Missing Bruce Gentry

I met Bruce Gentry on a film shoot during my sophomore year at North Greenville University. The very day that we met, I felt as though I had known him for years. He kept me laughing the entire day. We exchanged numbers, and the very next morning at 7 a.m., I got a phone call reminding me to get to my Biology class on time. From then on, we talked on the phone constantly. Bruce became as close as a brother. We shared a love of film and of music that only served to bring us closer together. Bruce was an encyclopedia of knowledge, and he was always willing to teach me new things, to expand my horizons artistically, and to keep my ADD riddled mind on task.

When I entered an internship in Marietta, GA, it was one of the first times that I had ever been away from home, living on my own. As a result of my panic disorder, I was plagued with attacks for many nights. I spoke with Bruce for hours every night that summer, and every time I would call him in a panic, he would calmly recite Psalm 91 for me, and before I knew it, the wave of fear had passed and had lulled me into a place of peace. Bruce always said, "when you share a burden, it's divided; when you share a joy, it's multiplied". During the tough times in my life, he always reminded me that I was loved, and I could always depend on him. I would find myself calling him when I was in need of comfort. He never missed a phone call. He was most definitely a caretaker. During a recent film shoot, I became ill with dehydration. There was Bruce, running to the nearest drug store, forcing me to drink Pedialyte and pulling me off the set. I would have been angry with anyone else, but because it was Bruce, because he was my brother, my best friend, and my artistic soul mate, it didn't matter. I just sat down for the remainder of the shoot, and listened to Bruce talk away about Charles Laughton and Bette Davis. I would have listened to Bruce Gentry read the phone book for hours. The man had the richest voice. He'd often leave voicemails on my phone, where he'd recite long monologues from Shakespeare, and fill up my entire inbox. I never complained. I loved every minute. He was one of the greatest actors that ever lived. Those who have worked with him one on one know this to be true. He was a consummate professional, and he absolutely adored the stage and screen. Everyone wanted to work with him. To know Bruce was to love him - that's all there is to it. I could go on and on about this beloved man.  

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of the death of my best friend. God has placed many people in my path, but few have touched my life in the way that Bruce did. He had such a profound impact on me, one which I will never forget. In these times when I miss him dearly, I can still feel his presence. I know that he is looking down on me from Heaven, keeping a watchful eye on me, his "little Orson Welles". I miss you more than you will ever know, Brucie! I love you.

"A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing"

It has recently come to my attention that a member of my former church has labeled me a "wolf in sheep's clothing". This comes as no surprise as I consider the source of the comment; however, this is not the first time that the self-righteous have bared their claws.

I actually take this sort of thing as a compliment. 

The past few years of my life have been the most significant, the most revealing, the most precious - as far as my spirituality is concerned. I've learned a lot. I've unlearned a lot. Somewhere in between lies doubt. I've learned to both embrace and resist doubt in equal measure. It's incredibly frustrating at times, not knowing all of the answers. If I could have one wish in the entire world, I would want to have a one-on-one with Jesus Christ, in the flesh. I would like to sit with him, maybe sip on a cup of coffee, and go down the list of questions and concerns that I have about life, about his Word. However, the closest that I'm ever going to come to this - until I enter the pearly gates, of course - is what I have in front of me. The Bible. The teachers, leaders, and counselors that God places into my life. Sometimes it's all that I need, and at other times, it's not good enough. Sometimes holding onto my faith becomes a sort of wrestling match between Rinky and the Almighty. The only thing that I've noticed thus far is that He won't let me go. I can't escape his grasp. Not that I'd want to.

I've noticed that this has made me stronger. As I said, I still have doubts, but I have a strong spiritual foundation, thanks to my wonderful mother, which has allowed me to explore, to roam freely - to figure things out on my own. It's my faith. It's my journey. It's unique. It pisses people off. My quest for total freedom in Christ gets me in trouble. It upsets the self-righteous - the hypocrites who hoist themselves up onto pedestals and toss out labels, such as "heretic", "false prophet", and "wolf in sheep's clothing". Maybe they're upset that they haven't yet discovered the freedom that I've found. This is possible. Maybe they're just having a bad day.

Or maybe they're just assholes. 

Who's to say? We all toss out labels from time to time. All I know is that I don't have all of the answers. I'll never have all of the answers. Until then, I'm going to keep searching. I'm going to push forward on this beautiful journey - and if that makes me a wolf, then so be it.

Shades of Gray

Beyond definition.

Eternal mystery.

Abstract entity.

The future stretched out before me, pathways branching out far into the horizon. 

An ethereal tapestry - a living, breathing artifact.

Constantly evolving.

Boundless journey - incessant wanderer.

Seeking you in shades of gray.

The wings of grace carry me ever on.

It's been a long, difficult, beautiful journey thus far. I'm still learning. Bear with me. 

There are things that I'll never understand - things that I don't necessarily want to understand and things that I am not meant to understand. 

The one characteristic of God that I love most: ambiguity. 

There is a freedom in knowing that you don't always have to get it right. 

You don't need all of the answers. 

More often than not, you will get it wrong. 

And you know what?

That's okay.

My Encounter with Grace at GRACE BAPTIST CHURCH

The past three years of my life have been a spiritual and emotional roller coaster - with an emphasis on the spiritual. During this time, I've done a lot of unpacking. By that, I mean that I have abandoned all types of legalism and suffocating, grace-less theology. I no longer have any tolerance for such things. With that being said, I was pleasantly surprised this past Sunday when I attended Grace Baptist Church in West Virginia with my grandfather. 

My current angst concerning all things Baptist was certainly challenged when Pastor Delbert stepped up to the pulpit. Now, I must preface this by saying that Delbert is a fine man. Both he and his wife have been extremely supportive of my grandfather, as he has been struggling through a grieving period as a result of the loss of my grandmother. The pastor and his wife are incredible people on that end. However, I'm not used to hearing Delbert preach. In my experience - and taking into account that pastors are human, and humans are fallible - what most pastors preach on Sunday seldom aligns with their actions during the rest of the week. One pastor may give grace with one hand during the week, and snatch it away from the pulpit on Sunday with a "hell-fire and brimstone" fear-mongering guilt-trip. I've encountered this more times than I care to remember, and honestly, I was preparing for something similar this past Sunday.

And then Delbert started speaking. And Adam started listening. 

What sprang from Delbert's mouth wasn't at all what I was bracing myself for. No, Delbert preached from Ephesians, and he spoke of the "glorious grace" of God that Paul raved about. He spoke not of sinless perfection, but of the imputed righteousness of Christ that makes us perfect in God's eyes. There is no need to wear masks. There is no need to fall into the trap of legalism and law, because Christ has set us free in every sense of the word. 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This sort of grace-centric message is not common in the Baptist church (note: not all Baptist churches, but some Baptist churches are guilty of this). I was humbled, that's for sure. It was encouraging. It gave me a sense of calm. It gave me hope, as if God was reaching down and reassuring me that everything was going to be okay. His grace finds its way into the unlikeliest of places.

It was a wonderful way to spend a Sunday morning, there with my loved ones, listening to our dear friend, Kelly, sing beautifully before the sermon that dashed all of my expectations. 

I confronted the pastor after the sermon and thanked him for speaking love and truth to his congregation.

This crazy liberal Jesus freak is definitely on Team Delbert - Delbert, the Baptist preacher. 

Day two in Oak Hill, West Virginia. My little cousin, Nolan, is currently fighting sleep. The kid is screaming his head off. You would think that someone was murdering him in the next room. We just finished eating dinner. I'm about to settle into my book. 'Running with Scissors' by Augusten Burroughs. I've read it before, and I liked it a lot. Later on tonight, the girls will watch Real Housewives. I actually got roped into the show late last night, and an hour or so later, I had to get up and leave. Unlike the superficial bitches on that show, I have real problems. The fact that our generation embraces such shallow entertainment is beyond me. We cater to the lowest common denominator. Bitches and white trash families are now something to be glorified and exploited for our amusement. It's embarrassing. It's a sad commentary on our culture.

I hate reality television.

Tomorrow, I'll attend church at Grace Baptist with my grandfather for some southern-fried theology, not to mention some singing, courtesy of my friend, Kelly. Afterwards, it's on the road, headed back to Easley. I always look forward to these trips to Oak Hill. Many of my fondest childhood memories concern this place.

I'll miss it tomorrow after we've left - the unique, homey aroma of 401 Rogers, the chill in the air...I can't wait for November. Thanksgivings in Oak Hill are the best.

My eyes already touch the sunny hill,

going far ahead of the road I have begun.

So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;

it has its inner light, even from a distance—

and changes us, even if we do not reach it,

into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are;

a gesture waves us on, answering our own wave…

but what we feel is the wind in our faces. 

~ "A Walk" ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

So, this is my new blog. I welcome you all. This blog shall serve as a refuge for me - a place to share my thoughts, a place to wittily vent my frustrations. Here's hoping you may find something insightful and provocative among all of the bitching and nonsensical rambling! 

I shall begin posting on a regular basis as soon as I get a chance. Be on the lookout, and remember: this is not a blog for children or the faint-hearted. If you're easily offended, you may want to look elsewhere. Otherwise, read away! :-)

Regular postings will begin soon. I've got to figure this thing out in the meantime.