Our parents are mysteries to us. No matter how close we think we are to them, we cannot know the content of their hearts.
We don’t know the disappointments, or the scars and regret that wake them in the night, or the moments for which they wish they could get a do-over.
I’m not persuaded we should know them better than that.
– Ian Morgan Cron
A story beautifully told captures me every time. Even a story pocked with such sad spots.
Ian Morgan Cron tells such a story.
It’s his own.
It’s Jesus, My Father, the CIA, and Me: A memoir…of sorts.
He starts toward the end, then weaves you back and forth in time from his family’s early Camelot years until times that made me want to cry.
There are two kinds of people in this world: those who have dimmers and those who have on-off switches.
. . . My four years at Bowdoin confirmed that when it came to partying, or anything else, I was an on-off switch.
His father was a harsh alcoholic and the enigma of his presence affects Ian in multiple layers of his story. It never reads as a fairy tale at any point along the way, but there is a redemptive quality that makes you glad you read it by the time it’s over.
I was spiritually tone-deaf, but God still found ways to speak to me.
But be warned—it does leave a sad place in your heart, despite good things that happen later. It’s one thing to watch movies or read fictitious tales of heartache, but to know these things really happen, that’s another matter.
Yet it’s stories like these that also need to be told, not just the frilly happy ones, because in stories like these, we understand how powerful our God really is, to heal and rebuild and bring dead things back to life.
Dan uncrossed his legs. “I want to sit quietly for a moment to honor the story you’ve just told. It was sacred,” he said, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.
. . . “What’s happening to me?” I said. I couldn’t leave without knowing.
. . . “You’re waking up.”
I want to honor this story, too.
* * *
My thanks to BookSneeze
for the review copy of this book
- It’s a high touch position
- When you’re not sure