When I made the decision to leave the church, it didn’t have anything to do with not liking the music, or finding the sermons boring, or old women with fried hair looking down spectacled-noses at me because I have tattoos. It was because I felt like the people I looked to for guidance and acceptance really didn’t care about how my life turned out. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it felt that way. It felt that way strong enough for me to walk away from something I had given the last decade of my life to. I began to believe something must be wrong with me – some intrinsic and flawed characteristic, a chromosome out of whack – something that would keep me from ever being let inside the circle.
I don’t know if this walking away is a permanent thing, or just my mind telling me I need a temporary respite from the institution of church, but I’ve noticed a beautiful thing since I’ve been gone. I’ve noticed people, lots and lots of people, good people, people who want to serve, people with hearts as big as music, people who would, and do, give the coats off their back.
I look at the way they give, at the relationships they build with kids in financially bankrupt schools and emotionally bankrupt families, and I see the complete joy that comes over the kids they serve every single week. I look at these people and I see Jesus. A handful of them are Christians. A few even go to church. Most of them are just vegetarians.
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The track lights reflected off the sheets of copper covering the wall behind the percolators and when I turned around a group of customers walked in, the line creeping toward the door. Good. Finally. Tips. I’ve worked at this cafe for six months, and I swear I’m like the stripper with the best boob job when it comes to getting the biggest tips possible from every type of customer.
The last two weeks have been spent writing the biggest (in terms of work and hopeful payout) grant application SideWalk Chalk has ever submitted. There hasn’t been much writing going on outside of of that, but I’m still reading each night until I fall asleep and again first thing in the morning. Here’s the current book… A gift from our board advisor, Teri Hein. Sherman Alexie serves on Teri’s Board of Directors with 826Seattle. This is fast becoming a favorite of mine, and is doing a great job of satisfying …
The second time SideWalk went into a 4th grade classroom to lead a writing workshop we were early. The guidance counselor was reading a story to the kids, all crowded on the reading carpet in the front of the room. Our six volunteers sat with them. The story was about a young boy, his mother, and younger sister who were moving to a motel to escape an abusive father. None of the children were shocked.
“What should the mother do?” the guidance counselor asked.
The girl …
I sat in the back seat of the truck’s cab, where i could see Hank’s hands, where I could either strangle him or dive out of the truck if he pulled out a gun, depending on how brave I felt.
“It’s coming up, on the right,” Hank said. “Just past that telephone pole.”
We pulled into a dirt driveway and passed a few single-wide trailers.
“That one,” he said, pointing to one in the back.
Phillip parked in front of the door and killed the engine.
Why did he turn off the engine?
A few quick things I’m reminding myself of every time I write:
1) Tell the truth, but don’t list the facts.
This is the breath of life of every story, and it applies to fiction and non-fiction alike
John Caspian is the founder and director of SideWalk Chalk, a non-profit in Charleston, SC that provides creative writing and visual art workshops in inner-city schools.
