Life As I Play It

I nearly died when I was twenty-nine. Not by accident, not some oh-you-got-so-lucky situation that usually ends up on a talk show, someone had me dead to rights. I was only spared because I was needed alive at the time…at least, that’s what I thought.

But God has funny ways of getting your attention.

Let’s back up a bit.
When I was twenty-nine, I was staying in on the North Side of Saginaw, Michigan. It was about as close to hell as you could get without dying; every other home on the block was either burned out or a former crime scene. Nights were riddled with gunfire and the community park was a haven for hustlers and small children alike. Cops never came up there by themselves, and if they were up there, count on itchy trigger fingers. I couldn’t blame them; in the end, everyone just wants to go home, right?

As usually, I had gotten myself involved with something I had no business being a part of. Put simply, it was a contest only a few people knew about and the winner would take home a fair amount of money. I’m training—as usual, mind you, nothing had changed about my routine—when something funny happened. I couldn’t explain it, but as I’m punching and kicking the heavy bag, my legs feel as though I’m dragging them through sand, my shoulders strain and the muscles stretch with each punch. I can feel the shock of each blow against the back reverberate back through me and it hurts. My legs, formerly my best asset, now felt as though they took whole minutes to bring up. I tried resting and going back at it to no avail; it was as though my strength, speed, and endurance had been suddenly, unexpectedly cut in half. I wasn’t injured. It had been months since my last serious fight. There was no reason for this. It shook me to the core. Up until that moment, I figured I would fight for the rest of my life; my definition of immortal.

A few days later, I got a look at my competition as he swiftly beat a friend of mine into submission. Had I felt like I was in my prime, I wouldn’t have been worried. Shaken, unable to ascertain what the hell was wrong with me…there was no way I was going to take this guy on. Screw the money.

I went to the person who organized the event and told him I wanted out. He asked me if I was certain. I said I was. He appeared to let it go at that.
That night, as I returned to where I was staring, someone pulled into the intersection a block away. They stopped, and I looked up in time to see a dark silhouette step out of the car.
I felt something rip past my head before I saw the light, heard the defeaning explosion. I had never heard a gunshot that close. It was my breaking point. I lay there, on the ground, huddled, terrified, almost in tears, in the middle of the road in the worst ghetto I had ever been in.

The man who organized the event asked me if I was okay as I re-entered the place I was staying. Yes, I was fine. No, I won’t be dropping out of the event. I got the message. Fuckhead.
That night, with my cot traditionally placed under the pay phone by the men’s room (I slept light, and wanted to be woken by any movement), with everyone else sleeping and snoring, I got down on my knees for the first time in nearly three years. I folded my hands, lowered my head, and gave up.
I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know where else to go. I don’t want to die. Please…help me get through this. Help me get out of this situation. I will work. I will go straight. I will do whatever You ask of me. Please, God…just meet me halfway.

My life has not been the same since that night.
Two days later, the event ended positively, almost humorously—and I made a lot of money.
The next week, I was out of the shelter, and in my own apartment. I have not been homeless since.
The following month, I had a full-time job. A friend of mine sold me his old car.

Just like that. One prayer changed everything.

People often tell me that I can get away with things that other can’t, or that I seem to have figured something out that others haven’t. I wouldn’t give myself that much credit. In fact, I wouldn’t give myself any credit. The fact of the matter is, I have a standing arrangement with God; as long as I continue to work and pursue my ambitions, without bringing harm to others unless absolutely necessary, then He will always, without fail, continue to provide aid. This is the very definition of Meet Me Halfway. So many people expect God to do all of the work and then turn away when He doesn’t; He doesn’t work that way. In a dark tunnel, God is your map, He is your flashlight, but you still have to walk to the end of the tunnel.

It’s a beautiful arrangement, too. It allows me not to worry about most things because I know they will be resolved. They may not be resolved in the way I want them to be, but the point is, they are. I pray. He answers. I work. He does the rest. It’s allowed me to get this far.

I still get a little emotional going food shopping (no joke) because I’m grateful that I can. So many people take the simple things for granted. That I can sit here, write this blog, drink the tea I bought and listen to the music from the other computer beside me is nothing short of a miracle. Everything I am, was, and will be I attribute to God; I do none of it on my own.  I only advance because He allows me to.

I wanted to take a moment and use the gift He gave me to publicly acknowledge my gratitude for all He has done for me. Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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I mentioned in the new home page that this blog reflects my journey to know myself. It was a preface for this entry.

Do you know how much you can glean from someone simply by shutting up and paying attention? If I’m good at my job (and I seem to be) then it’s not because I talk, because I don’t think I talk that well. It’s because I know how to listen.

So many people eagerly run off at mouth, wasting time and space by saying nothing. They may be spewing words, but it’s nothing intelligent. You’ve met them; the type of people who take small talk to the next level, the ones who have to dominate every conversation they’re in, who have to be the center of attention in anything they do. I’ve found that people who do this habitually either have a need for attention, or are trying to hide something. Not necessarily something malicious, just something they don’t want you to see. Shame, for example.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. But this is just my life experience.
A gift I inherited from my father is my ability to read people, mostly by looking into their eyes. Mouths lie; eyes don’t.

Through the years, the ability to read people has probably kept me alive. Stripping away the illusions of what I was dealing with (and what I was becoming) better prepared me to take it on when the time came. And while it undoubtedly saved my life, it destroyed my faith in the human race.

People are scum, for the most part; they may befriend you to your face and tear your down behind you, and that’s the least of it. In my time, I’ve come across a man who beat his own mother to death with a baseball bat simply because she wouldn’t give him drug money (true story), people who whore out their own children to pay debts or feed habits, other people who find pleasure in ruining children…the list goes on.

In the end, most people will do what they want, regardless of the consequences, and I think it’s repulsive. For the longest time, it’s why I wanted to be left alone.

It’s also why I prefer developing online relationships instead of real-life ones. People tend to reveal the best of themselves online, smoothing the transition to real-life if you ever take it that far. Also, I’ve met more like-minded people on the internet, especially since I went straight.

And, to be honest, I’m no different. I used to tell myself that I wasn’t a bad person because of who I was punishing. The fact is, I was a bigger monster than anyone I took on, and I didn’t want to face up to it. That life is long behind me now, and there’s no shame in admitting I was wrong.

My attitude used to be; the world can self-destruct for all I care, just leave me out of it. As long as my soul is assured, I don’t have anything to worry about, right?

Yeah, right.

My problem lately is that I have not seen malice when looking into people’s eyes. I have no idea how to deal with that. Mostly I seal up and push people away.
I look into the eyes of people now and I see beauty, I see passion, I see forgivable faults, I see innocence, I see love, I see genuineness, I see compassion…none of these things I’m used to. I find myself unable to maintain eye contact because I’m afraid these eyes will see right through me, and the monster I used to be.

Again, this may be why I’m good at my job; I’m great at short-term engagements with people I’ll never meet. We get on the phone, we shoot the breeze, we hang up, end of story. I’m not so good at the long-term thing. Ask anyone who’s been with me.

God did not intend for us to live in solitude, and on the other side, I have no idea how to reach out. I wonder now if everything I went through was meant to destroy my faith in humanity, only to see if I was strong enough to find it again.

I can’t run from who I used to be; if anyone chooses to get close to me, then I have to be honest and hope they can deal with it. But I am who I am.

So I present myself to the world, nervous as all hell but confident; this is who I am, now show me who you are.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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I spent a few minutes trying to sort through the madness of my life. I spent about ten minutes warming up, and this is what I came to.

My life is, and always has been, about faith. But I have yet to find the words to accurately convey what it means to me, yet I can provide examples.

If I may elaborate, please?

Faith is falling out of the running for a job—and then interviewing for it that following week.

Faith is living homelessly for more than five years and living to tell about it.

Faith is maintaining your residence and way of life despite a lack of income.

Faith is victory after exhaustion.

This is the most trying time of my life, and I’m not talking about the lesson plan I keep twittering on about. I’m still amazed that my children’s family (on their mother’s side) were the ones who alerted me about my children. Once my staunchest adversaries and now they’re the ones who’re instrumental in me being able to maintain contact with my kids? That is faith.

Still, the questions mount, and these are questions beyond whether or not I can do it; if it was that simple, there’d be no question.

There’s the thorny legal process. My ex-wife abandoned our children, leaving them with her family so she could be with her drug-addicted boyfriend. I don’t have much better on my side; I still left them. But…I’ve gotten myself together, somewhat. I mean, I live alone, I’m self-sufficient, I have a trickling revenue stream even though I’m out of work, and my oldest son seems excited about seeing me again. Will my ability to support them count for anything in a system notorious for awarding custody to the mother regardless of the father’s status?

I’m not just saying that. I’ve seen it firsthand.

What if I have to remain in California in order to keep my kids? This is the only way I’d have to concede the issue. I can’t afford to live in California, much less support two children.

I don’t want to live in California, either. It took me more than a decade to say that (and I would do it for my kids if left with no choice, and I had the means), but there’s nothing for me there. I grew up in San Francisco, and that feels great to say, but Missouri is home, and God willing, I’ll spend the bulk of my years in St. Louis.

Moments like this, when doubt creeps into my mind, I get that feeling at the pit of my stomach, and the comforting thought that I’ve had since I was a child; it’ll all be okay.

Funny thing; it always is.

And so I fight on, working towards the inevitable exhaustion, for the first time unsure as to whether or not I can achieve my goal. I know that I have a gift for pulling things together, and I do not quit.
Faith, like always, is what will turn raw willpower into reality.

So at last I find the words. What is faith?

Faith is the knowledge of knowing that things will work out without knowing exactly how.

Faith is the will to fight on.

The source of my faith is, and always will be, God and His Son, but what you use is entirely up to you.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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