If you have ever seen the film “Unbreakable” you might recall Elijah’s mother, and her brave decision to coax her son, hiding in their apartment due to his frail bones and his fear of being hurt again, out into the playground. She did this by placing a box full of comic books on the park bench across the street. From these early experiences, Elijah developed a love for comic books.
I always get tears in my eyes when I watch that scene. I recall that scene being played out in my own life. I recall a time when I was sick and home from school. My mother took care of me and waited on me hand and foot. She had to go to the grocery store at one point and when she returned she presented me with a “Wolverine” comic book to occupy my ailing hours. To this day I can remember the plot of that book, I can remember the pictures, and I still have that comic in my home. What is even more interesting is the fact that, to this day, my love for Wolverine, for the X Men, for comic books, is a result of a choice made by my mom. I didn’t choose Wolverine. She chose him for me, and I loved it. You cannot understand how cool this is for me to remember. My mom recognized a talent in me, an interest and a passion, and she was instrumental in shaping that ability in me…all through the purchase of a simple comic book. My mom and dad were always doing things like that. In my early adolescence I started to listen to hip hop and rap. My first foray into the genre was the soundtrack to “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Movie” (don’t rag on me too bad…the blog is called “Hopelessly Uncool” after all; and yes, I did see the movie 3 times in the theatres…and yes, I am a dork). I didn’t realize how amazing my parents were at the time, but looking back I see it clearly. The kid who starts defying the culture of his parents (by dressing goth, listening to rap, etc.) is often met by an aggressive backlash on the part of the parents. Not so with my folks. My parents never confronted me on my choice of what was then “questionable” music. They didn’t even tell me I couldn’t listen to it. They chose instead to channel it…channel me…and they did a great job of it. I can still remember the details of that situation. It was around Easter. When Easter arrived and my family opened our traditional Easter baskets, there in my basket was a cassette tape of DC Talk’s self-titled, smash-hit debut album. I hate DC Talk now, but back then they were the “it” band of Christian hip hop. See the brilliance? He likes art? Get him a comic book. He likes rap? Well that other stuff isn’t all that wholesome, maybe introducing him to Christian rap will meet that need and build him up at the same time. Freakin’ genius, if you ask me.
And at this point you may be thinking that this post is about my parents. They are certainly my heroes, but I was planning on going a different direction at first. Forgive my MASSIVE digression.
So back to Elijah “Mr. Glass” Price. His mom turned him on to a love for comic books. Mine did the same. And in this love for comics I began to learn a lot about myself. I learned that I loved to draw and would copy pages from the books. More importantly, I learned that there was an aching in me to develop an identity for myself. I longed to be like the heroes in the pages I read. Before long, I latched onto MY hero: Superman.
Now in junior high I was not much to look at, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell that by my attitude. Cocky is not a strong enough term to describe the annoying level of self-confidence I exuded. I started to feel like I was invincible. I started to wear the crimson “S” on my chest as a sign of my superiority. A high school girlfriend bought me a Superman ring. I persuaded my shuttle hurdle team to buy red and gray Superman warm up t-shirts. I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but I really wanted to be the Man of Steel.
Then my world just kinda fell apart. I learned later that various people in my youth group were praying that God would break me and draw me to Himself. I think that’s sort of mean (in truth, I’m thankful), but that’s what they did, and that’s what He did. I broke my wrist on the first day of basketball practice my senior year. God used that, but the deconstruction/reconstruction process was not complete there (and I’m pretty sure I’m still a work in progress). That girl who bought me the ring broke up with me. I met a new girl, but kinda botched things with moral failure (she’s my wife now, and we’ve worked through it, but it crushed me back then). I got back up, then fell again. I wanted success and stardom…I got pain and heartache (mostly self-inflicted). The illusion of Superman was as far from my soul as distant Krypton (wait…Krypton blew up…but you get my drift).
Somewhere in the process a new hero began to take root in my heart. My identification with him is far more realistic than with that of Superman. I literally see traces of him nearly every day of my life.
Mr. Furious.
You know, the guy in “Mystery Men.” The guy whose “power comes from his boundless rage.” The guy who crushes the life out of a stress ball and still seethes, “That little sucker just saved your life!!” Yeah, that’s me. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t “go Pompei on (somebody’s) ass.” Hardly a moment at home slips by when I don’t want to throttle a dog or a child. I told this to my buddy Steve, and moments later watched him struggle in the backseat of his minivan, trying to strap in his son. When he emerged, all he said was, “I just had a Mr. Furious moment.” And I laughed uncontrollably. That’s good—I’m going to use that.
But even though I say all this in a humorous light, I get really down on myself…and scared of myself…when I realize how inclined to rage I really am. I long to “get rid of all…rage” as I know I should. But when I try, and inevitably fail, I get really mad and just want to hit something.
And this is what I am learning from Jesus: I have serious self-control issues. Furthermore, I can’t control myself in my own ability and power, and that’s precisely why it’s a fruit of the Spirit and why I need submission and relinquishing of control. It’s a bizarre paradox: self-control by Spirit control. So am I really controlling self, or is the Spirit controlling this self; so that makes is Spirit-control, not self-control right? AHHH, it’s so frustrating, where’s my stress ball!!
Okay Jesus…I’ll try to learn. Can you help me control myself?
