L. Scott Ekstrom – Writer

An autobiography says, “I became awesome; here’s how.”  A memoir says, “A lot of people did me wrong; now I’m naming names.”  A spiritual memoir says, “I found God; here’s my secret.”  But a Christian memoir says, “God found me; go figure.”  I’m trying to write that last one.  Here’s the introduction to my book in progress.

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If I believed people were basically good; that religious people were better than most; all pilgrims were climbing different sides of the same mountain, any path likely to reach the top; that spiritual success could be traced back to some distinctive superiority in the seeker; or eternal destruction was ever unsought . . .

If I believed twenty-first century Westerners were the wisest, most altruistic folks to ever live; that truth was unknowable or conflicting spiritual narratives might be simultaneously opposite and true; that tolerance was the freedom to believe whatever you like so long as that belief is not so strongly held or clearly expressed as to offend any other belief . . .

If I believed proselytizing was immoral or all people weren’t already trying to get everyone to believe as they did anyways; that there need be any incompatibility between conviction and civility; that disagreement equaled judging or judgment indicated hate . . .

If I believed personal faith was always immediately evident to everyone or could exist indefinitely with no signs of growth noticed by anyone; that we knew which and whose sins were the most heinous and should never or always discuss our own . . .

If I believed conversion an outdated innovation, the dangerous legacy of colonialism, an optional variety of faith for the emotionally inclined, a dedication appropriate for only the least savory, a necessarily datable and conscious crisis, a second chance to redeem ourselves, the mere erasing of past sins, a revivification of the latent angels in our nature, the reward for a pledge to reform, a tenuous moment of perfection, or a conditional communion we could muck up at any time . . .

If I believed the Spirit of God did not still speak to the spirits of women and men or that He will ever tell anyone anything that contradicts something He already told us all through His Word; that the bible was not holy writ but, rather, the ignorant ramblings of superstitious bigots or the copy of a copy of the flawed human reflection of a Word dictated from heaven but lost in translation by errant scribes . . .

If I believed Christ was not the Christ but a hyper-enlightened guide for releasing the light within; that His birth was illegitimate, His teachings paralleled by other prophets, His miracles legend, His so-called perfection bunk; that His death was deserved or an unfortunate misunderstanding, that it was not the worst and best thing to ever happen, or that it effected an automatic turning point for all, whether they fell at His feet or spit in His face . . .

If I believed resurrection started with something less than the body of God rising from the dead . . .

If I believed any of these things or many others I also don’t believe, the life I am trying to live and the book I have tried to write would be, for better or worse, very different from what they are.  What I do believe, for starters, is that the Three-in-One God, who created the universe and sustains it still, knew, before He also created me in His good image, that I was prone, at least from birth, to mar that image beyond recognition, forever vacillating between the yin and yang of self-destruction and self-worship.  But, His love for and knowledge of me being infinitely greater than my own for and of myself, He came down the mountain.  Lived a beautiful life, died an ugly death and, through Word and Spirit one winter’s night a quarter century ago, walked farther still, down basement stairs and into my pimpled soul, descending even into the hell of my own making, to kiss my every sin with death and life and love and, then, ascend with me in His arms, saved by grace, only grace.

My book begins there and is about His continual mercy set in stark relief against my near-continual rebellion.  It is not, as someone once described the religious testimony, a tale of how I used to be bad but now I’m good.  It is not even a story that is mostly about me.  Sure, in my own stab at a literary non-fiction, as with my attempt at Christianity, my tendency toward disobedience finds me daily sliding myself back into the spotlight.  But if I’ve lived long enough to know anything, it is this:  a merciful Providence persists to show me I was never meant to be the lead actor in my own life.  Things go better when I accept a supporting role and allow Him to be writer, producer, director, and star.

So, all that to say this:  here goes something.

@LScottEkstrom is a freelance writer living in New York.

Article and photo credit:  Copyright 2013, L. Scott Ekstrom.  All rights reserved.