From politics to economics to religion. From publishing to the arts to culture. From one topic to the next, it seems to me that more time was spent in 2008 talking about what is not rather than what is. More time talking about what’s wrong with the world than what’s right. More time focusing on our doom than our hope, which ought to be everlasting, by the way.

I watched online communities fill with hate and vitriol as people whom I respect proselytized without context or community and reduced and demonized the views of others. In horror, I watched myself get caught up in a few of those conversations and do the same. As a result, I walked away with diminished respect for quite a few people, including myself.

I watched my workplace, a place where some of my views and opinions seem to be part of a minority of one, become a veritable barroom of men who all shared the same opinion about the world, complaining about how any who doesn’t agree with them must be of a lower class of intelligence.

I had my sensibilies insulted this year, as I invariably insulted the sensibilities of others.

2008 was far too much about what’s wrong. What’s wrong with the economy. What’s wrong with society. What’s wrong with the other guy.

This guy is wrong because he believes in God. That guy is wrong because he chose not to vote. This guy is wrong because, even though he claims to be a Christian, I don’t really think he is because he doesn’t share my exact same faith. That guy is wrong because he believes that there is more than one way to solve a moral issue. That guy is wrong because he wants to pray about every decision he makes.

Even in fiction–in art–2008 seemed to be more about negativity than anything else. I watched this year in shock as people derided a wildly popular and accessible Christian book that was reaching people most Christian authors could only dream of reaching simply because the book didn’t align to the theological viewpoint of a few outspoken Calvinists. I watched lives and hearts change in response to the emotional message of true intimacy with God, while others told their congregations not to read it because of how God was depicted.

Of course, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that this very post is quite negative itself. All I’ve done so far, by pointing all of this negativity out, is add to it.

As I sit here early on a Saturday morning and write this, I can feel the crushing weight of negativity pressing down upon me, forcing my shoulders down into my chest. Forcing my eyes to become heavy and my mind to become numb. And the negativity, through the true voice behind it, is whispering to me. Telling me to see the validity of everything that I’ve written above and to embrace it. Telling me to accept this as the state of the world and to retreat into my corner, or to emerge and throw that negativity back into the faces of others.

And I could. At times in 2008, I certainly wanted to. At times, nothing was more tempting than the desire to raise my voice to the sky and shout out the sins of others with all I could muster. A few times I did, though not from the rooftops. Instead, my sweet and compassionate wife would listen as I engaged in the very thing I was deriding.

But another voice is stronger, albeit gentler. It’s one voice, rather than the voice of thousands, begging me to join in. It’s the only voice that matters.

That voice asks, “What about you?”

“What about your own anger and ignorance and negativity?”

“What about your own sins?”

And I hang my head, because I realize, in the grace and gentleness of that true voice, that I AM THE PROBLEM. Not the person on the other side of the political or moral spectrum who doesn’t see things my way. Not the person who seems to “have it in” for me and I can’t understand why. Not the guy in the other lane who doesn’t seem to be paying attention, or the guy clearly standing with his shopping cart on the wrong side of the aisle blocking my path and I really don’t like the grocery store in the first place so I wish he would get a clue and stop being so oblivious and MOVE HIS DAMN CART!

Nope. The problem starts and ends with me.

For me, 2008 was about negativity because I allowed myself to spend far too much time paying attention to the words and actions of others, and not enough to my own. Far too much time pointing out the flaws in the arguments of others, and not nearly enough eradicating the flaws in my own. Far too much time praying for others to be changed, and not enough for myself to be transformed.

That will not be 2009. And that is how I will answer the question that heads this post.

The way I will change the world in 2009 is the same way anyone who’s ever changed anything does: I will change myself. If I can do that, if I can submit to that gentle voice of infinite power, doesn’t the world become a better place because I am better in it?

That is redemption for me and for the world I affect.

Now multiply that by 6 Billion. And have a great year.

This post is part 2 in a series entitled Symbols of Redemption. For part 1, click here.

Last week, in part one of this series, I talked about my many incomplete journals. I admitted that I’m pretty good about coming up with new ideas and starting new things, but that I often have trouble carrying those ideas to completion.

Because this is so much a part of my personality, my journals became symbols of incompleteness beyond the blank pages themselves. They were symbols of brokenness, a lack of discipline, and all the unfinished ideas I couldn’t muster the strength to finish.

And often, those symbols led to guilt over what could have been, but wasn’t.

For some, guilt is a process of recognizing a mistake or flaw, and then taking corrective action. These days, that’s usually how I operate.

But in the Brandon Satrom era of 1997-2003, guilt was usually a prelude to pity, self-doubt and even more guilt.

I still remember those feelings. The enemy was very, very good at putting me in that place.

Any guesses on what would have been the last thing I wanted to do when I was trapped in the guilt cycle?

Write? Journal? Exactly.

Over time, the journaling slowed to a trickle, then stopped.

And then change came With another journal, in June of 2003. But not because there was another new journal, or because of how I obtained it.

Change came because it was time for change. God was at work, as he always had been.

The journal was from a friend. I was a groomsman in his wedding, and as a gift, he gave each of us something chosen with each individual in mind. He knew that I had a passion for writing, and so he presented me with a leather-bound journal.

It was a very thoughtful gift, and I was both honored and touched.

But the truth was that, by this point, I hadn’t written in a journal for years. The guilt cycle was so engrained that I’d almost forgotten it was there.

So I thanked my friend and put the journal aside, not really knowing what I would do with it.

In the days and weeks after, I began to wonder if it was time to try again.

After a month, I knew it was. Somehow, I knew it had to be different this time.

It was time to recover.

So, on July 19, 2003, I opened the cover of that leather-bound journal and wrote two words in large print on the page.

“Rehab Journal”

A journal of rehabilitation. A journal of change and growth. Somehow, I knew even then what was taking place. It was the beginning of another chapter. This one with the themes of completion, restoration and redemption.

This time, I knew it was time to finish. And, by finishing, it was time to start something new.

At the time, I had no clue that finishing would take four years…

1. That’s not even overlap. It’s more like one journal was nested inside the other. Does that even make sense?
2. Let’s assume that you actually did
3. Even today, I still browse the journal sections at B&B or Borders, though I hardly ever buy. I’ve become too much of a Moleskine snob.

“For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision means anything, but faith working through love.” – Galatians 5:6

Last week, in an extension to my review of David Gregory’s The Next Level, I spoke about faith being all about me, which David classifies as level four of five in his parable. I stated that I am often guilty of making faith about my personal satisfaction. In thinking about how I lived each day, I saw myself on level four as someone who concerns himself, most of the time, with how life and the world and others are affecting me.

Instead of how I am affecting life, the world and others.

And that’s level five. Faith working through love in the service of and sacrifice for others.

Meaning (your last questions, LL ) that the elevator ride from levels four to five is a shift from inward to outward living. From indulgent living to sacrificial living. The implication for me is that I need to find those areas where I am living life for myself and turn them around.

A lifelong journey, to be sure, and yet, after agonizing over all I’m not doing, I find myself on the road without even realizing it. For one thing, marriage is an exercise in self-sacrifice, as I am sure most would agree. I really had no clue how selfish I was until I got married. It’s something I still struggle with, but I think that one of the marks of the great marriage Sarah and I have is that we try to serve one another daily. Often, the things that bring me the most joy are the things I do for my wife.

Elsewhere, I’ve seen how involvement in community, when my first desire is to protect my “free time,” is a sacrifice of self that affects those I serve in ways I can never imagine. Last October, I volunteered with Big Brothers Big Sisters and started mentoring an 11-year old boy whose parents had been divorced. We meet every other week for several hours to hang out, play games, or just talk about life. It’s not about me at all, it’s about him.

When I was an 11-year old boy, with divorced parents, I also had mentors. Not through BBBS, but mentors just the same. Young men who gave of their “free time” to be with me and who left their mark upon me. Much of who I am today is because of my Grandfather, my Step-dad (heretofore “my Dad”), and a small handful of men who gave of themselves for my benefit.

That was faith working through love.

As someone who writes, I can see opportunities to give of myself to others, even though I spend a great deal of time on this practice in front of a computer screen. For starters, I can write the stories I am supposed to write. Stories that challenge faith and thinking. Stories that trigger hope and inspiration. Stories that are more than just cute, interesting, or self-indulgent.

Stories that offer truth and redemption.

I can also look at the examples of people like LL Barkat and Heather Goodman, who give of their time to read the words of others and offer encouragement, laughter and a sense of community that extends beyond a church group, and which doesn’t trouble itself with differences in denomination, political affiliation, genre, personal taste or writing style.

That’s faith working. And that’s the man I want to be.

For now, I know I don’t do any of these things enough.

The truth is, I probably never will.

But I know the truth. And when the truth affects me to the point of change, I believe that’s when the truth sets me free. Or as GI Joe would say:

Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never hurt me.

The second greatest travesty is the teaching of this little ditty, which is often used as a response to the first:

I’m rubber and you’re glue,
and whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.

Do you see it? Maybe not, but it’s there underneath the catchy and sing-song way in which these words are delivered in the schoolyard. There is a lie in those phrases. An outright one.

The lie is this: Your words have no affect on me. In essence, the lie is that words have no power. No meaning.¹

But as adults, we all know the truth. Each of us, regardless of what we do or don’t believe about Life, the Universe and Everything, knows that words are powerful. That words have meaning.

Life has taught us as much. And most of us probably know from experience that singing the words above to another on the playground (or even in the workplace if, say, you work for Mattel) never does seem to diminish the hurt we feel over what was said. We know that words can hurt, even if we say they don’t.

But we also know that words can heal, because we’ve experienced that as well. We’ve experienced the power that lies in the encouraging words of a parent, sibling, spouse, friend, or even a stranger. We’ve experienced the power of words in faith, in belief and in life.

Thus, we all know that words are meaningful, and that they can be used for good or for ill. Words can be used to cut down an argument, or to cut down an individual. They can be used to persuade others to join a noble cause, or to recruit for an unfortunate one. Words can be used to clarify, or they can be used to confuse. They can be used to love, or they can be used to hate. Words can be used to bridge our differences of opinion, faith or religion, or they can be used to paint a false picture of those who don’t share our politics, our beliefs or our values.

And in each and every case, there is a choice, not just for the sender, but the receiver as well. I should admit that I don’t really feel that teaching a child “sticks and stones” is a bad parenting decision, because the intent is to teach children to choose healing words over those that hurt. The problem is that the message often gets lost with an 8-year old who doesn’t understand why her friend would make fun of her hair today when she said she liked it yesterday.

It’s confusing to a child that words can hurt so much. It’s often still confusing to me. But I, and the child, still have a choice. A choice in what to do with what we’ve been told, and a choice in how we respond. And as for me, I choose words that heal. Words that redeem.

I chose the phrase “Words of Redemption” as the title of my blog because it is a title that describes my own journey. I believe that God has called me to write. I also believe that living out ones calling is a journey of redemption, mostly because it often seems that the world stands against us in our pursuit of a calling. Thus, to pursue a calling is to be redeemed. My calling is words. Words that result in my redemption. Hopefully, words which can be used to offer redemption to others. Not only do I wish to hear words that redeem, but I wish to speak them as well.

So let us acknowledge the awesome power of words. Let us recognize that they can be used for good or for ill. And let us teach ourselves, and our children, a new song. Maybe this one:

By cuts and barbs, I’ll show some scars,
but words will always heal me.

- B

While writing this, I was listening to “I Dare You to Move” by Switchfoot and “Bullet Proof … I Wish I Was” by Radiohead

Technorati Tags: Writing, Redemption

1. you may think I’m reaching here, and maybe I am. Thankfully for both of us, this is neither a policy speech nor a philosophy paper. It’s just a blog.

In November, not three days after I began NaNoWriMo, my right eye clouded over and became very uncomfortable. At first, I thought I was dealing with a case of eye strain since I had been spending a great deal more time at my computer writing. And while both of my eyes were hurting (that part probably was eye strain), the right one was worse. So after writing with one eye for a week, I decided to see an eye doctor and find out what was going on.

It turned out to be more than eye strain. According to the doctor, it was a condition called Uveitis (Wikipedia, but not for the faint of heart), which is an inflammation of the inside of the eye. My eye never looked as bad as the unfortunate soul who had to pose, Clockwork Orange style, for the picture at the link above, but it looked bad enough. And it was uncomfortable.

Worst of all, it was scary. I was just beginning to write seriously again, and all of the sudden I had some eye condition I’d never heard of before. The eyes are important for doing a lot of things, writing among them. So I did a bit of poking around online to learn more about this condition and see what I could expect.

Now, I haven’t dealt with many medical issues in the last several years, but one important rule I learned from this experience is this: never ever research your maladies online. As nice as the web is for learning everything about everything, there’s a reason doctors don’t tell us everything they know. Doing your own medical research is an invitation to find the worst possible prognoses and convince yourself that such is what’s in store for you. I had the mildest and most treatable form of Uveitis, but I managed to talk myself into thinking that very, very bad things were about to happen. I thought I was about to go blind, or that the eye doctor would eventually connect it to a brain-related issue, like a tumor. My mind went all over the place, and I was petrified.

In this state, all I wanted to do was let my fear breed more fear. I didn’t want to do much else, and I certainly didn’t want to write. That’s usually how these things work, I suppose. Our minds want nothing more than to dwell on the thing causing us adversity. To rail against it. To wish it away. But instead, we end up focusing on it to the determent of everything else. We become our adversity.

That was me in my fear, but only for an evening. The next day, I got up and wrote.¹ I wrote to deal with my fear by ignoring it. And as it turns out, my fears were groundless. Other than not being able to wear my contacts, still dealing with cloudy and blurry vision and having to put two different drops in my eyes as many as ten times a day for the last two months, I’m fine. And the condition is almost gone according to my eye doc, who has happily collected weekly co-payments from me for the past two months.²

But the end result is far beyond the point, because the message I wish to send is not “don’t worry about your adversity and everything will always turn out alright,” because that’s a lie. Life happens. Sometimes adversity breeds victory. Sometimes adversity breeds adversity. In either case, adversity comes, and I would hope that I’d be writing this post even if my vision had taken a turn for the worse. Why? Because I believe that adversity demands the same response from us, regardless of what it is, where it came from, and what we fear is yet to come. Adversity is a signal to carry on.

Here’s what I mean: Should I think that it was a coincidence that I started dealing with vision issues mere days after beginning the process of writing my first novel and feeding my creative self again? Not in the least. I think that adversity itself is a part of becoming. Becoming the man, woman, husband, wife, brother, sister, father, mother, child, friend or employee you always wanted to and knew you could be. It’s a test, and an attempt to keep you from being that person. It comes early, and it comes often.

And you have two choices when faced with adversity. You can run and hide, or you can stay and fight. I’ve done my fair share of the former in this life, and still struggle with the urge to retreat, especially when it comes to matters that threaten my intense desire to be liked by anyone and everyone. That urge never goes away. But it can be diminished when we choose the other option. Staying and fighting turns adversity into opportunity. For an artist, it might be using adversity to inspire creation. For a parent, it might be using adversity to raise a child. For a friend, it might be using adversity to understand the pain of others for the first time.

For all of us, it can be us using adversity to understand ourselves and what we’re made of. And to remind ourselves that we do have what it takes. Adversity often has within it the seeds of our own improvement. More than just the success of facing the challenge itself overcoming adversity often directly molds us and shapes us into who we are meant to be.

I know that this isn’t anything you don’t already know, but maybe it’s a nice reminder. What’s more, it’s a message I needed to tell myself today. Adversity came to pay me a visit again this morning. It’s nothing serious. It’s not medical or physical. But it is real. So I choose again to stay and fight, and my return salvo is this post. It is my arrow in the heart of adversity.

I hope that you’ll stay and fight too. I’ll stand with you.

- Brandon

While writing this, I was listening to “Little Heaven” by Toad The Wet Sprocket

Technorati Tags: Adversity, Inspiration

1. which the doctor affirmed was fine. I asked several times and he assured me that I didn’t need to do anything differently, aside from hoping that people wouldn’t notice my constantly dilated right pupil.
2. I tried not to notice the phat gold chain and diamond-encrusted glasses he was wearing when I visited yesterday.