We live in a world where ‘normal’ does not truly exist except as a concept or wishful thought. For each of us, where and how we grew up plays a foundational role in our sense of ‘normal’, and only when we begin to experience the ‘bigness and diversity’ of the world are we tempted to evaluate our roots.
I thought the way I grew up was ‘normal’ but most would probably agree that my history and journey have been a bit unusual. The eldest of four, born May 11th, 1955, in Grande Prairie, Alberta, Canada, the majority of my first decade was lived with my missionary parents in the highlands of Netherlands New Guinea (West Papua), among the Dani, a technologically stone age tribal people. These became my family and as the first white child and outsider who ever spoke their language, I was granted unusual access into their culture and community. Although at times a fierce warring people, steeped in the worship of spirits and even occasionally practicing ritualistic cannibalism, they also provided a deep sense of identity that remains an indelible element of my character and person.
The following year, I met and married Kim Warren and for a time worked on staff at a large suburban church while attending seminary. I have owned businesses and worked for others in diverse industries, from insurance to construction, venture capital companies to telecom, contract work to food processing; whatever was needed to help feed and house our growing family. I have always been a writer, whether songs, poetry, short stories or newsletters; never for public consumption but for friends and family. While I have extensively written for business, creating web content, business plans, white papers etc., The Shack was a story written for my six children, with no thought or intention to publish. No one is more surprised that I am now considered an ‘author’. The truth is, I am a rather simple guy; I have one wife, six kids, two daughter-in-laws, a son-in-law and six grandkids, and incredible friends and extended family surround us. New friends, like you, are part of our expanding world and adventure.
These are some of the facts of my life, but they don’t begin to tell the real story. That would take much more room than is available here. The journey has been both incredible and unbearable, a desperate grasping after grace and wholeness. These facts don’t tell you about the pain of trying to adjust to different cultures, of life losses that were almost too staggering to bear, of walking down railroad tracks at night in the middle of winter screaming into the windstorm, of living with an underlying volume of shame so deep and loud that it constantly threatened any sense of sanity, of dreams not only destroyed but obliterated by personal failure, of hope so tenuous that only the trigger seemed to offer a solution. These few facts also do not speak to the potency of love and forgiveness, the arduous road of reconciliation, the surprises of grace and community, of transformational healing and the unexpected emergence of joy.
The data of history might help you understand where a person has been, but often hide who they actually are. The Shack and Cross Roads will tell you much more about me than a few facts ever could, but a writer is always more, intentionally illusive behind the curtain of words. For me as a human being, everything is about Jesus and Father and Holy Spirit, about relationships, and to live is to participate in an adventure of faith which can only be experienced inside one day’s worth of grace at a time. Aspirations of success, visions of significance and dreams of grandeur all died a long time ago and I have absolutely no interest in resurrecting them. I have finally figured out that I have nothing to lose by living a life of faith and trust. I know more joy every minute of every day than seems appropriate, but I love the wastefulness of my Papa’s grace and presence.
