister, I run into a lot of adults who choose this option and are convinced that frequent visits to Abercrombie and Fitch and an ability to command the vocabulary of teenagers makes them the ideal candidate for the youth ministry. That is a very sad predicament to be in. Now that you are in college or working in your new profession, how does God want you to respond? This book is all about calling. A fuller explanation response to this question will be explored at a later point. But one thing that we can consider here is this. As humans, we are called to wonder. The ability to engage the imagination is part of our constitution. Divine hands have placed it there. When wonder vanishes, we are forced to function at a level that leaves us empty and searching. Fantasia is being destroyed by The Nothing. We become puppets in the hands of commercial industry as we attempt to satisfy our internal restlessness with whatever product or new image that is prescribed to us. As the annals of our mind leading to the door of the imagination become densely filled with busyness and distractions, we find it more and more difficult to relate to God.
It is only through an active imagination that we can bring an inanimate concept like “God” to life. “Godness” is a reality that cannot be tangibly proven. I can show you a tree or a lake or even a plane. But I cannot show you God; no matter how hard I try. But when the words of the prophets of old magnifying the Almighty for yet another miraculous deliverance collide with the creative waves of energy within the imaginative mind, understanding occurs, transformation follows. Maintaining wondrous awe is not only the calling of a child; it is expected of us all. Always remember the words of Jesus. “I’m telling you, once and for all, that unless you return to square one and start over like children, you’re not even going to get a look at the kingdom, let alone get in. Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will rank high in God’s kingdom. What’s more, when you receive the childlike on my account, it’s the same as receiving me.” (The Message) The Bible is full of imagery that demands an exertion of creativity from us. If we irresponsibly choose to place God into an easily explainable description and deny him his magnificent “Otherness” which can only be understood with a great degree of imagination, we will die. The choice to diminish God’s ability to exist outside the narrow parameters of human reason and employ his all-powerfulness and all-knowingness as he concerns himself with the affairs of humanity, reduces him only to a man or the concept of a man. If he is only a man, he is powerless to rescue us from the vicious cesspool of the self. If we look around at the volatile condition of our sinful world and are daring enough to gaze inward at our own depravity, we have no choice but to drown miserably in the murky waters of hopelessness, helplessness, and unfairness. The activation of the imagination enables us to assign an appropriate awe towards the only One that can rescue us out of our own thisworldliness. When I return from youth functions at night, the brilliance of the stars is breathtaking. They command my attention as they eternally communicate the identity of their Creator. David of the Old Testament was encapsulated by this message.
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the end of the world. In the heavens he has pitched a tent for the sun, which is like a bridegroom coming forth from his pavilion, like a champion rejoicing ro run his course. It rises at one end of the heavens and makes its circuit to the other; nothing is hidden from its heat.” (The Message)
Taking occasional walks outside at night and staring at God’s celestial handiwork can have a restorative affect upon our souls. Our impoverished condition is rejuvenated with the wonder of our childhood. Michael Yaconelli has advice for all who are tired of looking back and are longing for something new.
“It is time to find the place where the dangerous wonder of faith can be discovered- a place landscaped by risky curiosity, wild abandon, daring playfulness, quiet listening, irresponsible passion, happy terror, and naïve grace. In a day when most of us are tired, worn-out, and starving for life and joy and peace, maybe it is time to quit college and take a year off to go the mission field, or give up a secure job and go back to school, or leave the corporation because the work is killing our souls, or give up the possessions that are possessing us.” (Dangerous Wonder, 32)
Antonio Giovanni Marchesi
January 2002
