Akting Out

Me: “I’d love to fly one day. Actually break free of Earth’s gravity under my own power and just take off.”

Sam: “We should jump out of a plane someday.”

I’m not a religious person; more of a spiritual one. I believe in karma almost as strongly as I believe in God; every last thing we do, in this life, or the next one, we will answer for. I know this as surely as I’m writing this blog.

I figured that part of my karma was watching people all around me settle down in permanent relationships. I’ve always thought it was the most awesome thing in the world; to have someone know all of the worst things about you, and love you anyway.

Samantha once told me that she loved me because of my faults; they made me who I am.

And then I’m reminded; almost nothing is unforgivable, and everyone deserves a second chance. We just have to earn it.

Samantha and I met six years ago; despite being, well, whatever I was, with no fixed address, I still thought I had what it took to be a husband and father. Anyway, we were states apart when we met by chance, but that first conversation we had was epic; we chatted for nearly four hours (which is funny, because I can’t talk to anyone for four hours) about everything ranging from our favorite football teams (she’s a diehard Packers fan) to our unifying faith in God. A deeply religious good-girl with a wild streak and weakness for bad boys, Samantha had a smile that was visible from across the world and eyes that see straight through you. Those eyes scared the hell out of me, back then; all of those walls I had spent years building up had come crashing down in a single day.

Keeping Sam at a distance wasn’t as easy as I made it out to be, even across the country. Nothing about me frightened her; I told her the worst thing I had ever done in my life and she didn’t even blink. I wanted to scream at her; CAN’T YOU SEE HOW BROKEN I AM?! RUN! GET AWAY! GET AWAY NOW!
But she didn’t. No matter what I said, no matter what I did…she was right there, never further than an email or phone call away. I honestly think that was the first time in my life I had known complete and total acceptance from the opposite sex. Yeah, I had absolutely no idea what to do with that.

Although we didn’t become a couple for years, we managed to stay friends. Finally, three years ago, unable to stay in Michigan without getting arrested and having burned everyone I was close too, we finally met.
The first night we met, she cooked for me; sour cream chicken. We stared up at the stars and asked each other what we wanted out of life.
And although the circumstances were all wrong back then, we decided to give being a couple a shot.

Things were not all bad, nor entirely our fault; Samantha has a beautiful daughter I quickly bonded with, and she spoke to my kids over the phone. But the beginning of our relationship marked my going straight; I had no idea how difficult the adjustment would be. Plus, the rug was yanked from under her after her family fell apart and her mother, decided to leave the state. I was working overnights, she was working during the day, we barely saw each other on the weekends, and when we did, we usually took the chaos of our lives out on each other. But our fights were never hateful; we never called each other any names…just two very intelligent, very passionate people with similar beliefs and different pathways battling it out.

Still, the good times were awesome, although I couldn’t see it back then. Sam’s humor was very G-rated (I likened it to Disney) and it used to grate on me. She could meet someone once and years later, they’d still remember her. I didn’t like it because I wished I could connect with people like she did. I rode the emotional roller-coaster harder with her than anyone else, even becoming engaged for a moment.

She was the only woman I ever came that close to marrying.

Still, in the end, with us unable to come to any common ground, we reluctantly called it quits.
And then, something amazing happened; we got ourselves together.
She moved to Texas, continuing to raise her daughter and pursue the same dream she’s been after as long as I’ve known her. She lost weight. Her confidence went through the roof. She gained the ability to see the world through other’s eyes.

And me, well, I (somewhat) got over myself.
Put all the anger away. Made peace with my family. Saw my kids. Began resolving my diabetes. Figured out what I wanted to do in life. Even *gasp* maintained employment at the same job for more than two years.
When my last relationship collapsed (which was more my fault than I’d like to admit), I reached out to Sam, just to see what was up; I hadn’t talked to her in over a year.

Occasional conversations turned into an every-night thing (Skype rocks) as we filled each other in the happenings of our lives. To be completely honest, it didn’t take long for old feelings to reach the surface again. So when she made plans to come up here to visit old friends, I offered to let her stay at my place. The rest is history.

Samantha is crazy and she’ll be the first person to tell you that. She’s stubborn, hard-headed, a little too intelligent for her own good, extremely driven with an unshakable faith in God that guides everything she does. Plus, she doesn’t realize it yet, but she really doesn’t believe in fear or excuses. And don’t ever, ever lie to her. Trust me on this, please?

I honestly didn’t think I’d ever get a second chance with this woman; after everything, I didn’t think I deserved one. And with us living, once again, states apart, nothing is guaranteed and we both know that. We also both believe in earning what you want, so I look at it as God throwing down the gauntlet and asking me; “How badly do you want this?”

I’m not self-destructing this time. I’m not falling back into the same patterns that cost me everyone else. So here’s hoping.

And for now, I’m glad I got a second chance at The One That Got Away. J

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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“Let’s end this!!”
Adamantium tears through metal sheaths on the back of X-23′s hands (at least, I think they’re metal sheaths. I’m not too up on my Marvel these days). Her elbows are tucked at her sides, her knees bent, her eyes ablaze, she looks like Wolverine-Lite. Capcom got this right.
She slides as though on grease towards her hapless opponent (in this case, Spencer of Bionic Commando fame) and with a flurry of extremely-painful looking slashes dealt from her hands and feet, because she has claws on her feet too, she utterly decimates poor Spencer, capitalizing the knockout blow by leaping and descending with two slash marks meant to resemble an “X” as ominous sound effects signal the end of Spencer and the arrival of the new victim.
I can’t help but think when I play these games and read these comics; this would never fly in the real world. I try to imagine how a real-life Wolverine would survive today, and I always get the same answer; however he wants. I confess; even at thirty-four, I still sometimes look down at my hands and wonder how much simpler life would be if I had STEEL CLAWS. I know there are greater powers to dream about, but the idea of watching someone piss themselves when metal knives shoot out of the back of my hands? Priceless.

You have to take joy in the little things.
I remember praying at the beginning of the year; I wanted to make some changes. I wanted to be done with diabetes, I didn’t want to be afraid of anything anymore, and I wanted to have my legal troubles resolved. A little secret about God; eventually, you learn what to ask for, and how to ask for it, in order to receive it. But it always comes with a trial.
I really don’t have much to complain about these days, I certainly have it easier than a lot of people, and for that, I’m grateful. I have a good place to live in a nice part of town (although I have a hard time thinking of any area of Jefferson City as bad, when you stack it against north side Saginaw, east Oakland, Jersey City, or a hundred other ghettos out there), I have food in the fridge, I’ve got all the materialistic things that make me happy, I have a very good job that I am very good at, and very good at bitching about, I have people who care about me and I’m learning not to push them away. Even now, I sit in my living room, Law and Order: SVU is paused, and I’m writing this from my laptop as I take in the morning coffee and hope it has its usual effect. Even the writing is going really, really well.

As writers, we can’t afford the luxury of fear. It’s easy to hide behind being afraid and tell yourself that you’re not good enough, that no one else will ever like what you do. Then, when you choose inaction, in your own mind, it’s justified. You suck, right? So why bother trying? And to be honest, it’s not a bad way to think. Chances are no one will ever develop the same attachment to your characters and worlds that you have. Chances are even greater that some people will hate your work simply because they have nothing better to do. Others may not like and offer constructive criticism (and we’d be wise to take it), but that’s just the way it goes. The fact is; you never know how good, or bad, you may be until you try.

Someone may hate your work. Someone else may love it and recommend it to others. These others may want to help you advance. But you won’t know until you put yourself out there.
This is philosophy with which I try to live my life; take the chance. Yes, you might suck, but at least by trying, you know. On the other end, what if you’re really, really good, and someone’s just waiting to discover you?

Fear is a test; you can let it cripple you, or you can look at it logically and overcome it. Heights; it’s not the height itself that will kill you, it’s not even the fall. It’s the frakkin landing. Hence, don’t put yourself in a position to fall, sit back, and enjoy the view. Snakes, spiders, bugs, and the like, same thing; it’s not the critters themselves that will harm you. It’s the bite, or sting, or squeeze or whatever. If you don’t put yourself in a position where these things can happen to you, you have nothing to be afraid of. Or, if you get stung enough times, you get used to it. Some people around the world are bitten so often that their body builds immunity to the poison. True story.

I’m past all of the materialistic fears; heights, snakes, spiders, and all that stuff. I’m afraid of being successful because I don’t know what it feels like, and I’m afraid if it happens, I’ll lose it all and end up at rock bottom again. I’m afraid that I can’t make it on my own on a professional level. I’m really afraid of personal relationships (but who isn’t?)

Universal Warrior: Atherean Defenders has a publisher. The announcement will be coming in about one month. So that’s beginning my dealing with the fear of success.
My relationship ended not too long ago. Rather than throwing myself into something else quickly (as has been my habit), I’m feeling this. It sucks. She’s going through something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, something that had nothing to do with us. We still talk, we’re cordial, and I like to think we’ve both been very accommodating. It still sucks, but it’ll pass.

I’ve been on the same performance-based schedule-changing job for the past two years now. I’m afraid that with the new system we’re learning, I won’t be able to keep up. I won’t be able to use the same tricks that got me this far. In my heart, where God resides, I know that things will be okay. They always are.

I have one less warrant in the state of Michigan.

This is set to be a difficult year. But a good one.

Thanks for reading, I wish you all of the best in your endeavors, and thank you for sticking with Life As I Play It thus far.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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It was one of the earliest lessons learned as a child; God doesn’t make deals. Satan does. Back then, it didn’t make much sense. In the literal sense, I suppose that’s true; God doesn’t make deals in the traditional sense. But He will always listen to what you have to say, and He will always meet you halfway.

In my experience, it works pretty much the same way as any other bargain you might strike; you offer something and get something in return. Dealing with God isn’t much different, except the stakes are much higher; God doesn’t demand anything from us, He loves us too much for that. No, that’s the beauty of faith; you don’t really have to do anything but believe.

No, the demands come from His former right hand; the one who’ll give you your supposed heart’s desire for something you may find trivial…and in the end, the price you pay is eternal.

So what is it you could possibly offer God to make Him give you the time of day? What is it you’re asking of Him? Because nothing comes free, and if you want God to give you the time of day, I mean if you really want Him to do something for you, then you have to be willing to give something back.

In my experience, the price paid is mind-numbingly hard work. It often pushes you to your breaking point. You have so many moments where you don’t think you can do it, where you think He’s a tyrant, where you say screw it, I don’t want it this badly, I’m out.

The beauty of it is that if you decide you’ve had enough, then cool, quit. Nothing bad will happen to you for it. Your life will continue on as normal. In fact, therein lies the irony; your life will go back to the same misery you were trying to escape before you made the deal in the first place. God demands nothing; he promises you something if you give something of yourself in return. It’s a simple premise; do nothing, nothing will happen.

For those of us who choose to see it through, the rewards are epic beyond belief; not only do we get what we asked for, in a manner far beyond anything we imagined, but we emerge better people on the other side of the work we put into the effort.

Patience is a big part of it; we may ask for God’s help at any point, but it’s only when we stop worrying about it that He answers. I think that our continuing to worry about it signifies that we haven’t given the problem wholly over to God yet, and why should He give us the time of day when we haven’t shown that we trust Him? Stop worrying about it. Give it over to Him. Let Him work.

Example 1). I wanted off the street. I gave up fighting, running the street, went to the library every day, devoted myself to finding a job—anything that came along. One month later, I had a rinkydink telemarketing job and a shoebox apartment in Bay City, Michigan. I missed the parties, the fast money, and the thrill of looking into someone’s eyes the moment he knew I was about to beat him. It was worth it.

Example 2). In a recession, I was able to sustain myself through writing—sometimes for up to fifteen hours a day—plus help from people I cared about until I found the job I maintain today. Thanks for the five months in between jobs, I was discovered as a writer, and well, you know the rest.

Example 3). To keep up with the demand of my job, I had to learn how to sell TV. I went way outside of my comfort zone and sell between four and five a month (which is epic, for me).

And, of course, the latest example.

I confess; I don’t want to just compete in next year’s Show Me Games. I want to win them.
Beyond that, I’d like to face down the last of my fears. I want to stop trying to succeed and actually do it. I want to stop talking about losing weight and actually do it. I want to actually finish two books on time. I want to stop wishing and talking and actually start doing something.

I want to conquer my fears of success and being happy. So, of course, I asked God for help. Tell me what You want, and I’ll do it.

Today, He answered.
You give Me everything you have, and I’ll make 2011 the year of your life.

My schedule today was extended during the week, at my request, so I could leave early on Fridays. This means I get a 2 ½ day weekend, but eliminates any possibility for me training, or writing at night.
But there’s the mornings…and I realized what He was asking of me.

Up at four in the morning. Hit the Y for an hour. Come back. Take care of the dogs. Write. Go to work. Repeat four days a week.
That’s asking a lot. Of course, I could always do nothing, right?

But I trust Him.

So here goes.

God bless, and thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I was baptized as a kid; I think I was eight or nine at the time. I don’t have a very clear memory of the event, but I don’t think I wanted to be there. The water was cold and I really had no idea what was going on.

My parents did a good job of instilling God in me as a child; I had accepted Him as reality before I even knew what reality was. I remember that I was supposed to pray every night, although most of the time, I had no idea why. Pray anyway; maybe something will turn around.

I admit, even as a kid, I felt something when I was praying. I couldn’t describe it then, but it was an invisible, intangible, and ever-present line between me and some invisible force that was more powerful than I could imagine. I couldn’t put a name or face to it, I just knew someone was up there listening, and the feeling was enough to keep me going through dark times.

I never received the answers I was looking for as a kid, no matter how hard I prayed. The feeling was almost a cruel tease; I knew it was there, but it wasn’t helping.

I’ve always had a fear of Hell which kept me from renouncing. But eventually, in my teen years, I stopped praying. I figured; fine, I know you’re there, but if you’re not gonna help, get out of the way.

I must’ve gone for at least five years without consciously praying. There were plenty of “God, please get me out of this alive” moments, but never any thanks. I thought I was getting by just fine.
The streets can be a cold, dark, place. Some nights, I’d be sitting alone outside with nothing to do, or eat, and no place to be the next day. Those nights, you have to have something to hold onto.

The presence never left me, not for a second, and even in the darkest moments, I just knew that I’d be okay, even if I had no idea how it would work out. I just knew it would.

I was still homeless when I re-committed to God, at twenty-four, in Saginaw, Michigan. I had no idea what I was doing when I was a kid; this was a decision I was making on my own. I don’t regret it.

I call myself a Christian, which means I believe in God, and His son Jesus Christ. I believe in sin, Heaven, and Hell. I believe no man is perfect, and only by faith are we saved. This is what I believe because this is what works for me. My faith has allowed me to survive my childhood, repair my relationships with my parents and children, and made it possible for me to transition from homelessness to published author in four years.

I count a lot of atheists and agnostics among my friends. We even talk openly about our faiths. I don’t believe that atheists and agnostics are damned for their beliefs. In fact, I think the whole “you don’t believe in God? You’re goin to hell!!” mentality is kind of petty. I think God’s way more open-minded than people give Him credit for.

I think we all do better when we set aside our differences and dedicate ourselves to learning from one another. I honestly think this is how the planet is supposed to work. But we don’t. We bully and belittle what is different and misunderstood. We ostracize what doesn’t fit into our sense of conventionalism. And we doom ourselves to ignorance in doing so.

If we took all the effort we devoted to negativity and the destruction of each other and dedicated it to learning all we could from every person we came across, regardless of their faith or beliefs, can you imagine what the world would become?

I’m not just writing here; I’m speaking from experience. If you see someone who needs help, try to help as best you can. Put aside your feelings for them, whether they’re positive or negative. Smile at a stranger who walks by, you may make their day. Actually listen to the person you’re talking too and don’t wait for your turn to talk.

Turn the beliefs that divide us into opportunities to educate each other.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Last week was an angry week; the type of week where very little seemed to go the right way, no matter how hard I was trying. It was particularly frustrating because my usual methods for listening to God weren’t working, at least, I couldn’t hear anything. The tried-and-true methods I had been using for the past ten years were failing me, adding a sense of desperation to the whole thing. It also stymied this blog, which I had had tried to write for days.

After taking a step back (and getting through Friday), I came to realize why I didn’t think I could hear anything, why a lot of us feel as though we pray and get no response. There is no set method for listening to God. The process is ever-changing, ever-evolving, because if we turn our relationship with God into a routine, then we take it for granted, and it falters. I’ve always believed that God wants you to continually examine your relationship with Him, and beyond that, openly question what doesn’t make sense. So here, finally, are the steps I use (for now) that define my relationship with God.

1). Surrender.
I know it’s a word that makes one’s bile rise (I know it does for me), but hear me out. Years ago, when I was still homeless, I sat in a rescue mission in Saginaw, Michigan while one preacher’s words hit me a little harder than anyone else’s. I used to use mandatory church as a way to secure my bed for the night and catch a few extra Z’s, but this guy had something to say. His words were; “You’ve tried everything else; why not try this?” He spoke with the fire and conviction of a man who had arrived at this knowledge through experience. About a year later, I learned what he was talking about. Having someone fire a bullet at you tends to change your perspective…surrender doesn’t seem so bad compared to dying alone in the street. But the fact is, God doesn’t ask you to surrender to Him so He can conquer you; that’s not what He’s about. Only by surrendering can He truly work through you, and I speak from experience when I say that He has a far better plan for you than anything you can conceive. I’ve laundry-listed personal examples of transitioning from homelessness to normalcy; I’m writing this under a sunrise from my kitchen table while listening to one of my two iPods. It’s something you have to experience for yourself. All you have to do is give yourself over, genuinely, and let Him do his thing.

2). Talk to Him
Traditional prayer can grow so stale, so fast. I confess that I don’t say my prayers every night, yet I avoid doing it only when I need something (bad idea. I’ll get to that in a minute). I say the traditional our-father-who-art-in-Heaven prayer maybe five nights a week. But I talk to God all the time. I talk to God as though I’m talking to my best friend, which is how I found out He has a sense of humor. I’ll often have a goal at work that I won’t meet; I’ll exceed it in a way I hadn’t planned (instead of selling four internets, I’ll sell ten phone bundles, which comes out to more money), and I’ll end up looking at the sky and saying; “Thanks. Good one.”
I don’t think God has too many uses for tradition, especially if they lose their meaning. I’m not saying don’t pray; I’m saying talk. People who say it’s a one-sided conversation haven’t truly surrendered, because He will answer, and usually, surprisingly, He’ll answer pretty quickly. I’ll often get the answer to a question before I even get it out. Hint; you know it’s God when you feel as though you’re being pushed to do something you don’t want to do, but you KNOW to be right. I can’t stress it enough; times like that, DON’T ASK QUESTIONS, JUST DO IT. The amazing thing is that He always takes care of you when you listen! ALWAYS, ONE HUNDRED PERCENT OF THE TIME! It may never be what you wanted, in fact, it rarely is, but when it’s all said and done, you’ll find it’s what you needed.

To wrap this up (I want to keep it at under a thousand words), there’s a lot more that goes into it. I’ve found that God is a simple idea that doesn’t press on your mind, but it’s always present. The devil is a tug on your soul, making you feel as though his idea is a good one and then ‘rewarding’ you with false feelings of comfort and even euphoria when you do what he wanted. I’ve always felt bad later, though.

I don’t only pray when times are bad because I’ve found that if you only come to Him during times of need, and not during better times, He may put you on the back burner. He places problems in our life so we may come to Him, and have Him show us how to overcome them. We then give thanks for Him giving us the time of day and the strength He’s given us. If you ever feel as though you have no problems, better take a second look at your life.

This is just how I let God work through me; He works through all of us differently. If you feel as though you’ve prayed and gotten no response, then change your approach. You may not be ready yet. But He’s there, He’s always there, and He never lets his own down.

Thanks for reading. God bless and be safe.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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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 Akting Out LLC

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About two years ago, I was walking home from work. I was a rentacop, in uniform, finishing up a night shift on the East Side of Jefferson City, Missouri. No do-rag, no gloves, nothing that could construe me as shady.

Less than a block away from my site, a cop pulls up alongside me and cordially asks me what I’m doing. Walking home, I explain. He asks me where I’m coming from. I exercise my right to remain silent and point to the two towers behind me. He asks me my business there, and I slowly pull back my jacket to reveal a badge. He’s then kind enough to tell me that he ‘guesses that it’s okay’ and then pulls away.

I was angry. Not just at the situation, but it was one of the only times I remember feeling powerless…

Today, I check my news feed and the first story I see is about a woman who reported her child missing. She’s now been charged with filing a false police report, prostitution, and there’s a suspicion of human trafficking.

Police still can’t find the girl.

The second story I find tells of the Mohler family, six in total, being charged with sexual abuse allegations that go all the way back to the mid-eighties. According to CNN Justice, their victims “came to law enforcement authorities with stories of sexual performances, mock weddings, rape with various objects and a forced abortion during their childhoods.”

Forced abortions.

This means they…
Thinking about it made me want to put my fist through something…someone.
Say what you will about the street, but one of the things I enjoyed about it was that these kinds of things didn’t happen. They call it street justice for a reason. Acts such as these got you killed, plain and simple.

Here, prosecutions take years and drag the victims right back through the act. They’re never the same again. And the kids…well, they’re lucky if they’re ever found again.

Coming from a life where I used to fight literally, and directly, against things like this, it’s very difficult to accept that there’s nothing I can do anymore.

No one should ever be a victim. No one, especially a child, should ever live in fear.

And so I’m left to ask why. Paralyzed and powerless, I want to know why things are this way?

How does anyone possibly justify raping a child? A woman? Anyone?
Isn’t there something in your mind that’s telling you this is wrong? Especially when it comes to kids?

Rape is primarily about power, not pleasure, and the sick fucks who do this kind of thing are almost always cowards (although I’ve met a few genuinely evil people in my life). Exposing them is easy; beating the hell out of them in front of everyone takes their power away, shows that they are just as vulnerable as everyone else.

But I still want to know why it’s allowed to happen…

How does anyone justify mass killing with religion?
If you’re going to kill a bunch of people, do me a favor, have the balls to do it because you want to, and not because you think God (Allah, Jesus, Buddha, whoever you believe in) is okay with it. Stop using God as a crutch for your evil. Stop using God as a crutch for your fucking shortcomings and stand on your own two feet.

Maybe this is just me going through a crisis of faith. I’m a Christian, not a zealot, and God knows I understand why atheists choose their paths. I look…I’ve experienced…a lot of the bad things in the world and in my darker moments, I wonder if God really did throw in the towel, and maybe we’re just out here on our own. If we’re so determined to self-destruct, then who’s He to stand in our way?

Honestly, baring my soul a little bit…this is why I tend not to get close to a lot of people.
I know I’ll never get answers to these questions. I’ll maintain my faith and my principles and trust in the grand design just as I always have.

But I want answers.
And I wish I could do more.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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With the rage and force of a meteor, she plummeted through the black vacuum of space. Darkness gave way to reddened skies as she struck the ground, hitting with enough force to rouse all of Heaven.

She looked around. Mist rose from the ground.

The screams, the horrible, agonizing screams of those hurt or dying, rose through the ground, piercing her ears again. She clutched her hands to her ears and fell to her knees, desperate to drown them out, if only for a moment. They had grown in number and intensity over the past hour. They could not drown out her own conscience, the eternal voice in her head telling her that she had failed, that they were all dead because of her. The mechanical sirens echoing from down below, a universe over, only indicated to her that many more would be judged that day. Those that were already screaming took the sirens as a sign that help was on the way.

There would be no hope for them. Not today.

She couldn’t bear it anymore. Her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest, and her teeth were clenched so tightly that it hurt.

“GOD!” she shrieked. She knew this wasn’t the way to reach Him; through anger and despair. At the moment, she didn’t care. “ANSWER ME!”

“Ariel,” the gentle, masculine voice was omnipresent, everywhere and nowhere. It would’ve been calming if she hadn’t been so angry. Instead, she stood, fists clenched, shaking, and she looked around. “What troubles you, my daughter?”

“What troubles me?” she echoed, her voice shaking. “Do you not hear them, my Lord?” For the first time, the screams existed outside of her head, flooding Heaven. There wasn’t an Angel—or demon—that was unable to hear it.

There was a thunderous explosion that emanated from the ground, and the screams doubled. Ariel could see in her mind’s eye what had just occurred; hundreds more had just died on Earth. Another plane had crashed into the second structure. Fires not even hell could produce billowed up from the gaping hole in the once-mighty structure. She fought back tears.

“How…” her voice was quaking. Tears flew from her eyes as she turned her head to the sky. “HOW could you let this happen?”

No answer.

“No matter their sins, they did not deserve this,” she continued, trying to raise her voice above the screams and sirens. Her knees gave out, she fell to the ground. “They did not deserve this…”

Her mind was flooded with images of what was surely to come: an endless string of funerals, memorials, grievances, wounds that no counseling would ever be able to heal. “Is it any wonder they turn away from You?” she whispered, knowing the consequences such a question could bring, and no longer caring. “You say You love them, yet You do nothing in their hour of need.”

“My child…” God’s voice finally returned. “It was no mistake that I appointed you Guardian of Earth. You feel their pain as they do; you seek Me even when they will not.”

“Then why?” Ariel managed, her voice cracking. “Why did you not warn me? I could have stopped this.”

“Observe,” God replied.

To Ariel’s left, the fog dissipated. The reflective onyx opened to reveal clear glass; the screams and madness had ceased. She braced herself on her hands, leaning over to see. A gaping crater, four miles wide and twice as deep, now stood where the towers had been. It was no longer blocked off. People walked around it freely, some stopping to observe solemnly before going on their way.

In another part of the world, a teacher educated her class. Pointing to a child’s design on the chalkboard, she said something Ariel couldn’t hear, and the children laughed. The teacher laughed with them.

A man returned home from work that night. His two children ran up to him, embracing him tightly around his knees and nearly knocking him off balance. His young wife chuckled as she watched, gingerly wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck and kissing his cheek.

The world’s law enforcement somberly geared up, securing bulletproof vests around their torsos and buttoning their dark uniforms. They joked with each other. Outside of the building, the flags of their countries blew proudly.

Ariel shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“They will move on, my daughter,” God replied easily. “They are a resilient people. They will recover from this, and they will go forward.”

Ariel still wasn’t sure she understood. God’s explanation brought no satisfaction. “But what of today, Father?”

“Today they must suffer.”

The onyx closed and the fog reappeared. The heavy weight returned to Ariel’s stomach as the screams began anew. “They will never find their way back, will they?”

“They will when they are ready. They are strong, Ariel. They will get through this. But we will never intervene directly; doing so robs them of their free will. And we have no right to do that.”

Ariel lowered her head; as always, no immediate resolution or closure, just a promise that everything would be alright.

“I have shown you what is to come,” God’s voice was more authoritative this time. Now, we have work to do.”

Ariel nodded. “Yes, Father.”

With that, she rocketed into the sky, bound invisibly for New York and the chaos that had been unexpectedly unleashed.

But she had seen.

They would move on.

And in that knowledge, she smiled. It would all work out in the end.

This story is dedicated to the memory of everyone who perished on September 11, 2001. This story is also dedicated to those who continue to survive.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Out of the corner of my eye, in the rear view mirror, I see the road behind me. It is littered with those I have hurt, beaten, broken, and left with nothing. Some of these people tried to hurt me, some of them did nothing but try to love me, but none of them deserved what I did to them. I look back with knowledge won by experience and a heavy heart—I am sorry.

I comb over the past a bit more and wonder…no, I dare to hope…from events long ago, the pain I’ve suffered and survived, the sacrifices I’ve made, the things I’ve lost…have I paid my price?

I look to the sky. Is it square now? Am I even? Can I trust the good things You give me…is it finally okay to stop fighting?

Hypocritical question, of sorts; is it okay to stop fighting…even though I don’t know anything else?

Everything in my possession I earned. Everything I ever held onto someone tried to take from me, and every good thing I’ve ever dared to want, I fought for all I’m worth to attain. I have felt better when I fought for the good things in my life. My father, for all his faults, was right when he said that nothing in life worth having is free.

So when something comes my way, I don’t give it a second thought, I just enjoy having it—because I worked for it.

Nothing good in life comes without a price—right?

Feeling secure enough in my current situation led me to shed the Busterwolf persona, leaving the weaker, considerably less confident Avery in his wake—and there’s a lot about the world I don’t know. For example; I haven’t the vaguest idea how to work Photoshop. Just opening the program is daunting to me.

For now. I have books.

My point is, the sheer, unadulterated confidence that came with fighting, and the ability to stare into the depths of human darkness, and come away (relatively) uncorrupted—all that’s gone now. I don’t think I’ll be on the street again, and there is no need for it.

So what now…?
How does life go on without Busterwolf?

I look upon some of the people I follow on twitter, and the people of the writer’s group, and I feel as a child among giants. If I was more active in social networking, I’d never get anything done. I only recently learned who Nancy Grace was and the inability to carry an intelligent conversation frustrates me to no end. It’s like being back to square one.

I feel as though listening to people is an excuse to cover up my lack of knowledge.

And then there’s—one more situation.
It is the one good thing in my life that I did not have to fight for.
Instead, I’m fighting an internal battle to make myself believe I’m worthy of it.

What’s the catch? What’s the drawback? Why me? Where’s the game? Where’s the shadow to the light? Where’s the lie? Where’s the–

I need to stop.

I didn’t write this blog looking for sympathy—I will come to terms with this on my own. I have too. I’m the only one who can make myself believe I’m worthy of the good that’s come my way lately.

Putting these things in writing allows me to deal with them, and as always, I hope that anyone else reading who may be going through something similar realizes that they are not alone…or those that know can pass on some advice.

Busterwolf is indeed gone, a relic of the past.

Only Avery—Iron Man—remains, and this is my ground zero. From here, up is the only direction.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out 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 Akting Out LLC

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