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"The act of writing turns out to be its own reward." Anne Lamott
in Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
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September 16, 1995
Dear Annie,
I so enjoyed talking to you at Squaw Valley. I grew spiritually
from our conversation, and I’m not sure I let you know how much that
meant to me.
So, here is my diary entry from the day after I talked to
you. Maybe, from that, you’ll be able to understand the deep emotional
impact that your words had. I wanted you to know the influence that you
had on me, and through me, on others at the conference.
Because I was born into a Christian family, I never had
one of those dramatic “before and after” experiences. I’ve
never seen myself as much of a witness to other people, either, so I was
so surprised and excited and shocked to find myself “on fire”
after talking to you. When I talked to my husband on the phone a day later
about the experience, about feeling like God was using me to share what
you’d shared with me, I couldn’t talk without crying. Fortunately,
he stayed on the line and heard me out, relieved when I got to the end
of my story that it was a happy one. He’d been afraid that with all
that emotion pouring out of me, something horrendous must have happened.
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Diary Entry
8-9-95, Wednesday
8:55 p.m.
Feeling drained, but in a good way. Emotionally, this was
an exhausting day because I met with Anne Lamott, who was as real as her
books. I feel like I met a spiritual, occupational hero. Her answers to
my questions about being both a Christian and an artist were much more
important that her critique of my story, which she liked OK but, since
she doesn’t like stories about old people, needed a better beginning
to get her hooked.
I just have to ramble. My thoughts are coming out all jumbled.
I think it’s fascinating that the women who went on a hike today
were all Christians. I can’t believe that’s just coincidence.
So, it’s been a spritual day. Annie calls it “coming
out of the closet” for a Christian artist to admit her beliefs. I
thought that really sounded accurate. She came out 10 years after she
became a Christian. She “came out” in her book about her son.
But even then, the first time that she spoke and the man on stage asked
in front of the crowd about her Christianity, she felt as awkward as if
he’d asked about something gynecological. I could identify so closely
with that feeling. I told her how much I admired the fact that she admitted
her Christianity in a newspaper article I read, a TV program with Peggy
Noonan, and even the first night here at Squaw Valley. She said she does
that to remind herself, too. She feels a tug toward the other side, a
pull of fame and I don’t know what (she’s much more articulate
than my writing, but I’m tired.) She feels that part of her calling
as a writer and a public personality is to lead others to Christ. I was
so impressed by her bravery when she said that. I’m such a reluctant
witness to other people. And yet, I, too, feel that I’m an example,
both my life and the words I write, and worry sometimes about the affect
either might have. As a shy, reluctant Christian, I’ve felt such
a need to talk to someone else in my position. That need was satisfied
by talking to Annie.
What I admire so much about her is that she’s not a
plastic Christian, limited in vocabulary and thought processes. She’s
a REAL person with real disappointments and hurts and sins. She talked
about Graham Greene, who never denied he was a Catholic Christian, even
when he wasn’t able to live up to a chaste life (apparently women
were his weakness). Because of being an honest Christian, some Christians
think she’s blasphemous.
I felt especially thankful when she gave me two pages of
a letter that Peggy Noonan had given her and told me to photocopy them.
In them is a quote by Walker Percy, “The way I see it, we are all
perfectly mediocre day-laborers for God....”
So, I’m not alone as a Christian in the artistic community.
I hope I am as brave as Annie is, when my time comes, to say, Yes, I’m
a Christian. I’d be lost without Jesus.
I just feel my life is full of too many “coincidences”
for me to be able to claim complete control of my life. I seem to be getting
a lot of help from outside myself. How could I not give the credit to
God?
When I got out of that meeting, I started crying. All my
emotions and frayed nerves and sleep-deprived brain revolted. Or maybe
rejoiced. It was a crying from relief that there is a place in this world
for people like me.
Then, I got back and called a woman, V., on the phone, who’d
mentioned going on a hike. She couldn’t go because she was attending
a reading. But I started blurting out about the things Anne Lamott said.
I’d had a “sense” that she was a Christian, but nothing
concrete. So when she was very quiet on the other end of the line, I began
to suspect I was making her feel uncomfortable. But I was like a new Christian
(something I’ve never been) who can’t shut up about Jesus. I
was just so impressed that someone like Anne Lamott could admit both a
love of God and a love of art, without there being a conflict between
the two, in fact, just the opposite, without God there is no art (actually,
I’m not quite capturing this right. The church and art have been
tied for centuries -- think of Michaelangelo -- but somehow, within only
a relatively short time, the church has come to be seen as a censor of
art, a destroyer of art, and because God is tied to the church, “true”
artists have abandoned Him as well. Or the most vocal artists have. I
suspect, in Annie’s terms, there’s a lot more of us out there,
but still “in the closet.) So, I was jabbering, V. was silent. Then
she said, “I can really identify with this. I not only feel like
I have to be silent about this in my work, but even at home. My husband
is Jewish, and so was I when we met. But since I’ve found Jesus,
I’ve had to be quiet.” I just got a tremendous feeling that
God was orchestrating all these meetings between people and conversations.
All I had to do was open my mouth (show up for work), and He’d take
care of the rest.
I can’t quite explain the feeling, since it’s
not logical, living in a religiously free country, but I felt like I’d
snuck out of the catacombs below Rome, taking a chance in a hostile world
above, and finding, among the faces, one with a glow who said, “Come
into my house, quickly. Talk to me. I can see you’re bringing news.
Yes, I’m a Christian. Come inside. You’ll be safe with your
story here with me.” And once inside, how hungry the person was to
hear the news that there were others like her. To hear how they were managing.
--------------------------------------------
I repeated what you told me to three other women, and briefly to two dinner
mates at Squaw Valley, and they all seemed to hunger to hear about an
openly Christian artist. I got home and repeated the story to my Sunday
School class and later, to my writing critique group. I surprised myself
by doing this, because I’m normally quiet about my faith, even, strangely,
in my own church. (Five years ago, in a different writing critique group,
the leader suggested that I didn’t “belong” when I made
reference to having listened to a radio program by Dr. Dobson, which contributed
to my shyness about my Christianity, especially around other writers.)
So, thank you, Annie, for being so honest yourself. By doing
so, you are an inspiration to others.
Sincerely,
Judy Alexander
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