345. Always Winter but Never Christmas

Posted on March 9, 2015 by Adam Stück

I’m tired, guys.

I look out my window at a desert of old snow. Once soft and shining, it has become an icy crust over withered grass and frozen mud. The sun shines now and then, melting snow, only for the water to freeze overnight into slick, dangerous patches of ice. I haven’t had even a glimpse of green leaves in months. The landscape is a gloomy muddle of white and brown and gray. Overhead, the sky is a weary, faded blue… when it isn’t covered by clouds. It’s cold.

I’m so tired.

Work has been ghastly. We’ve been short-staffed, putting everyone under pressure. My workplace has become toxic with complaints, accusations, gossip, and abusive remarks. No matter how hard I work, I seem to take an unfair share of blame. I often feel unappreciated at work, but I’m beginning to feel unwanted. It hurts.

At the end of the day, exhausted, I go to bed, trying not to think about work, blogging, or any of the things on my to-do list. That list never seems to get any shorter: like the hydra, which grows two heads for each one cut off, my to-do list defies my attempts to conquer it.

I’m so, so tired.

C.S. Lewis once described a curse that made it “always winter but never Christmas.” I’m amused by the childlike clarification about the holiday. After all, when confronted by eternal winter, only children would be concerned by its effect on Christmas; the grownups would be too busy worrying about food, warmth, shelter, and the collapse of Society As We Know It.

C.S. Lewis knew a thing or two about winter.

I feel cold just looking at this picture.

All the same, I admit that “always winter but never Christmas” paints a bleak picture. It suggests gloom, bitterness, and suffering with no consolation. There are no holidays to brighten the darkness: no parties, presents, or carols to keep hope alive. “Always winter but never Christmas” is an awful thing. It wears away a person.

In the end, though, that curse was broken. No winter lasts forever. Sooner or later, spring melts the snow and breathes life into the grass and trees. Spring is a resurrection. Spring is a promise, echoing the very words of God: “I am making everything new!”

I should also point out, for the record, that I had a very nice Christmas.

As it happens, beyond the holidays, my winter hasn’t lacked for blessings. I haven’t run out of coffee. I grumble about winter from the warmth of a cozy apartment. My job has hit a rough patch, yet I’m thankful to be employed. My life isn’t really “always winter but never Christmas.” It’s occasionally winter and sometimes Christmas, and there’s one more consolation.

Spring is coming.

This tree stands outside my window: at this moment, a desolate skeleton sticking out of the snow. As this photo reminds me, spring will make it new.

I’m waiting to see some blossoms on the skeletal trees outside my apartment. I’m trusting, hoping, and persevering—at least, I’m trying. (I’m certainly drinking a lot of coffee, so that helps.) Spring will arrive with warmth and sunshine and explosions of pink petals. I know it will.

As I blunder onward, one day at a time, I’m trying not to forget it.

341. Mole End

Posted on February 23, 2015 by Adam Stück

If you ever happen to visit my apartment, you will be greeted by a wooden sign immediately upon stepping inside. It depicts a well-dressed mole drinking coffee and reading a book, along with two welcoming words: Mole End.

I love the way the mole’s glasses are perched delicately on the end of his snout.

My dad, God bless him, crafted this sign for me many years ago. Although he’s known round these parts for his superb drawings of monkeys, my old man is perfectly capable of drawing other small mammals!

The sign is made of driftwood from an Ecuadorian beach. (The sign fell from the wall a few weeks ago, scattering sand from its deepest crevices all over my floor. I was oddly touched to find my small-town Indiana apartment suddenly dusted with sand from my faraway homeland.) My old man sketched the picture on an ordinary piece of paper, glued it to the driftwood, aged it with cold tea, and applied a layer of finish.

When I moved into my apartment two and a half years ago, I immediately christened it Mole End and put up the sign shortly thereafter. Now, you may wonder why I chose this name for an apartment in a quiet, out-of-the-way corner of Indiana. You wouldn’t be the first!

Some time ago, I was honored to receive a visit from Thomas Mark Zuniga. This wise, wandering blogger had written for my blog. I had written for his, and also reviewed his debut book. It was quite a privilege finally to meet the man (and his splendid beard) in person.

Someday, if I am very lucky, I will have a beard half as nice as Tom’s.

Upon entering Mole End, Tom asked about the sign. It took me a moment to stammer out a reply: “Have you ever read The Wind in the Willows?”

For those who haven’t read this enchanting book, The Wind in the Willows is the tale of several animals in the old-timey English countryside. One of these creatures, Mole, reminds me strongly of myself: neat, anxious, insecure, quick to blame himself, and a devoted homebody. In a few other ways, I’m rather like a mole: I’m an introvert, keeping away from social events and enjoying my safe, cozy, solitary burrow.

Mole loves his subterranean home, Mole End, yet leaves it early on in search of fresh experiences. It’s only later in the book, as he chats with a Badger, that Mole remembers how much he enjoys life underground.

“Once well underground,” he said, “you know exactly where you are. Nothing can happen to you, and nothing can get at you. You’re entirely your own master, and you don’t have to consult anybody or mind what they say. Things go on all the same overheard, and you let ’em, and don’t bother about ’em. When you want to, up you go, and there the things are, waiting for you.”

That, dear reader, is why I call my apartment Mole End.

Mole later returns to Mole End in a chapter aptly titled “Dulce Domum,” Latin for sweet home. He is overwhelmed to the point of tears. Mole End is all the sweeter because Mole abandoned it for a while, like the man in the book by G.K. Chesterton who left his house and walked around the world simply for the joy of coming home again.

I love my home—not my Indiana apartment, specifically, but the place I feel secure, comfortable, and relaxed. My home isn’t permanent. There’s a reason the Bible refers to our bodies as a “tent” instead of a house. Quoth the Apostle Paul, “For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven.”

We are all foreigners and strangers on earth. Some of us are searching for a better country—a heavenly one. My apartment in Indiana may be the closest thing to home I shall ever find on earth. I don’t know how long I’ll stay. In the future, I may have many homes… but I will only ever have one Mole End.

Of course, Mole End’s size, appearance, and layout may change occasionally. Its location may vary. Mole End may be found, at various times, in different cities, countries, and continents.

As long as I have the promise of a heavenly home—and the sign, of course—I’ll carry Mole End with me.

340. TMTF’s Top Ten Things Learned in Ten Years of Animation

Posted on February 20, 2015 by Adam Stück

Today’s post was written by JK Riki: animator, blogger, and creator of Fred the Monkey, who is probably a bad influence on my typewriter monkeys. All the same, Typewriter Monkey Task Force is honored to share JK’s reflections on what he’s learned from ten years as an animator. For more great stuff from JK, check out his blog and Twitter. You may also want to swing by Animator Island, for which he writes.

After I sent my first guest post to Adam, he responded positively: “It’s good stuff.” Two sentences later came a spirit-crushing qualification: he was more interested in my creative process, particularly from the class of “animator” in which I dwell.

“Surely you can do better than this last, terrible post,” he noted in his email, though it may have actually been written, “I think your thoughts on the creative process may be even more valuable.” (I can read between the lines, you see. I know what he meant.)

[Editor’s note: What I, Adam, really meant was, “I think your thoughts on the creative process may be even more valuable, and I could really use a cup of coffee.” That last part is subtext to nearly everything I say or write, so I left it out.]

So fine, I’ll set aside my deeper thoughts on philosophy and the universe and give the audience what it wants. Plus I’ll do it in a time-honored tradition of TMTF: a top ten list!

That said, please consider…

The Top Ten Things I’ve Learned From Ten Years as an Animator!

10. Mediocre entertainment > unrealized genius

I can’t tell you the amount of time I’ve wasted waiting to get “good enough” to do certain projects. “This is a brilliant idea,” I’ve thought, “but I really need to up my skill level to pull it off properly. Back you go into the Sack of Potential Greatness!”

Poor Sack. It’s been bursting at the seams for years now.

The truth is, a brilliant idea unrealized is pointless. Isn’t an inferior version that exists better than a wasted concept that, let’s face it, will never be made? Honestly, it’s unlikely you’ll ever be “good enough.” You’ll never reach that standard. It’s not worth the wait; go do it now. Save perfection for the next life!

Even the best animations start as rough, quick sketches!

That said, 10b. Always strive to do better!

9. Enthusiasm fades

Animation is a brilliant form of art for one unique reason: It takes forever. Because it takes forever, you have millions of opportunities to tweak things or change directions or quit and become an accountant. When you work on a single piece of art that takes weeks, months, or years for what seems like very little return, at some point you question what you’re doing.

The thing that divides the people who have done great animation (or really, anything at all) from those who only wish they could is pushing past this doldrum and pressing on, enthusiasm or no enthusiasm. Those days happen, and it’s up to you to not let them string together day after day, week after week.

8. Animation is hard

It does not take much physical effort to drag a wooden stick affixed with graphite across compressed tree pulp. It doesn’t even take much physical effort to do that billions of times so you can photograph them in sequence and watch the lines dance across a screen.

Despite the lack of physical energy required, animation is so, so hard.

JK's inner animator expresses the difficulties of the craft in the most eloquent way possible: shaking a sharp, pointy object.

JK’s inner animator eloquently expresses the difficulties of his craft.

People are used to watching movement. When you’re attempting to mimic that movement they know so well with pencil or 3D model, your audience are all experts. If you make a mistake, they’ll know about it, because it doesn’t match the decades of real-world experience they have with movement.

At the same time…

7. People are forgiving

In animation, you cheat. A lot. One of my favorite descriptions of animation is from Pixar director Peter Docter, who said “Animation is life with the volume turned up.”

As animators, we’re called to go beyond reality and create things that “look right.” Sometimes, in order to get something to look right, you have to throw all the rules out the window and make things up. The wonderful thing about this process is that people will accept your made up nonsense if it looks right. They’ll forgive your strange motion blurs and broken joints just as long as it feels the way it should. It’s because of this that…

6. Mistakes aren’t as huge as you think

One of the greatest moments in animation is when you finish roughing out a shot and you hate it with every fiber of your being. You look at the individual drawings and think “This is garbage. I should quit and become an accountant!” Then you play it in real time and oh! The beauty! The majesty! The countless hours were worth it, and for reasons unknown it works. There is reason to live again!

Life is long, and it’s a process. The mistakes of a “single frame” that seem overwhelming at the time may just work in unison with the images around it and turn out beautifully. Then the key becomes remembering that even the close-up errors really aren’t as dooming as they seem.

5. Things change

Fred the Monkey sure has changed over the years!

Fred the Monkey affirms that yes, things sure change!

If you aren’t growing as a person, you’re doing life wrong. We’re here to grow, to learn, and to become better every day. Knowing this, one should expect to change over time. When we expect this change to happen, we can better deal with the feelings of “failure” when it arrives. I once kicked myself for failing to keep FredtheMonkey.com updated consistently. Wait, to be fair, I kicked myself for that dozens of times.

The longer I live, the more I see that the goals I set at twenty-two are not the goals I have today. As the Bible says in Ecclesiastes, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: A time to make Flash cartoons about monkeys, and a time to focus on family life and remodeling a house.” (Paraphrasing here a bit, so go look up the full non-cartoon-including list in Ecc. 3.)

Things change; it’s part of life. When we know this, we can…

4. Manage expectations to find happiness

Consider this scenario. You decide to go see a film this weekend. You’ve seen a trailer, and it looks absolutely terrible, but a friend/family/cute member of the opposite sex really wants to go, so you oblige. After two hours in the theater, the film turns out to be pretty average, but certainly not completely awful, and you realize, “Hey, that wasn’t as bad as I thought!”

Using the power of hypothetical situations, let’s go back in time. (Time travel is fun!) This time, a friend has told you about the film and how it’s the most incredible work of movie making ever crafted by human hands. Your heart beats quicker as the previews rush by and finally the film begins. Your hands grip the plastic theater chair arms in anticipation. Your knees tremble in spite of your feet being glued to the floor by soda and popcorn grease. This is it!

And… it’s decidedly average.

Now what? Chances are you’re going to walk out of the theater this time grumbling, “That wasn’t amazing at all, what were they thinking? I counted a dozen plot holes and the main character was an idiot. What a waste of two hours….”

What’s the difference here? Spoiler alert: It’s not the film, it’s your expectations.

It’s easy to be disappointed when your expectations aren’t realistic!

Over ten years of animating, I’ve had many expectations. Some cartoons I knew were great, and would do so well on Newgrounds.com. They flopped. Some animations were rushed and I almost didn’t release them because they weren’t ready (see point #10, though). Reviews were glowing, and they made front page. Lol, what?

I’ve learned (and continue to learn) to manage expectations. There’s nothing wrong with hope, or wanting things to be wonderful. There’s a big difference between hoping for good things and expecting them. If you manage the expectation part, life goes so, so much better.

3. Edit well

Cut out all things you don’t need in order to make your point or tell your story.

[Author’s note: I’m still learning this one, because Adam had to edit this post for clarity and to remove most of my ramblings. The original was 518 words longer in total. Clearly there’s still work for me to do regarding Lesson #3.]

2. There is nothing like doing what you love

I have held several jobs in my life, ranging from things I’ve enjoyed to “I’d really rather be having teeth pulled, thank you.” For me, animation is a passion. It goes beyond enjoyment to a very strange place that shares borders with the lands of “Obsession” and “Madness.”

Someone once asked me if animation was fun. I thought about it for a moment and then said “No, not at all.” At the time I was surprised by my response, but if I could go back in time, I’d add, “I can’t imagine not doing it, though.”

I love animation. It is one of the things I think I was put on this Earth to do. As a result, no matter how difficult it becomes (see #8), I am filled with joy when I’m engrossed in it. It’s not about “having fun” as much as it is “bathing in the joy of purpose and meaning.” Do what you love and life becomes awe-inspiring every dang day.

1. Understanding the why is the most important thing

We devalue the why in our world today. We’ve gotten so caught up in the who, what, when, and where that we’ve forgotten all about the final W of the Big 5. It’s rather ironic, actually, because when something big (often tragic) happens our first reaction is “Why is this happening?!”

In animation, you must understand the why. Why is this character doing what he’s doing? Why is this prop in the scene? Why didn’t I go to school to become an accountant?

Life is the same way.

When I started FredtheMonkey.com more than a decade ago, I had conflicting dreams for it. On the one hand, I wanted to make the world a better place by producing funny cartoons that brightened someone’s day.

At the same time, I wanted HomestarRunner-level success. If I could just reach that level of popularity, boy, I could sure make this planet a better place. I could change people, convince them of things, and have influence. No doubt the money I’d make could help millions as well. Yes, that would be the day it all came together!

The further I unconsciously veered towards the second why during those ten years of animating poor-quality Flash cartoons, the more miserable I was. The more it was work, instead of joy. The more I didn’t want to keep doing it. I had lost the purpose that drove my initial creative process. I burned out a lot.

Each time I remembered my mantra of “If I make one person’s life better with this cartoon, it will have been worth it,” the peace and love of what I was doing came rushing back. I had to constantly stave off the allure of fame and wealth so I could be content with whatever came from my efforts.

And that contentment was far better than anything I’ve ever gained materialistically. Know the why of what you do, and remind yourself of it always.

I hope that these lessons I’ve learned can be of some help to someone out there. If it gives hope or inspiration to a single person, the decade of struggles will be worth every effort.

339. I Talk Too Much

Posted on February 16, 2015 by Adam Stück

Update: I just realized that I’ve already written a post about wasting words. Do you see what I mean? I really do talk too much!

Besides death or divine intervention, nothing in the universe can stop me once I start rambling.

I was reminded of this a few days ago. At the time, I was explaining to coworkers how a gerund looks remarkably like a chicken when diagrammed in a sentence. (This fact was pointed out to me by a college professor.) The English language fascinates me, and I’m greatly amused by this quirk of sentence diagramming. I was enthusiastic in sharing my amusement with my coworkers.

My gerund-chicken was met with one or two blank faces, and I realized I was babbling. It probably wasn’t the first time that day. Ah, well. No harm, no fowl. (Pun intended. I’m so, so sorry.)

I ramble all the time, and most people aren’t blunt or brave enough to ask me to stop. A few politely change the subject. Many suffer in silence. If I may, for the sake of illustration, borrow and edit a couple of old comic panels from Gigi D.G. of Cucumber Quest fame: many of my conversations go something like this.

The greatest difference between this illustration and real life is that I hardly ever chat with one-eyed war veterans.

I’m exaggerating a bit for comedic effect, yet the truth is that I talk too much. As an introvert, I generally keep to myself around other people. However, the very second a conversation turns to something that interests me, I begin to talk… and eventually to babble.

One of the things that troubles me most about my lamentable loquacity is that it afflicts my nearest and dearest. Most of the people who meet me will never hear me ramble. It’s my family and friends (along with a few coworkers and acquaintances) who put up with my enthusiastic floods of words. It’s when I feel comfortable around someone that I let down my guard, and when my guard is down that I talk too much.

That said, you should take it as a compliment if I ramble at you… I guess?

Anyhowz, I have three points to make about my tendency to talk too much.

1. Writing is awesome because it allows me to moderate my own words.

Probably my favorite thing about writing is the freedom it gives me to find exactly the right words and phrase them precisely the way I want. Written words can be revised. If I begin to ramble in, say, a Facebook message, I can go back and cut out the fluff.

Speaking doesn’t give me that luxury. It represents immediate, irrevocable communication. There is no revising spoken words, except by speaking more. Once a word is spoken, it can’t be deleted. I wish I could revise and moderate my speaking the way I do my writing.

2. Rambling is selfish.

When I ramble about stuff that matters to me, I forget—or worse, ignore—that it might not matter to other people. I disrespect people by demanding their time and attention, airing my own views and opinions, when they’re not interested. Worse, I don’t spend enough time listening to them.

Talking too much is a way of saying, “I don’t care enough about you to listen.”

3. The Bible says some pretty harsh things about talking too much.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus Christ says, “I tell you that everyone will have to give account on the day of judgment for every empty word they have spoken.For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.”

Yikes.

The Proverbs add quite a few cautions against babbling. “When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise,” quoth the author of Proverbs, and later adds, “Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent, and discerning if they hold their tongues.”

I… suppose I’ll end here, actually. Heaven knows I don’t want to ramble.

337. Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Posted on February 9, 2015 by Adam Stück

Do know what I hate?

Yes, I detest cockroaches. I despise butchered hymns, shady Internet ads, and the fact Black Friday happens one day after Thanksgiving. I dislike the Twilight books, and I loathe M. Night Shyamalan’s wretched film adaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender. (I’m trying to forgive you, Shyamalan, but your abysmal Airbender movie tests even the Christian virtues of grace and mercy.) These are all awful things.

There is something I hate more than any of them.

I hate feeling bad and not knowing why.

Have you heard the (scientifically dubious) anecdote of the boiling frog? As the story goes, a frog placed in boiling water will jump out immediately, but a frog submerged in lukewarm water that is heated gradually will eventually be cooked to death.

Depression slowly boils me alive. It sneaks up on me so slowly and insidiously that I sometimes go days without realizing it. The world simply goes dark. I find it harder and harder to work, write, smile, relax, or do anything but slump in a chair and keep breathing. My descent into depression is so gradual that I don’t ask, “Why am I depressed?” My question is usually more like, “Has the universe always been this awful?”

Then, nearly always, there comes a moment—a blinding flash of hope and clarity when I realize, “Hold on a moment. I’m depressed. Huh, that explains a lot.” The moment I realize the universe isn’t really quite as dark and hopeless as it seems is generally the turning point in every bout with depression.

For my readers wondering how a person can be depressed without knowing it, I must ask a question. When you dream, do you realize you’re dreaming? Few people have the self-awareness to recognize a dream until they awaken. In the same way, I apparently lack the self-awareness to recognize depression right away.

Recognizing depression is generally my all-important first step in recovering from it. Depression makes it seem as though something is wrong with everything. When I realize I’m depressed, I understand there is merely something wrong with me. The problem no longer lies with the entire universe, but with one person in it. Believe me when I tell you that depression, however unpleasant, is a nicer problem than everything in existence being awful.

If I may put it so tritely: naming a fear is taming a fear. A problem is less scary when it’s a familiar one—especially when I know it’s one I’ve conquered before. When the world seems dark, I can smile grimly and echo the words of Paul Simon.

“Hello darkness, my old friend.”

I might add a few words to Mr. Simon’s and say, “I’m afraid you can’t stay long; I’ve got stuff to do.”

336. Four Quotes to Guide a Life

Posted on February 6, 2015 by Adam Stück

In the past few months, I’ve done some redecorating in my apartment. For example, on my desk—well, I suppose I should start by point out that I now use a desk. I had previously slumped in an armchair, balancing my laptop on my knees and probably causing gradual, irreparable damage to my spine.

Yes, I’m now using a desk, and I’ve added a few personal touches. For example, a plush llama stands near my laptop. Beside it, a wooden warrior stands guard and holds his sword high; my dad cobbled together the brave little fellow from acorns and bits of wood.

“CHARGE ’EM AND THEY SCATTER!”

My desk is decorated by one last personal touch: four quotes scribbled on a piece of paper and framed. The frame is cheap; I picked it up from Walmart a while back. The quotes, unlike their little frame, are invaluable. In past months, as I did my best to tidy up my life, each of these quotes made an impression on me.

I’m sharing these quotes today for a few reasons.

Each of these quotes represents an idea I consider extremely important.
I hope my readers may find these quotes helpful, inspiring, or meaningful.
I didn’t feel like writing a proper blog post.

When I wrote down these quotes, I emphasized a few words because I read some comics recently and liked the way comic-book dialogue puts words in bold for emphasis. Don’t judge me.

With that, I’ll quit babbling and yield this post to four wise people: a web cartoonist, a saint, a writer, and a Savior. Their words inspire me, and I hope they inspire you.

“It is not about you. It is about everyone else.” ~ Matthew Taranto

“Not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love.” ~ Mother Teresa

“If you continue to love Jesus, nothing much can go wrong with you, and I hope you may always do so.” ~ C.S. Lewis

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” ~ Jesus Christ

Batman Syndrome

Posted on January 12, 2015 by Adam Stück

I have Batman Syndrome.

I wish this meant I were as cool, skilled or accomplished as Batman. It does not. It most certainly does not. What it means is that Batman and I have something in common: we obsess over our mistakes.

If you or someone you love suffers from Batman Syndrome… I feel your pain.

I like fictional characters who overlook their victories and overemphasize their failures. There’s something compelling about characters who are heroic without realizing it. Take the Doctor from Doctor Who, who has saved every planet in the universe roughly twenty-seven times. In all his travels through space and time, he never leaves behind his insecurity, self-loathing or guilt. Consider Jean Valjean from Les Misérables, who atones for a few petty crimes by spending years serving the poor and helpless. They bless him as a saint. He despises himself as a criminal.

Then we have Batman, the eponymous sufferer of Batman Syndrome, who is so blinded by guilt that he fails to recognize one all-important fact: he is freaking Batman. No matter how many thousands of people he rescues, he remains obsessed with the two he failed to save.

I’m not a savior like the Doctor or a saint like Jean Valjean. I’m certainly not a superhero like Batman. Even so, I occasionally do things right. I also do things wrong. In my mind, the wrong things eclipse the right ones. A mistake cancels out all successes.

This isn’t always such a bad thing. I feel driven by my mistakes to try harder, to be better, to get it right. In the short term, it helps.

In the long term, however, Batman Syndrome wears away my confidence. It also makes me anxious. Dash it all, does it ever make me anxious. Doing anything is hard for someone desperately afraid of making mistakes. Perfection is a lousy minimum standard.

Batman Syndrome haunts me with one dreadful question.

You’ll never get it right, so why even try?

I write a lot about grace and stuff. In the end, I suppose it’s because I’m amazed (and sometimes incredulous) that God loves me. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. More to the point, I make a lot of mistakes. It’s easy for me to accept God’s forgiveness for a sin committed ten years ago. What’s hard for me to accept is forgiveness for a sin committed ten minutes ago.

It can also be hard for me to acknowledge my victories. I want to be humble, but there’s a difference between true humility and false modesty. I’m often reminded of my weaknesses. I think I must also allow myself to be reminded of the strengths God has given me. I’ve a long way to go, but I mustn’t overlook how far I’ve come.

I’m not Batman, and I think I’m finally beginning to accept that I don’t have to be.

This post was originally published on March 18, 2013. TMTF shall return with new content on January 19, 2015!

Gangster Pastors

Posted on January 5, 2015 by Adam Stück

One of my most prized possessions is a weather-stained, gray cloth cap. If my residence ever burns down, this cap is one of the first things I will try to rescue from the flames. I call it my gangster cap, not because it fits the so-called gangster style, but because a gangster—or rather, an ex-gangster—gave it to me.

I was touched when my ex-gangster friend, whom I’ll call Miguel, gave me his cap, because it has great sentimental value for him. He had once lost it while plunging into a gully to escape from a rival gang. It lay at the bottom of the ravine for four months until he sneaked back to retrieve it.

Miguel was a car thief and a gang leader in Quito, the capital of Ecuador and the city of my birth. Besides his other crimes, Miguel occasionally worked for Mama Lucha, a notorious criminal kingpin. (I guess she should actually be called a queenpin since she was a woman.)

On one occasion, Miguel and his comrades tried to steal a long sheet metal sign welded to a pedestrian bridge. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t able to divide the sign into pieces as they’d planned. In the end they had to carry it whole through the streets of Quito, weaving furtively through city streets like some sort of monstrous metal centipede.

Miguel is currently happily married, working at a government job in Quito and ministering as a lay leader in his church.

It is a source of amazement, amusement and wonder to me how many of the church leaders I knew in Ecuador are former gangsters, thieves or occultists.

I’m not using real names in this post in order to protect the privacy of the leaders whose stories I’m sharing. I assure you, however, that to the best of my knowledge all of these stories are accurate, factual and true.

Paco is a kind, gentle and fiercely amiable pastor from the coast of Ecuador. Like King Saul in the Old Testament, Paco is about a head taller than everyone around him. His skin is black, his frame is muscular and his cheek is scarred by a gash from a knife. He used to be a thief on the streets.

Armed with a knife, Paco once accosted a girl at night with the intention of taking her money. The girl, who was a Christian, began talking with him about God. Although it was a long time before Paco would know Christ, he eventually put away the knife and escorted the girl to her home because—as he explained—it was a dangerous neighborhood and he didn’t want her to get robbed.

Paco eventually wound up in prison. Some of his fellow prisoners were personal enemies who wanted to kill him. However, before they had the opportunity, Paco was released. He didn’t know how or why—the only hint he received was a vague explanation that “some lawyer” had made all the necessary arrangements. What those arrangements were, and who the lawyer was, he doesn’t know to this day. It has been suggested to him that the lawyer might have been an angel. He doesn’t deny the possibility.

Then there’s Luís, another ex-criminal from the Ecuadorian coast. His skin is black, which makes his dazzling white smile all the more striking. Luís is a fantastic storyteller, and my dad has been privileged to hear accounts of several of his escapades.

Luís, while stoned on drugs, once tried to murder another man, also stoned. Having crept up on him from behind, Luís put a pistol to the man’s head and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired. Luís examined the pistol, peering blearily into its barrel, while his victim sat peacefully unaware of the attempt being made on his life. Luís tried again to murder his victim. The gun didn’t go off, but this time the man realized what was happening and fled shrieking while Luís resumed his bewildered examination of the gun.

On another occasion, Luís entered a church and sat down—only for a huge army knife to fall out of his shirt and hit the concrete floor with a thunk. Nearly every head turned to look at him, and a little old lady sitting nearby picked up the knife and sweetly gave it back to him.

A turning point came when a taxi crashed into a light pole as Luís leaned against it. The pole absorbed most of the impact, but Luís flew a considerable distance and landed hard. Just a few minutes later he met a Christian lady from his neighborhood. “Did something just happen to you?” she asked. “God told me to pray for you five minutes ago, so I did.”

After Luís became a Christian, two attempts were made on his life, once with a pistol and once with a sawed-off shotgun. The guns misfired both times—two more miraculous interventions.

All three of these church leaders have told my dad that they’re grateful to God for never letting them kill anybody. They all came frighteningly close to it. Looking back, they can see the hand of God at work in their lives, even when they didn’t care for him.

I believe, if we look hard enough, most of us can see the hand of God at work in our own lives.

I know I can.

This post was originally published on January 17, 2012. TMTF shall return with new content on January 19, 2015!

329. The Post of Resolutions Yet to Come

Posted on December 29, 2014 by Adam Stück

All right. I’ve reviewed my resolutions for 2014. What of the year ahead? What resolutions have I made for being a better, nicer, wiser person?

Here are my resolutions for 2015.

I will be more intentional in keeping my New Year’s resolutions.

Full disclosure: I make an effort at the start of each year to keep my New Year’s resolutions, and I forget by the end of each year whatever the heck it was that I had resolved to do. I often keep New Year’s resolutions by dint of trying generally to be a better person, not by remembering and keeping specific goals. In the new year, I’ll be intentional in keeping my resolutions—this one included!

I will work on my Spanish.

This is an old resolution, which I mostly failed to keep. My grasp of the Spanish language was never a strong one, and it has only weakened in the six and a half years since I left Ecuador. This will be the year I dust off my old Avatar: The Last Airbender DVDs, pop ’em in my laptop, and watch the Spanish dub of the entire series. After all, cartoons make learning ~~fun~~ bearable!

Yes, I will learn Spanish from this irresponsible cartoon twelve-year-old. Teach me, O bald one!

I will practice spinning an old broomstick.

A few people know of my talent for twirling old broomsticks like some sort of janitorial ninja. I haven’t really practiced this useless gift in the past few years. It’s high time I get some regular fresh air and exercise spinning my broomstick in the local park… even if it means little Amish children lining up in a neat, silent row to stare at me. (This really happened, and it was even more awkward than it sounds.)

I will have a more positive attitude.

I am a pessimist, and also a cheerful person. At the root of my paradoxical pessimism is the fact that cheerfulness and hopefulness are not the same thing. Beneath my silliness and sense of humor there is generally a negative outlook and an attitude of defeat. (It’s no coincidence that many humorists, from Mark Twain to James Thurber, were deeply melancholy men.) I will try in the new year not merely to be cheerful, but to trust, and to hope, and to persevere.

This is truly the face of a pessimist.

I will research career options.

Despite having an English Education degree and a teacher’s license, I’ve finally admitted to myself that I don’t want to be a teacher—at least not in a US public school setting. Fortunately, there are other options open for someone with experience in English Education and a writing addiction. While I’m not planning to move on quite yet, this will be the year I figure out where I might go from here.

I will value prayer more.

I don’t value prayer enough. As an orthodox Christian, I believe it’s the single most important thing I do every day. However, in years past, I’ve made prayer just another item on my daily to-do list—and generally the first thing to be cut when I get busy. In the new year, I mean to honor God by honoring prayer.

Do you have any resolutions for the new year that you’re willing to share? Let us know in the comments!

Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, please check out TMTF’s charity fundraisers this month and make the new year awesome for a person in need!

328. The Post of Resolutions Past

Posted on December 26, 2014 by Adam Stück

Christmas is over, but this is no time for gloom! A new year is nearly here! We must face 2015 with hope, caffeine, and courage. After all, the start of each new year is an opportunity for self-reflection and self-improvement… or despair and apathy, if you’re a pessimist. It’s also a time for reminiscence, celebration, and setting stuff on fire.

Well, I suppose that last one only applies in Ecuador, where effigies are burned in the streets on New Year’s Eve. Every December I remember this tradition fondly, and then make new year’s resolutions instead. I would be arrested for arson if I built a bonfire on the streets of my quiet Indiana town.

Oh, Ecuador, how I miss you. Your traditions an inspiration, like a beacon burning brightly—a blazing beacon doused in kerosene and likely to burn down entire city blocks.

Before I list my resolutions for the new year, I should take a few moments to review my goals for the old one. After all, what good are resolutions if I don’t try to keep them?

These were my resolutions for 2014.

I will value variety.

I enjoyed some new things this year, from culinary surprises (who knew fresh spinach made such a good salad?) to gaming discoveries (Metal Gear Solid is pretty rad). However, for the most part, I stuck to familiar comforts. I must consider this resolution a failure.

I will live with confidence.

Much to my own surprise, I kept this resolution. I’m still an anxious person, but I’m learning to ~~have~~ fake greater confidence in myself.

I will be a people person.

I… sort of kept this one, I guess? I didn’t go out of my way to meet people, but I made a couple of new friends and did a slightly better job of keeping in touch with old ones.

I will keep up with this lousy blog.

This resolution was mostly successful. TMTF took a few breaks, but I’m pretty sure it was more consistent this year than before. If it wasn’t, blame my typewriter monkeys. Always blame my typewriter monkeys. (I need that slogan on a T-shirt.)

I will drink tea and coffee while they’re still hot.

I nailed this one.

I will be consistent and faithful in fulfilling my spiritual commitments.

I didn’t spend as much time praying and reading the Bible this year as in years past, but I was also busier this year with work, blogging, and other commitments. Although the quantity of time spent with God was less, I think its quality was improved; I’m getting better at reflecting on Scripture and praying prayers that aren’t completely awful. Let’s call this one a draw.

I have half a dozen new resolutions lined up for next year… but that’s for the next post on this blog.

Speaking of the blog, this was an interesting year for TMTF. I revamped its reviews, embraced the Oxford comma, turned into the Hulk, had an insightful discussion (in an animated video!) with a well-dressed wolf, and reviewed all those Metal Gear Solid games. In fact, I played even more of those games than I reviewed. I may declare 2014 the Year of Metal Gear Solid… or Metal Year Solid for short. (I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go daydream about setting fire to stuff in the streets.