John Cusack

Vanity Fair, June 2008

Who are your heroes in real life?

Let’s go with Jesus. Not the gay-hating, war-making political tool of the right, but the outcast, subversive and supreme adept who preferred the freaks and lepers and despised and doomed to the rich and powerful. The man Garry Wills describes “with the future in his eyes . . . paradoxically calming and provoking” and who Flannery O’Connor saw as “the ragged figure who moves from tree to tree in the back of one’s mind.”

I can’t adequately explain what it means to see Justin embrace a vision entirely of his own making and through his own dynamic willing it to happen, except to quote John 5, “because whatever the Father does the Son also does. . .”

Jesus is trying to explain his mission and no doubt sees the skepticism in the crowd—not just about what he is doing but how he could possibly even think about doing it. See Jesus doesn’t think like everybody else. He’s used to belief that equals action.

Jesus is the Word, the Creator of all things. When he speaks, worlds emerge from nothing. And so when he becomes a man, he is limited by flesh, willingly. His words have power—but this time to save, heal, ransom the spirit. The limitation is self-imposed and it is hardly a limitation because it has to do with submitting his will to the Father, which is liberation. And it means our salvation.

When he tells them that what they are witnessing is his imitation of his father, they can only think he means his father the carpenter. That too—because he learned from his dad the creative effort it takes to make things out of wood. But from his father in heaven he has learned what it means to dream and to do, to imagine and to enact, to cause to happen utterly new things. They are one in the same. If the things we make as creatures are not utterly new, they can still be startling, fresh, winsome, challenging, redeeming—to those who have ears to hear and eyes to see. This Justin does.

Justin answers the call, not just the call of his heart—which is rich and revelatory and romantic—but the call of God, which is demanding and absorbing and wild. It causes people to wonder and to aspire and to dream. Justin is going to the Galana River, East Africa, and he is going there to do the Father’s will. This Justin wills to do this will of the Father. This Justin amazes.

John 5:19 Jesus gave them this answer: “I tell you the truth, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does. 20 For the Father loves the Son and shows him all he does. Yes, to your amazement he will show him even greater things than these. 21 For just as the Father raises the dead and gives them life, even so the Son gives life to whom he is pleased to give it. 22 Moreover, the Father judges no one, but has entrusted all judgment to the Son, 23 that all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father. He who does not honor the Son does not honor the Father, who sent him.

Time on wings, Justin. And all our love.

Do we look devious? Up to no good? Spies? Aiming to misbehave? Do we look like ourselves? What does that shadow cast portend? Could it be our album cover?

Who are we? Parents or pranksters? Wisecrackers? Capable of anything? Yes, that’s just what we want you to think. Well beyond your expectations, we’re younger inside than on the outside, and ready and raring to be both grandparents and global ambassadors. Watch out. We’re coming to your town. We’re everywhere. And next.

It is amazing to us to think that Casey is not only a successful landholder in the great state of Alaska celebrating an illustrious birthday today, and the proud owner of two well-bred and well-behaved (most of the time) dogs, and the dedicated friend and husband of our terrific and amazing daughter, but on this birthday, HE’S A DAD.

Not going to be–He is. . . and whomever is in there, he or she can’t wait to see their dad (!),  this wonderful young man who has so many dreams (and so many already fulfilled), that’s it’s hard to keep track of them! So, when this baby comes out, one more dream will be satisfied with then hundreds of more to come, and we can’t wait to help fulfill under God’s hands one of the many more!

Casey we are so proud of you and Mary, and delighted to be part of your growing clan of rugged, hard-working, brilliant, lovely, beautiful Alaskans! How about that, a native-born Alaskan coming our way and soon! Now, as part of your preparing to be parent’s kit, remember the three-Bs, right from the start:

1. Baseball (sport)
2. Brian Wilson (music)
3. Buckaroo Banzai (movie)

I think with that foundation, nothing much can go awry.
– (1st time) “Grandpa” Edwards.

Who is this demure, mysterious woman who keeps appearing in my dreams? What is that enigmatic half-smile about. And what does she really want? How can I find out her name? Or where she lives? It’s not too much to say that my whole life depends on finding this woman. Is she from Kansas? Texas? Oklahoma? New Mexico? Rwanda? Are you going to help me or not?

She is an enthralling mystery. And on top of everything else, it’s her birthday. So I have to locate her. What can you tell me? Here are my clues: She’s beautiful. She’s smart. She’s good with shapes, colors, fabrics, textures. She’s great with needles. She knows how to design and create entire homes, landscapes, vistas. She’s a wonderful mom. She’s a tremendous wife and partner and friend. She sings and plays the piano. She’s extremely patient, kind, and considerate. She’s godly, self-effacing, and persevering. She’s sharing, generous, tender-hearted. Did I mention she’s plenty smart and beautiful and I have to find her. Did I mention that? Do you know where I should look first?

And soon--since it looks like she’s been seen traveling with this strange man and this youngun at the left, reckon they struck gold and are headed to Beverly, Hills that is? Who knows what kind of mischief they can get into, looking like desperados and fugitives, and all, and probably driving a pickup truck way too fast in the dusty flatlands of the plains on Routes that don’t have numbers? How can you trust a guy like that? Probably collects license plates and oil cans. She needs better judgment, you know?

But then again, it looks like she may have taken up with This Other Guy on the right, some kind of wheeler-dealer, looks like to me, taking her to some fancy resort, sweeping her off her feet, celebrity sunglasses and everything. What chance do I have against a guy like that, anyway? Do you know what I mean? Lavishing all his attention on her like she’s was made for him or something. He can probably take her around the world if he wants. Cruises. Alaskan excursions. All the time, promising her more and more and more adventure. And Tanzanite, kikkoi, sleek hotels, hippos, snakes, crocodiles, sleeping in luxurious tents in exotic locales, the proverbial never a dull moment. I mean, where’s the fairness? I hear he build her a house. Probably writes books and stuff. How can I compete with that? I mean what kind of life is that–always knowing at a moment’s notice you might be getting on a plane to Africa or driving to Ocean Beach or eating supper at the Carnivore Cafe. Somebody has to talk sense to her. Do you have any advice for me?

Even so, just look at her! She’s worth every effort, no matter how extreme or dangerous to find her and make sure she notices me, and chooses me, again, and again, and again.

Happy Birthday, Sweetie!

I love you dearly. Glad you found me. Found us. And that dreams come true. Just don’t wake me up.

As far as I can tell, I started the tradition of writing birthday entries for my children back in 2003, starting with Mary in July that year. In fact, this blog marks the birth of this particular site and it says that Michael helped me build it originally. Since then I have done this going on five years. I had been blogging earlier than this, but I don’t think I have a record of those earlier days. . . at least that I can find. This photo depicts Mike in his basement studio, where he learned to drum with PFR ringing in his ears. Ever since then, and even before, hey, while he was still in the womb, joy was ringing in mine.

The story about his remarkable birth (told in his song 1984), his unbelievable musical, academic, writerly talents, his persevering faith and demonstrated loyalty have been noted and celebrated before. But what I want to stress on his 24th birthday is something more subtle, a little more nuanced, but eminently as impressive as his other talents and gifts. And that is his gentleness, his kindness, his patience, and his generosity of spirit toward friends and strangers alike.

I have often marveled at Mike’s ability to share a conversation with anyone, young or old, and to show his genuine interest in who they are and what they are saying by his attentive listening and thoughtful responses. He reads and analyzes with great care, does not rush to judgment, and tries to be respectful of people with whom he may disagree. He epitomizes the character of Jesus in his way of making people feel important, worth telling their story, and creating a safe place for them to share their heart, their hurts, and their hopes. That comes from heaven and can’t be manufactured or pretended. I am so proud of him, and so blessed to be his dad. Thank you Father, and thank you, Michael. And Happy Birthday.

23
22
22+
21
20

nothing is as it seems . . . Justin Robert Edwards was indeed born 28 years ago on a bright, sunny day in Austin TX. It was 66 degrees. (I actually don’t remember the weather that day because I was enthralled with the birth of our third child, and second son. But I looked it up.) What a day!

Mom had pizza the night before. That’s the secret of quick deliveries! We left for the St. David’s Episcopal Hospital about 5:00AM. Justin–named after the famous Christian Justin Martyr and the famous Great Grandfather, Robert J Klever–was fast getting into this world. The doctor was aimlessly washing his hands when the nurse urged him to hurry up or he would miss the show. He didn’t. And neither did I. From that day forward, Justin has been a phenomenon, always making his own pathway, always taking the unexpected route, his eyes (look at those eyes) not just windows on his own soul, but upon the world’s.

It had been a hot summer the year before, and we initially felt trapped in Austin. It was so hot and we had an air conditioner that wasn’t working in our Royal Crest Apts far from campus. Connection? Well, we wanted something to do! Let’s have a baby! We found out from friends at church (the Alexanders) that there were openings at the Breckenridge Apts., known as the barracks, a veritable international village, so we put in for an apartment, which were really little houses. We got one. And took up residence in one of the most fascinating places imaginable, where humans took on the cockroach environment nightly. We had a small living room (where I saw the birth of ESPN and the last chance the Browns had to go to a Super Bowl), an upstairs with three bedrooms and a not well lit bathroom. But I digress. That would be Justin’s first home. We would live in Austin another year and two months after Justin was born, while I finished courses, and worked on my dissertation.

Justin was considered worthy of a UT Austin experiment and he was studied as a “specimen” during the time we lived there. . . he was performing on certain intelligence tests at such a high level that they needed to chart his progress. No need to–he is clearly off the charts, taking what God gave him and using it to his glory. The African Adventure is just God’s payback, in a good way, for Justin leaving Africa too soon the first time. And now he can do for that continent what he’s done for ours: cheer it up, save some lives, chronicle its extraordinary tales, lend his voice to justice and hope, and give us an excuse to go back. Another excuse.

Justin, I was 27 when you arrived, so you are officially one year older than I was when you came into our lives. Imagine that–being a dad of Justin, Mary, and Matthew, at your age! (I’d have to be 32 to earn Michael!) And what am I thinking about tonight? . . . your bright and intricate smile, your homeruns at Carter Park, your Seasons sign in the basement of 1040, those Evil Dead movies, that Titanic costume in the Library Float, the birth of Pseudobook, that long trip to Austin we watched The Royal Tennenbaums in Little Rock, when we left you and the Ranger behind to study film, that cat and the lemon in Australia, those Charles the Blacksmith stories and Trusty, and your deep, deep commitment to God and your willingness to trust Him with your dreams. And garlic mixed with raisins. Mixed with raisins.

Happy Birthday, Son! Can’t wait for you to be home!

may be this August, when Berean Academy, an amazing K-12 private school N. of Tampa, may be inviting me back for a teacher’s workshop. The picture next door (click on all of these for larger scale) captures my appearance at Barnes and Noble and the talk on Prince Caspian. During this visit, I spoke 4 times—once at B&N, once at Berean, then twice at Tampa Covenant.

It has been another engrossing time of reliving the moments that brought Joan and me together, and looking forward to greater endeavor because of what Tampa means to us. Our friendships at Tanpa Covenant are very precious, and they bring great life and purpose to us by their vision of the future. We had great food, wonderful shopping, and a great experience watching the Spring Training Game. For more on that, please go to my beisbol blog. By the time I get back, who knows who might be in the pennant race, possibly the two teams whose lineups are depicted here?

We did have a scare this AM at 8:00, when my dad called from Akron City Hospital’s emergency room and said he’d called 9-1-1 because of his dizzyness, sleeplessness, and racing heart. Later his heart doctor said it was due to medication for sleeping that was messing up his overall body clock and equilibrium. The real challenge tomorrow will just be getting home. Assuming the airports are open and flights aren’t cancelled, we leave Tampa at 6PM, and take a 9:00PM flight to Toledo. It’s the last one of the night, so if we miss that one, we’ll be in Cincy for the night! Let’s hope that’ not the case! Your prayers are hereby requested. Nighty-night! For more Tampa photos, click here.

Joan has been working on a labor of love, a special project to honor Pat Good, a quilt that celebrates his life and his workmanship as a carpenter through the eyes of his daughter Tracey. If you click on the pictures you will see a larger photo that depicts the fabric more sharply. You will catch the tools and carpentry theme.
One side of the quilt is constructed from Pat’s shirts, with several pockets used, pockets that were worn over his heart, a heart full of love and compassion, impish humor and good will for his family and friends. You can see this more explicitly in the second photo. And so one carpenter to another, Jesus is no doubt explaining in words and with blueprints only a craftsman like Pat can appreciate how he made and is remaking the world He died to save and which He loves with His whole heart.

We sat, as usual, in the Toledo airport Tuesday morning, awaiting our “12:10” flight.

The ever faithful Shelby dropped us off at 9:40 for our 12:10 flght. But the plane that would take us to Atlanta left Atlanta late, so, of course, we are getting to spend more time in the waiting lobby. Weather-related no doubt, as we are trying ourselves to get out of Toledo before a big ice storm hits and grounds probably all travel, and then into Tampa before thunderstorms and big winds keep us from landed in Tampa on time. Then it turns out Atlanta’s the problem–nobody can land or take off. So we leave Toledo about 12:30 and can’t land until 3:30 (That means we circled Atlanta for an hour, people!). So that meant we missed our 3:30 connection to Tampa. But that was ok, it was already cancelled! Arrghhh. So we waited stand by for a 5:30 flight which became a 6:45 flight. And finally our names were called and we triumphantly strode to the boarding area and found out, no, those were passes for a 8:30 flight, so we had to go back and get the right boarding passes. . . anyway, we got to Tampa around 8:30, waited until almost 9:00 to get a car the church had rented (it started out as a Cadillac, I objected, and it became an HHR) and we ate pizza across the street from our hotel and whew, it’s Wednesday morning!

Here are previous posts about Tampa, some dating back to 2005. 2006 was the last time we were able to come; we usually came in November, but what will make this special is that other than when we were at Florida College together, we’ve not been in Tampa in March, and thus have never attended a Spring Training game involving the Astros or the Indians. We’ll get to do both in one day, this Thursday, in Kissimmee.

» » » Read the rest! » » »