Portuguese version of The Shack passes 2 million copies in Brazil in less than two years. Never happened before in Brazillian publishing history. So fun to watch! Wonderful to not be in control!

I take a sip. It’s very hot, just the way I like it, and the flavor is perfect for the dreary day and for my mood. I swallow the warmth and can feel it fall inside and reach fingers of comfort into even the hidden places.

“Want to talk about it?” she coaxes, sitting down with her own cup of something that I can smell is at least part coffee.

“Nope…and yes.” I don’t really know where to start and she’s patient. I love just being with Papa, knowing that he knows, even before I say anything and yet respectful as she waits. I still don’t know where to start and finally she helps me with a little verbal push.

“The book seems to be doing well?” I look up and she is grinning. Papa is talking about The Shack, the little fiction story that I wrote for my children.

“Nothing or no one does anything on its own, not even me.” The statement makes me smile and I am comforted in the knowledge that Jesus and Sarayu are also present though unseen. Her observation is one of those invitations to go deeper, but I decline and go another direction.

“Of course you know that people are writing and saying all kinds of things about me…and some of it is simply not true. They make assumptions about my beliefs and motives and character as if they know me, and some of them are my friends.”

“I take it,” she continues, “that you aren’t so much bothered by the good stuff they’re writing and saying. Very complimentary, some of that.”

This time I laugh. “I get your point. Lots of that isn’t true either. I’m not that brilliant for sure. But even though compliments are a little hard to receive, they are definitely easier than the negative stuff.”

“Such as…?” she is leading me, but I am more than ready to follow.

“You know, there a few that are saying that I have a subversive agenda to destroy orthodoxy…”

“Maybe, but have you read some of those articles and blogs…of course you have, and the emails where people think that I should burn in hell.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, it’s often true that the way people positively or negatively respond to a story tells you something of where they are at, more than about you.”

I pause and take another sip of tea. “Yeah, that helps some. I know that the overwhelming majority are wonderfully positive; folks whose lives you are touching, people taking significant steps in their healing process.”

“As wonderful as that is, it doesn’t mean that the vocal minority are not valuable and important…they matter to me.”

Whatever reserve I thought I had, she had just punched a hole it. “See, there you go…being all loving n stuff. Sometimes I would like you to just be on my side. People are saying that I believe all kinds of things that I don’t and sometimes they are just mean. Why don’t you do something about it? Why can’t you protect me better?” My emotional flurry ends and I am not even looking at her but at the floor. Some old patterns take time to break.

I have come to know Papa well enough to know that my little tantrums are never anything that divides us. It’s like ‘open up the window, let the bad air out’. Anyway, thoughts harbored inside always seem more justifiable and brilliant than when exposed; then they often look like the silly little rascals that they are. But she never shames me, even in this.

“Child, I am always on your side.” She shifts toward me and I look up into her teasing smile. “Would you like me to smite them, would that make you feel better?”

I laugh and begin to cry at the same time. “Yeah, a little smiting would be good…with a touch of wrath…yeah I think that might help. Isn’t that always what we self righteous people want?”

“Way too often,” she states, and hands me a tissue to blow my nose.  “It’s always a good thing to know that you’re still in a process of healing, isn’t it? Like I said, I know exactly how you feel. But emotions don’t always tell you the truth. They tend to point you in the direction of what you perceive and believe.” She pauses and then continues, “So, tell me what in particular is being said that’s bothering you.”

“Let’s see,” I begin, running through my mental list, “Uh… that I am a universalist that I am an adherent of various religions, that I hate the Church…” I continue until I have exhausted everything I can think of. When I am done, Papa adds a few items that I’d forgotten or hadn’t even heard yet.

“Thanks, that makes me feel better,” I respond a little sarcastically.

“No problem. I just figured if you are going to make a list, you might as well put everything on it. Do you want me to tell you some of the stuff they’ll come up with in the future?

“You know that I’m not. I know that faith in Jesus is the only way into your embrace; that only what you did on that cross saves us.”

“So let me ask you this. I take it that it wouldn’t bother you if I decided to save every human being that ever lived?”

“Nope. I actually hope that you’ve figured a way to do just that.”

“Yeah, because I used to think that I was better than other people and that I needed to be rewarded for my efforts. I used to think that if I had to resist the ‘pleasures of sin’ then it wouldn’t be fair if you saved those people who got to do what I wasn’t allowed to. That was before I realized how hurtful and enslaving those ‘pleasures’ really are and how all my ‘religious’ efforts were ineffective at actually changing me.”

“Okay, then let me ask you this. Would it bother you if it’s my purpose to allow the majority of the human race to experience a place in which they will be tormented for infinite duration?”

I think carefully before speaking. “Emotionally, yes. Sorry, but the very idea troubles me a great deal. You’re talking about people that are precious to me, and people I know ‘you are especially fond of’…so yes it would bother me a lot… if I had my way no one would end up in hell for eternity.”

“But, what if that’s exactly what I am purposing to do, to allow people because of their ongoing choice of independence to experience and be lost in that independence forever with no possibility of escape? Would you trust me in that?”

I am silent for a while as I wrestle with the question. “Yeah, as much as I wouldn’t understand it, I do know that I can trust you and I am convinced about your character. Our only and final hope is that you are Good and that you are involved and loving. So if that is your intention and purpose, as hard as it is for me to understand or emotionally comprehend, I know that it’s motivated by both your goodness and love. I still don’t like it, but I do trust you.”

We both pause to take a sip of our drinks, steam lazily rising from the rims. I am thinking about what I have just said and it has sparked a new question.

“I guess here is my real question in all this…why couldn’t you have made things clear? People go to the Bible and find all these ways to disagree with each other, even or especially theologians. Everybody seems to want to acquire their little piece of doctrinal territory and put fences around it so only those with the secret handshake can get in. Some find support for Universal Reconciliation; some find proofs for eternal torment in hell, and some find it just easier to annihilate everyone who doesn’t make it.” Now I am ranting, but can’t seem to help myself. “The Calvinists find all their verses to debate the Armenians, who find their list. Then there are the ones who believe in eternal security fighting with the ones that don’t.  Every silly idea of eschatology finds its own proof texts and in the middle of all these debates it seems that love is all that gets left behind. We even find ways to fight about grace and love. Couldn’t you have just made it simple and clear; unambiguous?”

I look up and Papa has a big grin on her face, but I don’t return the smile. Without really understanding why, this question is suddenly important to me and I can sense that it has threads connecting many of my internal conflicts.

Papa simply let me tread water in my rant for a while, until some of the emotional residue subsides. “Do you think that all this has surprised me?” she asks gently? “Do you think that I thought, ‘There, they now have the scriptures; they will totally get this’?   Human beings are very creative. They have an incredible facility to take some of the simplest and most obvious truths and make them ambiguous. If I didn’t know better, it would surprise even me.”

“But,” I am struggling to keep my question from becoming an accusation, “Why couldn’t you have made it clearer? How hard would it have been to just have one of the writers put truth down in such a way that there would be no confusion?”

I look up and she is still grinning, obviously enjoying the conversation more than I am. “Like a FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions) at the back of the Bible?” I roll my eyes, even though part of me thinks that might have been a good idea. Papa pauses to take another sip of her steaming whatever. “Have you ever thought that ambiguity, that mystery, might have purpose?” she posed.

The question actually surprises me and I begin to feel the uneasiness that usually precedes my paradigms being challenged. “Nope. I’ve never thought about that at all. I’ve spent most of my life so focused on certainty, that ambiguity and mystery have always been, sort of…the enemy. Are you telling me that ambiguity is a good thing?”

“Just think about it.  I have embedded ambiguity in everything, even physics? Do you really think that was a mistake? Do you really think that you humans have caught me off guard; that I am wringing my hands in heaven because some of your theologians have managed to misunderstand so much of what I have revealed? Do you think that your propensity to find ways to fight with each other is shocking to me? Could I have written scripture outside of a story, in bullet point outline, or had the prophets produce a massive FAQ? When Paul was killed by stoning and ascended into the spiritual dimension and I showed him things that for him would no longer be ambiguous, when I returned him to his body to finish the purposes we were working out together, why did I require that he not speak of what he saw? When John heard the thunders speak in Revelation, why was he forbidden to write what he heard?”

Papa opened her arms wide, “Because I delight in ambiguity. I relish what mystery brings to the table. It’s not that I don’t delight in clarity; after all, the Scriptures themselves are about revealing me so that you can know me.  But part of that revelation is that I am completely different than you and you will never completely comprehend me or my ways.”

I am still at a loss and struggling for some ground that is firm. “I’m sorry but I don’t get it. What exactly is the value and purpose of ambiguity?”

“For one, it reveals the heart of the individual.  In fact, mystery is at the center of both relationship and faith.”

“Are you saying,” I am stunned and struggle for the words, “you introduced all this ambiguity… on purpose?”

“Of course! I didn’t want you to become ‘people of the book’, in the sense that everything is reduced to some form of performance as mandated by written words, where you would end up in the seats of the judges to mete out retribution on all those who failed to live up to those words. I didn’t want you to replace tablets of stone for tablets of paper.”

“Of course he does. But you cannot separate him from love. For anyone to stand up on my behalf to protect me or defend me, and not express love inside the embrace of Truth, it is better they remain silent.”

I sit back a little stunned. I want to argue but can’t find anything that counters the simplicity and elegance of Papa’s words.  “Okay, I think I get what you’re telling me; that we aren’t very good at loving, but a lot better at defending our turf.”

“See, another great reason for mystery. The ambiguity of belief, of doctrine, reveals the motives and the dark places of the heart…the places that need to be healed. Religious self righteousness and intellectual snobbery are kissing cousins. Intelligence was never created as a justification for the absence of kindness and respect and love. Do you remember the community of faith at Ephesus. I wrote a letter to them in which I commended their ‘orthodoxy’, that they wouldn’t put up with the Nicolaitans…”

“Not important right now, “ she cuts me off and continues. “The point is that they were all about theology and doctrine, but I removed their light, their influence, their very life; not because of doctrine but because they no longer knew how to express the love who is Truth that indwelt them. Ambiguity and mystery constantly raise real questions. In the face of uncertainty and differences of idea and belief, will we stop loving? Will I descend to the acquisition and defense of territory and turf? Will I even stop loving my enemy, let alone my brother or my sister?”

“Like you stated yourself, it is because love doesn’t come naturally to you. The closest you have is how you love your own children but even that is only a reflection of what love truly is. Turf and territory have always been about independence, while love is only present in dependence.”

We are silent for a few minutes while I try to organize the jumble of thoughts crashing around inside my paradigm. Papa, aware of my struggle, speaks first.

“Not everything is ambiguous or a mystery. There is much that is clear and evident. I even wrote it down for you. Very clear, very unambiguous. It is all over the scriptures. Start with I Corinthians 13…clear as the nose on your face. The question is why have you turned the clarity of love into something ambiguous?”

Again I am silent for minutes, allowing the words to penetrate in some deep and special places. “I still don’t like being lied about,” is all I can finally say.

“Ah…” Papa leans back, “The ambiguity of human existence. Not knowing everything or having all the answers. Now you might begin to understand that mystery is not only the center of relationship but also of faith. Faith grows in its embrace of the certainty of my character in the face of the uncertainty of existence.”

“Okay, I am beginning to understand why you love mystery and ambiguity. But I still find it unsettling.”

“That is such a wonderful place to be.” She pauses long enough for me to understand and then adds, “If it helps a bit, you do realize that no one can do anything to you unless I allow it?”

“And if I allow it, I already have purposes that will work these matters out in the best and most loving way, for all involved. Are you alright with that?”

I again finally nod as I submit to Papa’s love and hug. I hadn’t even heard her approach. “Anyway,” she whispers, wrapping me up in her tender but firm embrace, “the presence of pain doesn’t indicate the absence of love. Often pain is present because of love.  I also don’t remember promising anyone that there would be no crosses to bear. But don’t let that concern you either. I’m good with crosses.   Together we can do this.”

Me, I tend to stay in the background.  Not very fond of the attention we’re getting, so I hang around the fringes; suits me just fine.  I’m not one to put myself out there, like some of the others.  To be honest, I’m not very brave and not above being disappointed.  But here is the strange thing.  I don’t know what it is about me, maybe because of my baby face (I’ve never been able to grow a full beard), whatever it is I seem to attract the strange ones.  You know the ones, that hang around the fringes of everything that is going on, people who don’t really have the want or nerve to approach Jesus directly.  So they seek me out. 

I actually try and blend in with the crowd, but it usually only works for awhile.  I must have this sign on my back that says, "He’s one of them" because sooner or later some guy will sidle up next to me and start asking me questions as if I were some sort of expert on Jesus.

So today, I am sitting down, minding my own business, trying again to figure out where I fit into all this, and sure enough this guy plops himself right down next to me.  I close my eyes; pretending to be praying.  Perhaps I actually am.  Does "Go Away!" qualify as a prayer?  Even with my eyes shut I can feel him waiting, silent…ready to pounce.  I finally barely open one eye for a sneak peak and he is about a foot away staring right at me.  He sees that I am conscious and it’s all the permission he needs.  He’s dressed like a Galilean, but you can’t really tell these days.  Rumor is the Jesus is a Galilean, and now everybody wants to look like one.  This guy is probably a fake Galilean, maybe even from uptown Jerusalem.  I am not in a very graceful mood.

"May I ask you a question?" he begins.

I grunt, "Besides that one?"  He’s either not impressed by my wit or too dumb to get it, his face remaining impassive.  He then glances around a little furtively, as if to make sure that no one is close enough to eavesdrop on our conversation.  He scoots even closer and leans my direction.  I want to scoot away, but out of rebellion I hold my position.

"So," his voice is hushed and secretive, "Who is he then?"

 "Oh, here we go," I think, "another person who wants to ask me questions about Jesus that I can’t answer."  I try and be evasive, but I find myself whispering too.

"Who is who? I ask.

He scoots a bit closer.  "You know."  His face now shows ready anticipation; eyebrows raised and waiting my response. 

I return his inquiry with the best ‘I have really no idea what you are talking about’ look and a little shake shrug of my shoulder.

He is perturbed, but only for a moment.  He then grins and scoots even closer until I fear he will crawl onto my lap.  His breath radiates goat and garlic. 

"I get it," he smiles, "you are just playing with me.  C’mon, you can tell me."  He nods as if to encourage my response.

"Who are you talking about?"  I mutter, wishing this man would leave me alone to tend to my sore and dirty feet. 

"The good Samaritan, you know, that guy that Jesus just told us about.  I want to know who he is.  I would like to meet him."

Now I am wide awake.  I grin at this man thinking that he is joking, but the intensity of his face communicates that he is dead serious.  "You want me to tell you who the good Samaritan is, like…his name?"

"Exactly!  I want to go and talk to him. I would like to understand what I can about his journey, anything really that might give me insight into how he got to the place where he could exhibit the kindness and compassion of God like he did."

We sat there for a frozen moment, he looking expectantly at me and me trying to find the right words to let the boy down gently.  What I really want to do is laugh and not too quietly either. 

"Uh…that story Jesus told you?  You know…that…it’s a parable right?

"Of course.  That is what everyone is calling it."  He pauses, glancing around and then back. "Tell me, what exactly is a parable?"

"It’s a story."

"Oh, like the story of Moses or Abraham or David?"

"Well, no…"  I am still searching for the right words.  "It isn’t a story like history, but a story, well…that he made up."

It takes only a moment for what I said to register, but I can see the inner realization paint a a furrowed look on his face.  "He…made it up?  Are you telling me that the story isn’t even true?"

"Yes," I answer, "he made it up.  But…" I quickly add, "It is true!"  As soon as the words escape my lips I know they will not help.

"So, if it’s true, then who is he… the Samaritan guy in the story?"

"There is no specific Samaritan guy.  Jesus made him up.  But the story really is true."

He sits back, a look of disappointment clearly visible.  "OK, I am confused.  You are telling me that the story is true, but Jesus made up the Samaritan guy, the main character…just ‘poof’ made him up?"

"Exactly!"

"And the Priest…made up too I suppose?"  I nod.  "And the lawyer."  I am nodding still as he continues the litany.  "…the bandits, the innkeeper, the kindness…all made up?"

I shrug and he sits back, looking skyward, gesturing with hands upturned.  He finally looks back at me.  "And the story is true."  He states it like an accusation.  I nod again.

"Oi, how can it be true?  Everything is made up.  The Samaritan, the Priest, the robbery…the only thing that is real is the road, cuz I’ve been on it."  He is allowing the emotion to build inside.  "I must tell you, I am very upset about this.  Your Jesus…you are with him right?"

He pauses, and I nod, "Yes, I am one of his students and he is my rabbi."

"Well, your rabbi really had me going.  I truly felt what he was saying.  I could embrace this man’s pain and I was thrilled at this Samaritan’s actions.  You must understand…" he glanced around and leaned closer, "…this ‘story’ meant a lot to me personally…you see…" he whispers, "I am a Samaritan."  A tear slowly slides down his cheek, his jaw slightly quivering, "And now…" he was fighting the emotions, "…now you are telling me that it isn’t even true."

I was stunned.  I had not seen this coming.  My sore and dirty feet were no longer a concern for me.  Pain and anger and disappointment masked his face and he was looking to me for something, some kind of healing, some explanation that would return some hope.

"But don’t you see?  It is true.  That’s what a parable does.  It uses a story to tell the truth in a way that gets by your training and your defenses.  I think you might be confusing facts with truth, thinking that what seems to be ‘real’ should be the same as what is true!"

"Please," he is almost begging.  "Help me understand."

 ’Me?’ I am thinking.  I look up, trying to appear to be in deep thought, but I am really looking around to see if Jesus is anywhere nearby.  He is not.  "Ok, let me see.  Well, everything in the story is real, that is, the road between Jericho and Jerusalem is real, there are real bandits on that road, real people including priests, lawyers and lots of us normal people travel that road when we have to, and there are such ‘real’ people as Samaritans."  I gesture toward him, but not in any way that would draw attention.

"But this didn’t really happen?"

"Maybe it did.  Frankly, I have never thought to ask.  But that is not the point of the parable.  All the elements are real and this could actually happen.  Parables are not as concerned with facts and reality as they are about communicating the truth."  He still wasn’t getting it.  "Uh…it’s like a joke," I offer.

"This is a joke?"  He looks incredulous.

"No, it’s like a joke, you know, there was this rabbi and this priest and a donkey…"

"I’ve heard it…not too funny."

"You’ve heard it?  The one where the mother-in-law…"

"Yup, heard it.  I didn’t think it was that funny."

"I thought it was hilarious…oh, well, the point is that it doesn’t really matter if the events actually happened or not.  We laugh because the joke points to something that we know is true.  So, Jesus is telling the parable to open our eyes to something that is much more important than the individual pieces that make up the story.  The truth of a story like this parable is much more significant than just the sum of its parts, in fact, Truth belongs to a different realm of existence and significance than facts and reality."

The man had dropped his gaze to the ground between his feet, listening, and suddenly sat straight upright, his eyes dancing.

"I understand!  It’s not about the actual elements of the story.  It is really about the Truth…that is what truly matters.  It is not about me meeting the Good Samaritan, it is about me meeting the Truth."

"Exactly!"  And now I am dancing inside and I too understand in a way I had not before.  "The kindness of God has no boundaries; not social, not religious, not political.  The choices made by the Samaritan are contrary to all the hate and prejudice so much a part of the world we live in."

"In fact," now he jumps in, "the Samaritan was the only truly free man in the story.  No one else is free.  And Jesus calls him the ‘Good’ Smaritan because he is exhibiting the very life of the only Good One, who we know is only God."

Now the tears are flowing and I am wiping my own off my face.

"You know what this means?"  His face is full of light.  "It can be me.  I can be the Good Samaritan.  I can be the one who is free.  I don’t have to do what my hurt and pain tell me.  It can be me that acts with the goodness of God…me!"

And we embrace, a Jew and a Samaritan.  And I am thrilled, but at the same time grieved at my own darkness of heart.  For even as we embrace, even as we thrill to the glory of the Truth of what we are sharing, I was still glad that he looked like a Galilean and not a…"

Willie…First, let me apologize for the long email below. I wanted to tell you my story and share with you how Papa has worked in my life since reading The Shack. Sixteen months ago, my life was turned upside down when I was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. The doctors informed me that I would require aggressive dosages of chemotherapy to shrink the tumor and suppress the growth of the cancer. I also underwent surgery to remove the primary tumor. After 7 months of going every two weeks for my treatment, my body had nearly giving up. I reacted very poorly to the chemo and suffered many miserable days and nights from the effects. After taking a break from treatment for 5 months to undergo two surgeries, I was once again facing four more rounds of chemo. After my second round I could hardly go on — all of the side effects I had suffered over the previous year came rushing back in just two treatments. I felt as though my body was going to shut down. About this time my dear friends asked if they could come over to the house and read me a book they thought I would enjoy. That Saturday, the Sundas arrived around 9 AM with a small paperback book titled The Shack. I must admit that I was feeling better that day and really didn’t want to sit on the couch and have my husband and friends take turns reading this book aloud to me. As one began reading the first chapter, I still was wondering why she thought she needed me to hear this book. Another read the next chapter and another the next. Dozens of books about dealing with and living through cancer had been given to me by well thinking friends — The Shack I thought is just another book that I can throw on the bookshelf in the upstairs guest room. I was angry that I was going through this and I didn’t want to sit and listen to chapters being read aloud. When Mack opened his mailbox and found the letter, everything changed. I began to listen intently. They read on to the point where Mack approaches the shack and meets Papa. My friends then closed the book, handed it to me, prayed for me and quickly left as they were late for a lunch appointment. The rest of the afternoon, my husband and I spent reading The Shack, pausing often to laugh or cry or discuss a revelation that Papa brought to our hearts. Nearly forty three years ago, I was born in New York City to Puerto Rican parents who pastored a small independent church in the Bronx. Legalism ruled my life as I attempted to abide by all the rules that I was taught in the church. I quickly rebelled as I knew I could never do enough to please the god of these rules, so at 13 I turned my back on the church and my parents stopped making me attend. Ten years later, I recommitted my life to God and began attending my parents’ church. About this time my friend John and I began dating and were married in 1987. My husband did not know what he was getting himself into. I never talked about the physical and sexual abuse I had suffered as a child by family members and by people in the church. My siblings had suffered like abuse. My parents before us were both abused as children. My family lived one life for others to see and another that no one ever saw. I always hated people telling me that they wished they could be part of our family — if they only knew. My husband had grown up as a missionary kid in Africa to parents that served the Lord for nearly 50 years. I used to joke and call his family “the Walton’s.” We began attending some churches in the many cities we lived in over the first several years. I began to see a different God than the one that I had been introduced to all of my life. But I still only believed in spurts. When times were going well, everything was well. When trouble came or times got tough, I quickly reverted back to thinking that I was being punished because of disbelief or disobedience. You can imagine how I felt when I was diagnosed with advanced stage cancer. Thoughts from my childhood filled my mind — what had I done to deserve this? I remembered thinking as a child about how God and Satan were not much different. At least with Satan, I knew where I stood. I believed that God was watching at all times to strike me down when I messed up. For years I thought that God told my mother when I was sinning. It wasn’t until I was married that my one sister told me that my mother would ask me questions in my sleep and I would answer her. Now that I had cancer and didn’t know how much time I had left to live, I began to revert back to these early thoughts. I knew that I had disappointed God by not being obedient over the years. I didn’t pray enough, I didn’t spend enough time reading the Bible, I didn’t use my voice to sing on the worship team at church. These were just some of the thoughts that raced through my mind. I wasn’t afraid of dying, I was afraid of the disgusted look on God’s face when I would meet him face to face. (emphasis by ‘Willie’) As I read about Papa, Jesus and Sarayu, a sense of relief flooded my heart. I understood that Papa really loved me, mess and all. When he looked at me it was not with disgust, but delight. I was not being punished; He was taking this terrible situation and bringing hope to me. God wasn’t out to punish me; he redeemed me and wanted to have a relationship with me. When Papa tells Mack that he did not disappoint them because they don’t have any expectation of him, a light came on. I realized that I was not a disappointment to Papa, he didn’t have a list of rules that prevented me from pleasing him. The fresh love of Papa flooded over me as I sat on my patio reading. I could go on endlessly about specific parts of the story and what they meant to me, but let me simply say that since reading The Shack (twice now — I broke out the highlighter on the second read), my relationship with Papa, Jesus and Sarayu has become real. I feel a sense of ease in their presence. Thank you for sharing Mack’s story. Besides the Bible, this book has impacted my life more than any other book. I thank Papa for the clarity The Shack has given me and I pray that people everywhere will be impacted by it. ______________________________________________________________________________________

Okay, now you have to try and understand how weird this is.  I am sitting in Eagle Creek, in a rented house, writing a story for my kids.  I am not writing a story that I intend or expect will be published.  Actually the thought never even entered my mind.  I was going to write this thing as a gift, then go down to Office Depot or Kinkos or somewhere and photoshop a cool cover, put it in a spiral bound book sort of thing, and that would be that.

So, I didn’t have to follow any normal rules about writing something.  Actually, I didn’t even really know or care about what the normal rules might be…never thought about it.  I wanted my kids to enjoy a story and through the story to understand there own father better and the God that their father is so in love with.  I even had this brilliant idea to have Willie (me) ghost-write the story for Mack, and so on my very first Title Page, it said, The Shack, written by Mackenzie Allen Phillips, with William P Young.  I thought it was clever and that the kids would get a laugh out of it.

This means that Mack, of course, is not a ‘real’ person.  My children would recognize that Mack is mostly me, that Nan is a lot like Kim, my wife, that Missy and Kate and the other characters often resemble our family members and friends.  So it was no big deal…until the first version of the loose leaf book sort of ‘got out’ (because people kept passing it to their friends), and I find out that somebody in California and somebody in Canada think seriously about buying plane tickets to come to Oregon to meet and talk to Mack.  Now that would have been a little embarrassing, don’t you think?  So we removed Mack as the author, but I kept the ghost-writer idea as a story element…which is still causing some problems but not near what could have happened the other way.

Is the story ‘real’?  The story is fiction.  I made it up.  Now, having said that, I will add that the emotional pain with all its intensity and the process that tears into Mack’s heart and soul are very real.  I have my ‘shack’, the place I had to go through to find healing.  I have my Great Sadness…that is all real.  And the conversations are very real and true.  While Mack experiences some particulars that I have not (the death of my niece the day after her fifth birthday was a horrible accident, but not a murder), there are depths of pain and shame and hopelessness that I have experienced, that Mack did not.  And I know people who have suffered exactly what Mack suffers in the story. 

So is the story true?  The pain, the loss, the grief, the process, the conversations, the questions, the anger, the longing, the secrets, the lies, the forgiveness…all real, all true.  The story in particular… fiction… but….  Then there is God who emerges so very real and true, unexpected and yet not unexpected, but surprising and…       

So… is all this real?  Is all this true?  I suppose each of us has to decide for ourselves, don’t we?

So…I am riding the Max for 40 minutes each way from Gresham, OR to downtown Portland where I was working.  This is during Feb – April 2005, and I start taking yellow legal pads and joting down ‘conversations’.  Remember, I am thinking about writing this for my kids, so I am searching for a good vehicle to communicate through.  I figure a good story would be great…but I didn’t have one.  So I started with what I did have…conversations.  So, off and on, for about three months I wrote down conversations; conversations that I was having with God mostly, but which often included friends or family. 

You gotta understand something…I had not plan here.  In fact, when I first even thought about this project, all I could think about was doing a sort of dictionary of rambling opinions…you know, ‘A’ for Astronomy, and Art, and Aristotle, and Anarchy, and Adultery, and Absolutes, and Anti-nomianism…anything that I had an opinion about…don’t laugh.  Actually, it is quite funny…looking back.  But I was pretty serious about trying to do something systematic and organized…make my kids proud. 

But as soon as I got into these ‘conversations’ all that systematic stuff fell away.  I became enamored with these unrelated and intriguing conversations.  At one point I was going to call this little book for my kids, ‘Conversations with God’, but then I found out somebody had already written that book and even turned it into a movie.  For me these conversations were alive and I found myself waking up in the middle of the night and writing down scraps of dialogue.  More often than not, when I looked at those bits and pieces in the morning I couldn’t make heads or tails of what I had written down and it usually made no sense at all…but I remembered vaguely that it had been soooo cool! 

So, in May, 2005 I had a few yellow pads pretty much filled up and a whole bunch of scraps of paper; edges of newspapers, parts of napkins (serviettes for you cultured folk), backs of grocery store receipts etc.  I was a little concerned that a good wind could blow it all away and so I decided that I needed to input my notes into the computer.

The first Saturday I started working on inputting was the first time I decided that a ‘story’ would be the right vehicle for these conversations.  I didn’t have one (a story), but I thought it was a great idea.  So I began to create characters in situations that would allow my conversations to occur.  These conversations were very ‘real’ to me, buried in the experiences and processes of my life…mostly over the last fifteen years.

This ends this particular background blog…I am actually going to pick up the story, sort of, in another blog called "Is the Story of THE SHACK true…is Mack a real person?"  Then I will come back and pick up things where this and that blog leave off.

I have been laying a little low with regard to blogging lately…still trying to upgrade my site (getting there)…eagerly awaiting our first two grandbabies (within the next 1-4 weeks, most likely)…moving the business I work for to a new location (finally settled in and phones and Internet are working)…general fun and relationships…summer stuff.

Thought you might to look over my shoulder a bit again and watch grace unfold in small wonderful unveilings:

MY EXPERIENCE AT THE SHACK

I received in an e mail earlier this week and it has inspired me to read this book again. My weekend is planned now…..as I began to read this morning I ran across a line that has been one of my constant traveling companions from the time I first read it while walking through a painful family experience last spring. I use it often.

"GRACE RARELY MAKES SENSE FOR THOSE LOOKING IN FROM THE OUTSIDE."

The thought that precedes this in the book is this:

"I suppose since most of our hurts come through relationships so will our healing."

I have had a few of those relationships this past year that have so helped in the healing I had needed for so long. The author of this book being one of them. The words and stories in this book and his words to me personally have been like dipping my feet into a cool gentle flowing stream on a hot and humid Midwest summer day.

Those other friends I speak of, if you are reading this, you know who you are, and I cherish every moment I have with you all. My prayer and my hope is that we all are so captured by the love and the freedom that our awesome Father has for us and longs for us to walk in.

If you haven’t read this book or if you have and didn’t like it, don’t sweat it……Father is bigger than words on the pages of a book….even the Bible. But let us not forget that great stories written by those that have touched him and even more importantly been touched by him, can reveal something of him and his love that we might not see on our own. With that being said, if you are so moved to read The Shack or the Bible or any other story written by someone who is experiencing a wonderful relationship with Father, you might just be surprised by who you find there?

   I've just written up last week's meeting and your waterfall picture seems

   to fit the bill rather well. May I leave it there? If not, I'm sure I can find a

   waterfall photo of my own, but nothing even nearly as amazing.

   I think it's a truly great photo. The light in the leaves is just fantastic.

   Jim, where is that spectacular waterfall? Looks like 'The Shack' country for

   sure. Now I'm envious about your countryside!

What a wonder our Shepherd and King truly is. He knows the unknowable and his works are amazing! Praise him! Bless him! Thanks Lord, for Jim, for ‘The Shack’, for William Young who wrote it, above all for your forgiveness which it portrays so amazingly, and this walk through a sometimes dark world in the knowledge that there’s a mighty welcome at the end of the trail. HalleluYah!
 

 
I told myself I wouldn’t tell this story publicly until Heidi (my beautiful wife) had read The Shack, but I now told her the story so I can share it with you.

When I went to the home church conference in April in Salem, we decided to go visit the Imago Dei in Portland and skip the Sunday activities.  After Imago Dei, we stopped at Multnomah Falls in the Columbia River Gorge on the way back.  While there, I snapped a picture of my little girl (Hannah, 7 years old) at the falls, on my cell phone.

The NEXT DAY, I read The Shack.  Multnomah Falls is the very place that the family stopped before arriving in the Northeastern Oregon wilderness (where his daughter disappeared).  During the two days it took me to read the book, I nearly deleted the picture from my phone a hundred times because of the immediate tie to the pain of the main character.

But because of how the story turned out, and the closeness with the Father that resulted, I decided to keep the pic on there as a reminder.

I LOVE God’s sense of humor, and His desire to jump out and surprise.  Could someone forward this to Mr. Young, or give me his email address so I can share this story with him?  Thanks!

Dear Mr. Young,

I wanted to write you a short note of thanks for this wonderful book,
and also share a few testimonies.  I heard your interview with Wayne
Jacobsen on the God Journey and knew that this book would be worth
buying.  I was not disappointed.  After reading it, I ordered another
dozen books to hand out.  I felt that I should give these books to
people who are stuck in the pain of their childhood and living their
relationship with God out of their intellect doing their best to
please God – a God they never feel is  pleased with them!  So far,
the feedback is amazing.  My own brother-in-law has just started
reading the book.  He was blown away by the foreword.   He totally
identified with Mack!  John’s  father was an alcoholic who regularly
beat him, shamed him, and preached at him!  Needless to say, His view
of God has been very twisted and his walk with God very legalistic.
He feels the call of evangelism in his life and beats himself up
daily for not fulfilling that call.

I gave The Shack to a family who was pushed out of their church
through a misunderstanding with a new, young pastor.  They had
faithfully served as elders and one of their children was a youth
minister for many years.  They have struggled with the pain of
rejection, false accusations,  "homelessness" in the Body of Christ,
God’s plan for them, etc.  The mom just finished reading the book and
she cried all the way through it.  She ordered a book for each family
member because she plans to reread her copy and didn’t want to give
it out.  This family has a true heart for the youth of our city and I
foresee such a healing in their lives that each and every one of them
will impact this next generation with the love and presence of God
that will easily flow from their lives.  There are so many
fatherless, abandoned children in our State!

I also recommended The Shack to some friends (a couple) who pastored
a Pentecostal church for 7 years, crashed and burned, and are now
struggling with God, life, people, the future, anger…etc.  They had
a hard time believing that God could be that approachable, loving and
kind. Every religious mindset and prejudice within them rose up and
became defensive about their image of God – the old, white, bearded
deity who is holy and sits on a throne demanding their worship. I
challenged them that possibly the book touched every lie, prejudice,
and religious stronghold in order to bring this stuff into the light
so that they could be set free to become intimate with the God who is
also called Papa (Abba).  They decided to reread the book along with
the gospel of John and ask God to reveal every prejudice and
religious mindset they have embraced because of years of western
religious indoctrination vs. a true knowledge of God!     While they are
not yet totally convinced that they can have an experiential and
intimate relationship with a loving God, they ordered more books to
hand out to their family members!!  I can see the Holy Spirit melting
away the layers of religion that have almost suffocated them.

My husband and I have walked with Christ for over 25 yrs. We served
as leaders in the traditional church setting until 5 yrs. ago.  We
are now experiencing much healing and are enjoying being the church,
focusing on relationship with God and those He puts in our life.  We
know all too many people who have been seduced and wounded by
"religion" (including ourselves.)   My husband volunteers his time at
the local rescue mission and we plan to hand out copies of your book
to many who are in the heavenly recovery room.

Thank you for taking the time to minister to all of God’s children
with your story.  I pray that many will be set free with the truth
that is alive and powerful in this book.

Your book changed me. And while that is what good writing only pretends to do, great writing does. Your story could have been one of those many books I read and made myself pick up again, but because you infused it with rawness and grace—-I ran through the chapters. I look forward to the 2nd reading; slower pace and more long sips of coffee. We are already making plans to procure more of The Shack to hand to fellow strugglers and nomads among us.

A few weeks ago, I ran across the following.  I quote one of my all-time favorite authors, Jacques Ellul, who fell asleep a few years ago, but not before he wrote some of the most profound insights I have ever read.  I should warn you though…if you decide to delve into some of his work, it is rather like slogging through wet concrete – very slow going because of the weight of his intellect and the translation issues from French to English – but if you persist, you will find diamonds everywhere.

He writes (and I quote this at length because of the wealth of thought it contains);

"Man is so much the prey of the powers, so closely associated with their work, enjoys himself so thoroughly to their profit, desires so much all that they offer, conceives his life to such a degree separated from God, that every approach of God, every positive work of God, appears to him as an unacceptable disturbance and finally an attack against him.  When God comes to deliver him, he does not at all perceive his liberation; he protests against the breaking of those marvelous objects, which are his chains or the doors of his prison: the adoored chains.  This is clearly the situation of Man."

"And we must take account of the fact that every work of liberation (the process of freeing us) is in fact destructive of the evil environment.  And that which assures his liberty is felt by Man asa frightful personal offense.  "How can God who is good permit…?"  In uttering this phrase so grequently, Man does not envisage for a minute, first of all, that the evil deed is most often the result of the liberty that God allows to Man and of the independence and autonomy that man has seized over against God.  Man is responsible for what is done (and he has wished it), but he protests against God for what is done.  In short, he would demand that God mechanize him and take his liberty from him."

"Next, that evil also takes place by the interplay of the spiritual powers who act in the world and in society.  Finally, that which does ‘evil’ to him can very well be the act of God who liberates him.  But this liberation causes suffering.  I don not know anything better to compare this to than to an operation.  The surgeon who takes out a cnacer destroys the power of death to the profit of the living body.  But he removes something of this body, which had become "flesh of his flesh’; he amputates something which had become the body itself.  And the patient who does not know what has been done, from what he has been saved, could perfectly well interpret that as a frightful torture, as an illegitimate extracion, being aware only of the pain that remains after the operation is finished."

If you have already read The Shack, you will understand why this relates so well.  In the book, I quote my favorite musician, Bruce Cockburn (pronounced Co-burn – which will probably be a relief to some of you), when he sings:

              "Though chains be of gold…they are chain all the same."

In another song, Dweller by a Dark Stream, he sings:

               " It could have been me put the thorns in your crown
                 Rooted as I am in a violent ground
                 How many times have I turned your promise down
                 Still you pour out your love…Pour out your love

                               I was a dweller by a dark stream
                               A crying heart hooked on a dark dream
                              In my convict soul I saw your love gleam
                              And you showed me what you’ve done…Jesus, thank-you joyous Son

                You entered a life like ours to give us back our own
                You wanted us like you, as choosers not clones
                You offered up your flesh and death was overthrown
                Now salvation is ours…Salvation is ours

                               I was a dweller by a dark stream
                              A crying heart hooked on a dark dream
                              In my convict soul I saw your love gleam
                              And you showed me what you’ve done…Jesus, thank-you joyous Son

                 So I’m walking this prison camp world
                  I long for a glimpse of the new world unfurled
                 The chrysalis cracking and moistened wings uncurl
                 Like in the vision John saw…The vision John saw

                                I was a dweller by a dark stream
                                A crying heart hooked on a dark dream
                                In my convict soul I saw your love gleam
                                And you showed me what you’ve done…Jesus, thank-you joyous Son"

-willie

This is all about the grace that is pursuing us all, to the praise of his glory.

Here are a few recent ones:

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I almost quit before the end of the first chapter– not because it wasn’t good, but because it was– well written, literary, easy to read– and smacking me right up against my worst fears. Which, obviously, is why I had to finish, but didn’t make it any easier and about the time your character, Mack winds up at the shack lying on the floor next to his daughter’s blood stain, I was wanting to smack *you* around for putting me through the agony of my own pain, which I have also been avoiding for years

I didn’t put this in my comment yesterday, but I want you to know that The Shack has been really instrumental in helping me forgive someone that I’ve been angry towards for years. I’ve prayed for so long that God would help me forgive that person, and I never felt like I could. While reading The Shack, I realized that that person is special and so loved by God, and I started feeling the anger in me drain away. I now think of that person with affection, which I never thought could be possible. How Sarayu works! This truly is a miracle.

________________________________________________

Ist off , I am still having a hard time with the book … so many places you confirmed what God has been speaking to me in the past year … weird … and not only that , but in the early 80’s the Lord gave me an unexpected and quite scary vision , that to this day seemed like an acid trip of some sort , but then , after reading the book , it makes more sense … the book had many similarities of that vision … 2 months ago , I had written some things to my son that you covered “exactly” almost to the word … which I told him I was hard pressed to Theologically prove , but was certain of … and again , I was overwhelmed to read the same experiences … I wished I could say that all this has had an overnite change in me … but I am still struggling to live life … as most days it would seem to be to my advantage to go home and give up the struggle …… Thank you very much for sharing your life with me …It leaves me with a lot more answered questions … which for some reason … raise even more questions , if you know what I mean … and , so , here we are … somewhere in the middle , wishing daily for a closer walk with Jesus … learning to trust Him in all things … feeling so alone most days … yet knowing that Christ is there always… thank you thank you thank you

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Hi, I just listened to the podcast on Waynes sight and heard your story. It touched me deeply and gave me hope! I am in the middle of a process much like yours. Being abused as a young child, I have lived behind my “lies” as a safety net also, but my Father is so loving, He is slowly revealing to me the lies, so I can let them go, and let Him and my family embrace me. It is a very “prickly” time now, especially when I can’t “let” my husband “in” because of the lies. He is very understanding, but it’s painful for him also. I can teach, preach, counsel others and give out, but not really recieve in.
Thank you for sharing your journey alittle, It helped me to know freedom is coming as I just keep facing it with Him! I loved the poem about the wind also, wow you put it into words what my heart is for all of them, My Father, His Son and His Spirit. It’s amazing through all the pain, He placed such a burning for Him in our hearts! I love HIm, and can’t wait to let Him in more and His family in too.

________________________________________________

Oh my goodness, what a story!- Wayne sent us "The Shack" – we got 4 copies. One has disappeared to my friend; my 18yr olddaughter is reading one;my 16yr old son another;& my husband the other one! Thankfully I got to read one first before they all disappeared.  I wanted to cry (and I did) so much as I read it; there are so many goodies in it, so I plan to reread it as soon as a book emerges again.  And of course, I will have to get some more to give away!
 The only thing my "religious" side of me struggled with was "Papa"!  I could see it, and yet, my religious hackles rose up! How could Papa look like a woman??? Sigh………….it’s good to have stuff in me exposed to the light!  I’ve just never thought of that before.  So thank you.
I’m finding I’m chatting to Dad during the day, and in my heart of hearts, I’m calling him "Daddy", and that’s kind of cool.
To see people coming into more freedom from reading this book – wahoo!  I’m in!
thank you thank you!

________________________________________________

I appreciate your book  and some of the teaching in the conversations are  still sinking in . Over the last couple of days since I finished the book I feel a weight gone from me as I consider that I am not under responsibility or expectation. I am to "be" as Christ lives through me. I have over the last few years considered and tried to apply the New Covenant teaching that I am not under Law, but the way you put it has made a fresh, powerful impact on me.

For more responses to The Shack, explore the comments section.

In my opinion, one of the most fundamental lies resides at the core of this issue, and that is, "Significance is related to Doing (Performance)".  In the world, ‘respect’ is linked to significance and significance is linked to performance.  Furthermore, rewards and punishments are linked to performance and the world is a competitive place where people use any means to fight for their piece of the pie of significance and attending rewards.  This ‘lie’ is a monstrous controlling power whose influence seeps into virtually every relationship and activity.  If we can get to the core of this issue in our lives as human beings, I think we would find that most of us believe that this ‘lie’ is the truth, and in fact ‘want’ it to be true.  Most people cannot imagine an existence where this ‘lie’ was not a dominating and controlling factor of life.  It is almost as if this were not true, people would live uncontrollable lives and chaos would ensue; so it is better to embrace the lie than take the risks involved in any sort of movement toward freedom.

The truth is this: "Significance originates from ‘being’, not from doing."  Doing adds nothing to our significance and doing takes nothing away.  Doing is directly related, not to significance, but is largely an expression of who we think we are.  "As a person thinks in their heart, so are they (so they will act)."  Because we are already significant, our choices and actions matter.  It is not the choices that make us significant, it is our significance that make our choices meaningful.  Every human being is significant by nature.  They are imprinted with the very image of God, they are each the center of God’s love and goodness.  True significance is individually wrapped up in the uniqueness of each person and each one being created in the image of God, regardless of what Madison Ave says, or how an individual may be damaged or broken. 

There is a HUGE difference in living from the truth or from the lie; between seeing every activity as an expression of significance (the truth) or to live in the lie and try to ‘suck’ out of every activity some transitory sense of significance.  It is easy to see that the latter is totally an ethic of performance.  As a result of the truth, the activity that each of us is involved in has significance; what we do ‘matters’ regardless of what it is.

God is not significant because of what God ‘does’, but because of who God ‘is’.  God does not get more significant by activity, but because God is significant, what God does ‘matters’.  We are made in this same image.  We are so significant that even each hair of our heads is important to God.

To take this one step further…because we are each significant and what we do ‘matters’, we can each through our significance indwelt by the ‘Significant One’ change the universe by the way we love and see and hear and listen and speak etc.  ‘Doing’ is simply walking in the present tense relationship with God that we are growing in, facing whatever it is that is in front of us today, and making choices or responding or being still or…

Jesus spent 30 years ‘doing’ nothing (as the world would understand it), but the first thing we hear about him out of his Father’s mouth is how pleased Father is of His boy.  Did Jesus become significant because of the next three years?  Nope.  He was already significant.

To begin to think this way is no small change…it is the movement from one universe to another