Truth and fiction

I'm sitting here, just presently, with the movie "School of Rock" playing on television in the background (and incidentally I love this movie in the way only someone who went to an incredibly uptight, academically driven high school can) and thinking about the difference between fiction and non-fiction.

The way I learned the difference was this - non-fiction is truth, fiction is made-up and therefore not truth.

The trouble is, something's been tricked out of that definition.

I read far more fiction than non-fiction. Mostly because I find it more readable as a general rule.

But here's the thing - I've often felt guilty for preferring that which wasn't true to that which was.

And so, today, I've been thinking about the difference between fiction and non-fiction.

And I realized something - the definition I grew up with is wrong. The difference isn't truth, it's facts. Non-fiction recounts facts. Fiction recounts fables. Both can contain profound truth.

Take, for example, the novel I just finished. "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. A good novel, though not superbly profound. There was, however, one paragraph that took my breath away with the truth it shed on a particular relationship in my life.

This past year I've kept track of only the non-fiction books I've read, essentially a very small percentage of my total reading. I think, in the new year, I'll keep track of everything.

A friend of mine was sharing with me recently about her commitment to live a life without lines. Without lines separating things. This year I'm not going to draw lines around what contains truth. I'm going to look for truth wherever I can find it - in a memoir, or in the words of an Afghani novelist.

dreaming

I went to bed at 2 am. I set my alarm for 9:30 am. I woke up for the first time at 6:30am. Rolled over, realized it was 6:30 (when I normally get up for work), thought "no way in hell," rolled back over and went back to sleep.

Going back to sleep was my mistake. The dreams that had been below the surface came roaring into my reality.

Which is why it's now 8:45am, and I'm sitting here blogging and watching Grey's Anatomy on dvd. When I woke up again for the second time I just couldn't face going back to the dreams.

I work at being okay with the dreams, but every once in a while, I just don't quite know what to do with them. Today is one of those days. Not sure what to do about the things I saw. Not sure I understand most of them, but knowing there are things from them that are probably important.

Here's my thing. I think, that if the Lord is going to give someone dreams, He should also give them the gift of dream interpretation.

I'm tired of this. Tired of the dreams, and wondering what they mean. Tired of the confusion. Tired of how vividly real they are, and how they add to the load I'm already carrying.

I knew this would probably happen when I went to bed last night. There's something about talking to the friend I spoke with on the phone that always pulls me into a place of deeper awareness of the spiritual realm. That, plus, by the end of the night I knew I needed to spend some time praying and going to the deep places for a couple of situations. Going there generally means that I'll end up having a night like I did.

So, I knew it would likely happen. And I'll be okay. But right now, I'm tired, and an hour away from spending time with a friend that will probably end up being intense and requiring me to engage, to see and hear and be willing to go to the deep places for and with her. Right now I'm wishing I wasn't carrying the added load of dreams.

So I'm laying here, and giving my brain a rest by watching Grey's Anatomy. And in a little while, I'll get up, and get dressed, and pray, and head into my day.

Still Cranky (but improving)

It was a long day. (well, literally, I suppose, since it's after midnight, and I'm just sitting down to write). It's been a long week.

I'm not the biggest fan of the holiday season. It stirs stuff up. In me. In others. Not so pleasant stuff. Big stuff.

This has been the week where everything has come in flashes of intensity. Nothing simple and easy. Just intensity.

There have been moments of intense intercession for various people and things.

Mostly, though, there have been the moments of being intensely exhausted and angry, and working hard to shut God out, to not listen when I know that He's prodding me.

I was thinking, tonight, about how many people in my life have deep needs again. And how exhausting that can be for me. I'm trying to figure out which friends to see before I leave for Malta, and I find myself hesitating over the list. Trying to gauge and conserve energy. "If I see that person, I probably can't afford to see that other person." There aren't many on the list that I'd desperately love to see because I know that the time together would give life instead of taking it from me. And a few of them are busy. One lives out of province, but we'll try to connect by phone.

And then, I feel guilty. Guilty for ignoring God, for shutting Him out. Guilty for not wanting to see people I care deeply about, because I don't want to deal with the drain on my energy. Guilty because I know that if I see these people, I'll have to stop ignoring God.

I talked on the phone with a dear friend for over four hours tonight. We mutually vented, laughed as we discovered the rather similar spaces we're occupying this week, and I'm feeling better - lighter and somewhat less cranky for having shared these things with a friend. I value this particular friend deeply - our relationship was completely unexpected, but has been one of the greatest gifts of God to me in this crazy season of life I've found myself in. She offers perspective, a listening ear, things I have not often had access to in the past. We laugh together, which I love. And I'm always delighted to listen and offer whatever I have to give in return.

In one of the few moments of prayer that I had this week, I was reading further in the book of Daniel. I came across this passage in Chapter 10, and went back to it tonight, as I was chatting with my friend, and then sitting here, thinking and beginning to pray once again...

Daniel 10: 15-18
While he was speaking to me, I looked down at the ground, unable to say a word. Then the one who looked like a man touched my lips, and I opened my mouth and began to speak. I said to the one standing in front of me, "I am filled with anguish because of the vision I have seen, my lord, and I am very weak. How can someone like me, your servant, talk to you, my lord? My strength is gone, and I can hardly breathe."

Then the one who looked like a man touched me again, and I felt my strength returning. "Don't be afraid," he said, "for you are very precious to God. Peace! Be encouraged! Be strong!"

As he spoke these words to me, I suddenly felt stronger and said to him, "Please speak to me, my lord, for you have strengthened me."

I am praying this passage for some friends, but I am also praying it for my life.

I am praying for strength to return to me. I have felt this week the way Daniel describes at the beginning of the passage - unable to utter a sound. I have said to the Lord, "I am filled with anguish, and I am weak." I have been frustrated and exhausted, and I have desperately needed to hear the whisper of the Lord, "Don't be afraid. You are precious to me. Peace and encouragement on you. My strength I give you."

I think I'm beginning to hear that whisper, just the tiniest tickle from far away, and I am asking the Lord for it to grow louder, and for my strength to be restored.

I find myself thinking again, of that exclamation from earlier in the book of Daniel which so captured me (and continues to capture me) earlier this month. "There is no other God who can rescue like this!" (3:29b)

I need my God to be the one who offers that sort of rescue. The one about whom I can exclaim, "No one else could do this!"

I long for that rescue, that restoration, that peace.

Send it quickly, Lord.