What I’m going to write about in no way constitutes a suggestion that you go and watch the Amazon Prime program, The Man in the High Castle. Too many people have too varied tastes for me to make a blanket statement that everyone should invest time watching this TV show.
That said, if you like sci-fi, thrillers, history, philosophy, slightly muddled quantum theory, World War II, the idea of a multiverse, and spending time deep in thought over existential issues you might not otherwise contemplate, then this show might be worth your time.
It’s brutal in many ways: violence, language, some sexual content, which is why I hesitate to make any kind of endorsement of the programming. But when your brain is constantly tied up in philosophical knots, pondering deeper questions about life and choice and legacy,1 then the fast forward button/skip 10-frames feature becomes your best friend and allows you to skirt around those parts you deem unsavory.
I bring this up because Rachel and I finished the show this week, and apart from a few questionable choices by the writers regarding plot, found the show to be rather enjoyable. We like stories that develop characters and push them towards change; we’re not huge fans of perfect heroes who have no struggles, or villains who are evil without cause.
Over time, we’ve learned that even the best people are complex beings, and the same goes for people we might think of as “bad” or “morally wrong"; because we understand that, we like shows that lean into that kind of complexity. The Man in the High Castle was especially complex because it was based on a novel by the late sci-fi impresario Philip K. Dick, who’s work has influenced movies like Blade Runner, Minority Report, The Adjustment Bureau, and Total Recall. Dick’s novels aren’t always known for being the best written, but they always tackle interesting and complex ideas about society and human nature.
In High Castle, you’re introduced to an alternate universe where the Allies did not win World War II, and the United States ended up being divided into three zones: the American Reich, which was comprised of the East Coast all, the way to the edge of the Rocky Mountains; the Neutral Zone, which was the territory on either side of the Rockies where lawlessness and the remnants of the American wild west remained; and the Japanese-Pacific States, which was the entire territory West of the Rockies, extending out to Hawai’i and other Pacific holdings.
That’s probably more information than you want, but it’s helpful context to set up the complex dynamics of the show and one of its biggest themes: choice. Every main character that MITHC follows is someone who faces increasingly difficult choices; do they choose to conform, do they choose to rebel, do they choose to play both sides? There are other moral dilemmas that characters face because they know their choices will impact the lives of others. Some characters literally have the power to drop nuclear weapons, and it’s fascinating to watch some wrestle with the power while other characters never question what that kind of power might do to humanity.
Most all of the characters make really bad choices. Repeatedly. Choices that cost them family, friends, co-workers, even romantic relationships. Those choices were usually made in haste, driven by emotion. Even when they believed they were making the logical choice, it was still driven by their feelings of anger, loss, revenge, or other negative emotions. The world in which they live isn’t conducive to hope; it’s been beaten or brutalized out of the citizens of that alternate universe, and as the show progresses, hope becomes more of a theme as the show goes on.
I’ll spare you any further media criticism—though I could write a lot about this show and its choices—but I wanted to bring it up because it’s a great example of what happens when people choose to abandon hope. We become prisoners in our own lives, stuck between the idea that we have no choice and the poor choices we make. Ultimately, we end up costing ourselves everything that’s dear to us because we lose sight of what really matters.
We get caught up in the lie that we are powerless or can’t change things; we come to believe that our voices don’t matter.
But our voices do matter. What you think—how you think—is one of the most important factors of your quality of life. When you can embrace hope, when you can believe that things can and will get better, then you are positioned to make a difference with your life. The choices you make, regardless of the supposed “size”, change the course of your life and the lives of the people around you. And sometimes, the smallest choices make the biggest difference.
Take Howard, for instance.
I met Howard years ago at the Infinite Energy Theater where he worked as a Production Engineer/Stage Hand for Ella’s ballet performances. Howard has some of the kindest eyes you’ll ever see; they are dark brown, big, and full of compassion and curiosity. He was always helpful whenever our stage crew, comprised mostly of dads with little clue about what they were doing, and he was always gracious to spend a time in conversation about life or art or whatever else was on your mind.
Well, two years ago, during the company’s annual Nutcracker performance, Howard announced to everyone that he’d completed his nursing degree, and would be pursuing nursing full time while still doing stage work on the side. We all cheered and celebrated him, and he thanked us for being so kind.
Fast forward to today.
I had my paracentesis on Wednesday. It was successful, removing nearly 4 liters of fluid from my belly and providing immediate relief for my stomach and breathing. I was a bit concerned about having a surgical procedure the day after having chemo, but everyone assured me that I would be fine, and things would go swimmingly. Sure enough, I left the hospital on Wednesday feeling better about my stomach and my situation.
But then today happened.
I was sitting on the couch with Rachel, and felt a slight dampness in my shirt. I looked down and realized there was a rather sizable wet spot on the bottom of my shirt, as well as some wetness in my pants and the blanket I was using to keep warm. I stood up and began inspecting the site of the paracentesis puncture and could see clear liquid running out of the wound.
It kind of scared the crap out of me. First of all, clear liquid from the wound isn’t uncommon; they actually tell you to expect it. While I didn’t have that experience my first time having this done, I knew enough to not completely panic when I saw the fluid. Instead, I formulated a plan: I told Rachel what was up, called the on-call do from my cancer center, and then phoned my dad to see if he could take me to the hospital.2
After a chat with the doc to confirm that a trip to the ER would be wise (and to calm my nerves that things were okay, despite the leaking), I phoned my dad, hopped in the shower, and soon enough me, Jon, and my father were on our way to the ER at Piedmont Walton County. The waiting room was a bit crowded when I walked in, but somehow I was able to check and get a room within 10-15 minutes. Again, the staff didn’t seem overly concerned about the leak, so that helped me a lot because by that point, I was panicking.
I was struggling to hold on to hope.
As I mentioned last week, there’s a horrible sameness that can come with battling cancer; you face the same issues day after day and can occasionally get to a point where you are just too tired to fight. You want to have a moment’s rest, to experience some sense of progress in your struggle to live. Thankfully, you can experience those moments through other people and their kind words or deeds; but it still doesn’t do enough to help you feel like you’ve broken free.
So as I was lying on the ER bed, dressed in my silly gown, my mind spinning out of control because I was having to deal with one more thing, I could feel hope slipping through my fingers. The doc came in and assured me everything would be nice and easy, that there was nothing to worry about, and that he’d have me out of the ER in no time. But he stared at my belly a bit too long for my taste; it bothered me so much I actually asked him if he had concerns he was hiding from me. He laughed and said no, and then left me to spend time with my own little worries.
Soon, the doc came back with the nurse, and I did a double take. The nurse was dressed in scrubs and had his face covered with a mask, but I knew I knew him. I knew the moment I saw the nurses eyes peeking over the top of the mask exactly who it was; but I was too scared to say anything.
The doc numbed the area around my puncture wound, and then cauterized it with a high-temperature heat pen. Once that was done, he inserted a single cross suture to pull the wound closed and create a better seal on the stitching. He told me that there was still a chance that the would would leak (and it has) but if I would spend most of my time leaning away from the wound, basically by lying on my left side for a day or two, I would prevent more fluid transfer to that spot and help it heal faster, which would keep the fluid inside me where it belongs.
The doc was a nice enough man, but he was very much like a lot of ER docs I’ve encountered: he only had so much compassion to give, so there wasn’t a lot of warmth between us. To be clear, I don’t mind; I get the nature of his job, and the psychic, emotional and physical toll it takes on staff. Once he was done with me, I could hear a call come in from the nurse’s station: a traumatic wound was inbound in an ambulance, and the available staff needed to get ready to receive it.
I lay there in my room, wondering how that inbound trauma would impact me; I was so close to leaving and going home. I didn’t want to get trapped waiting. I know that’s selfish, but that’s how I felt. I had endured enough already. I wanted to go home and call it a day.
That’s when the nurse walked back in. He brought with him some bandages and checkout papers, along with a huge dose of kindness in his eyes. I decided to go out on a limb and ask the question I’d been dying to ask.
“Can I ask you something stupid?”
“Sure,” the nurse said. “Anything you want.”
“Is your name Howard?”
Those eyes got huge; I’m talking big and round and full of curiosity. He stared at me for a moment or two and then answered.
“Yes it is.”
“You used to work at the Infinite Energy Theater as a stage hand for my daughter’s ballet company, Northeast Atlanta Ballet.”
“No way!” he replied. “What’s your name?”
“Jason Brooks. I worked on the stage crew with Steve and Jay and the other dads.”
“I remember you!” he said. “Your daughter is an incredible dancer. Seemed like she got a break during the Aladdin show.”
The conversation took off from there, just two people who kind of know each other doing their best to connect and talk like kind people do. He told me how much he loved nursing, how it felt to help people every day, how he didn’t think he would ever find something he loved as much as he loved theater. But being there for people who were hurt and confused was one of the most fulfilling things in his life.
As he talked, I found myself relaxing. I let his kindness and enthusiasm wash over me, and when he told me that I was going to be fine, that I just needed to keep my eye on the site, I believed him. I could feel my heart calm down and my anxiety and hopelessness melt away. With every word, I felt hope returning to my mind and heart.
It was a nice way to end the visit.
I could choose to look at my diagnosis as an alternate reality, something similar to The Man in the High Castle. A place that’s been turned on its side and stripped of hope. That’s how bizarre and disorienting living with cancer can be. Emotions can run high one day, then bottom out the next; one day you feel destined to inspire and influence the entire world to live at their best, and the next you just want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
And then a Howard shows up and reminds you that you have a choice about the world. You have a choice about how you will see it, how you will shape it, how you will experience it in your day to day life. While I’m still a little freaked out that the leaking is still happening, and I’d rather not have an extra complication to deal with at this point in the game, this is my life. These are the things that make up my reality, and I can choose to see them through a lens of hope or I can choose to give in to the fears and uncertainty that would ruin my life.
Thanks to Howard, I’m reminded of the beauty of hope and its power to make a difference. I may not live in a world ruled by Nazis or other tyrants, but I still face the choice every day to live with hope or live with despair. You have the same choice; you may not realize it, but it’s true. We’ve talked about it at length in other newsletters, and apparently it will continue to be the main thing that I write about because it’s the reality in which I’m living.
You may live in a different reality, one where you’re free from cancer or debt or worry or shame. Maybe in your world, hope isn’t something you struggle to embrace. Maybe in your world, hope is just the natural outflow of the events of your life. If so, enjoy it. Embrace it.
Learn to love hope deep in your heart because there may come a day when your reality changes, when your world is turned upside down and you have to choose hope instead of just receive it. I hope that day never comes for you; I hope that your reality stays the way it is.
But if you’ve recently experienced a shift in your life, if your reality has changed and you’re struggling to adjust, then remember to hold on to hope. Don’t wait to choose it; set your mind on it, fix your heart on it, and make it the center of your thinking and faith. Hope is not just an emotion or attitude, it’s an attribute of God, a fundamental character trait that makes him who he is.
When your reality changes, you learn for sure that hope is another word for God.
Thanks for reading this far. It’s been a bit of a ramble, and maybe it doesn’t make any sense; if I went any longer, I’d end up writing a small book, but I wanted to get these thoughts down before they disappeared.
If you remember nothing else, remember that hope is a lifeline, a true resource in times of uncertainty and fear. When your reality changes, hope can remain your constant companion and keep you going.
Here’s how you can pray for us this week:
For Jason—for the paracentesis site to stop leaking and for the sutures to heal without infection; for side effects to abate and for me to have an easier week; for rest and restoration of my body and soul; for the miracle of healing.
For Rachel—for a restful and peaceful summer at home with the kids; for her continued strength and encouragement through the Holy Spirit; for our upcoming vacation and trip to Savannah, that we could enjoy our time away from home and celebrate our anniversary with full joy.
For Ella—for her to have a restful and peaceful summer; for her body to recover and heal after a year of hard work in ballet; for her mind to be encouraged and stimulated by a summer of reading and spending time with good friends; for her to continue to grow into a mature and wise young adult.
For Jon—for him to have a productive summer of learning and fun; for his continued development as a young man; for him to continue being interested in his faith and to continue asking questions about God; for him to develop and nurture new and healthy friendships.
There’s no final word for this week’s post. It’s long enough as is.
All I want to say is hold on to hope, no matter what. Choose what’s good, choose to see God in all things, choose to believe that you can change the world.
We need that kind of faith.
Best,
Jason
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Which is where my brain often is.
Rachel and Ella had a graduation party to attend, and were literally on their way out the door when I realized that the spot was leaking. I didn’t want them to miss the party—it was one Ella was VERY excited to attend—so I decided calling my dad was my best option for transportation, especially since he could keep Jon company while I was in the ER.
How blessed by God to give you a friend in the ER in that very time, when you could use one. I know so many people are praying, and you can trust that!
Thank you, Jason, for your muses.. i know that circumstances sometimes cause us to temporarily take our eyes from hope to fear or despair. I pray for those who do not have the hope and joy that Jesus provides.