Witness

Dear Annie,

Few things are more terrifying to a shy, quiet editor than an unruly producer. These creatures are known for their short tempers and ability to throw grande no-foam vanilla lattes long distances.

Overall, as an editor, I have been lucky in my career... most of the clients I’ve worked with have been ever so gracious, patient and jolly. In fact, I’m embarrassed to admit that my present producer, Jason, is far more frightened of me than I am of him.

Either way, by now I’m quite confident I could handle any personality in the editing bay. Part of this confidence comes with the fact that I know I know what I’m doing, I know I’m a fast editor, and I’m not afraid to admit the things I do not know.

None of these skills are reassuring, however, when it comes to my most recent freelance client. He doesn’t throw things, he doesn’t yell, he simply claims to be a Christian... the type of Christian who God speaks directly and audibly to... the kind of Christian who is given special insight and commands. He believes he’s on a mission and nothing can stop him.

One of our last meetings went so terribly, I swore I’d never return. I questioned his motive on a Christian film project, accused him of misleading his crew and disobeying the rules of the festival. He responded by telling me that God had told him to make the film, that the script was from God (bad language, violence and all), and that he was sure the film would win an award at the Cannes film festival! He also informed me that he has been a Christian way longer than I have, and is far more spiritually mature than I (a line I’ve heard a painful number of times in the last several months as you know!).

When he calls now, I come up with any excuse that is even remotely plausible, and up until now this has worked beautifully. I know what you are thinking... why don’t I just tell him no? I suppose I'm afraid.

Last week he called me to work on an artistic piece for Lexus. I couldn’t come up with any good excuse to say no, so I tried telling him that Santa Monica was too far away to make the money worth it. He responded by doubling my pay! I finally acquiesced.

I woke up this morning and begrudgingly drove down there, repeating in my head “It’s only eight hours... it’s only eight hours!” I vowed to be as kind and helpful as possible, looking at this as a witnessing opportunity.

The day went well, and was filled with more humor than terror. He told me one of his next projects is a documentary about a group of “Christian” dream interpreters that go around and “save” people through these ‘miracles’... uh huh...

I tried informing him that this was entirely un-biblical. He wouldn't have it. “Daniel did it why can’t we?” He gave me this book entitled: Going Deeper, Experiencing New Depths in the Holy Spirit. I’m sure it is full of heresies but I’m too exhausted to thumb through it.

He told me that I’m a talented editor, and that God surely has great plans for me. Then he asked me what my goals were. I told him, “To get married and have lots of children.” He said he’d keep me in his prayers, and my first instinct was to tell him “NO PLEASE DON’T!!” Instead I just smiled.

This guy reminds me of one of my father’s favorite quotes, which is found in chapter three of Moby Dick:

“Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.”


Last time I went home, I sat there dumbfound as my father bickered with my mother about the Sabbath issue, saying all the things I had been telling him all along. I saw, for the first time in a long time, a glimmer of hope in his eyes... the tiniest smidgen of light that comes with the revelation of freeing truth! (And somehow I’ve managed to convert my mother to predestination... but that’s another story.) Of course my parents have a long way to go, but they are finally freed from their mental yokes of bondage to a false religion.

A couple weeks ago, while stuck in jury duty, the court gave me a free pass to the MOCA. I eagerly visited on my lunch break, sad I only had ten minutes to enjoy the art. I entered the gallery, only to discover the paintings of Marlene Dumas. Her exhibit was entitled “Measuring Your Own Grave.” The first room had water color paintings of a myriad of faces... men, women, children, different races... all they had in common was the look in their eyes. It was a startling look, a chilling look... a blank, lifeless look. I hastened out of there, hoping that the rest of the exhibit would prove more fruitful. Alas, I was bombarded by images of dead, naked, lifeless bodies... mummified bodies, rotting bodies, children peering at dead bodies, and more hopeless faces. It was truly unnerving. I started fast-walking, and by the end, I promise you (no joke), I was running frantically for the exit. There was a tear in my eye as I gave the desk lady my bag check number. I shuddered as she handed me my backpack, and I barely resisted exclaiming: “HOW DARE YOU!”

One of my text books in sixth grade had a painting of Paul (Saul) persecuting the Christians, and another of him as an older man with the kindest looking eyes, all defiance wiped away. I remember looking at the two pictures and finding Saul quite handsome and the transformed Paul rather boring and uninteresting. “Is this what Christianity is all about? Killing your spirit?” (And oh how opposite an impression I have of this painting today!)

Indeed I only recall this picture of Paul now because it came to mind when I witnessed my father talking about the Sabbath. His eyes looked just like the eyes in that picture, gazing up, not down, with a glimmer of hope and excitement, and most importantly, full of life! What a beautiful image that is.

Love,
Taintedsky