This is a book report I had to write for class here at YWAM. Enjoy!
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Love stoops. Yet even out of the deepest pits of love in my heart I can't bring myself to write an analytical report on this book. I will not for a second deny that Ian Morgan Cron more than captivated me with his sacred and beautifully emotional life story—but that's the problem.
When I began reading, “Jesus, My Father, the CIA, And Me” I took notes like my life depended on it. I read the first few chapters like I was back in grade ten and eleven reading, “Life of Pi” and, “To Kill a Mockingbird”, analyzing and criticizing every single sentence structure until I had exhausted the very nature of the words themselves. I dug for metaphors, clawed at simile's, and nearly cried out in frustration as I tried to find some sort of literary divination hidden in the cleverly written words and phrases of this book.
High school trained me well. By the time I arrived at chapter three I was so exhausted with reading the book that I literally dreaded picking it up for fear of causing myself a brain aneurysm. I did what God is patiently teaching me to do every single time I reach a situation like this; I prayed about it. I had hardly even begun praying when God reminded me what books were created for.
Reading.
I sat down with, “Jesus, My Father, the CIA, and Me”, and I read it. Suddenly, I had finished a chapter. So I read some more. Twenty minutes later, I had finished three chapters of the book, and I had to force myself to put it down so I could make some sort of notes on what I had just devoured.
By the end of the book I realized that Ian put absolutely no effort into making this book a best-selling, multi-layered novel. He simply poured out his life's story with an exceptionally trained writing hand, and I'd be lying if I said God didn't speak to me through Ian.
My mother grew up with an alcoholic father, and so I have heard the horror stories of that childhood multiple times. I haven't been indulged in them until now. The first way God spoke to me through Ian was a way that He has been speaking to me for several months now. God reminded me how blessed I am.
As a teenager, I don't think even the greatest of memories can recall how many times I hated my parents. My parents were the manifestations of the devil himself, and their sole purpose in life was to make mine miserable. They made rules, they set curfews, and they—in retrospect—gave me their car a lot more than I deserved. I remember nights when my mother and I would argue over the finest details and specifics of why I wasn't allowed to go to my friend's house on Friday night, and by the time we were done it was Saturday morning anyway.
But my parents loved me—and still do, thankfully—and if I could see that teenage version of myself with the eyes God has given me now, I'm pretty sure I would create a rupture in the space-time continuum by beating myself to death to try and knock some sense into what I sometimes call, 'the idiotic Isaac'. Thankfully one of the virtues of love is patience and self-control, and my father is blessed with both.
I can tell millions of stories about my parents when I was growing up, and all of them bring a smile to my face and warm my heart! I was—and am—supremely blessed with parents who love me so passionately that I won't understand it until I have children of my own! Reading about Ian's roller-coaster of a childhood only added to the understanding which God is creating in me; I am blessed beyond belief without absolutely amazing parents whom I love and cherish.
Which brings us to the second way God spoke to me through Ian; love stoops. When I read the chapter about Ian's first encounter with Jesus Christ, I was in tears.
Every kid who has grown up in church knows the crucifixion story backwards and forwards and inside and out. Sometimes I wonder if this is a good thing due to the numbing effect it has on our comprehension of how incredible the crucifixion actually is, but then God reminds me He's God and He'll worry about that. And God made it evident to me that He does handle that through Ian's encounter with Jesus.
Jesus stooped to the lowest of the low to die on the cross, and I know that in my head, but my heart has been so desensitized to sacrifice and love by hollywood, that it took Ian's testimony for me to get perspective on what Jesus experienced.
Jesus Christ apologized to Ian Morgan Cron. WHAT?! God doesn't need to apologize to anyone for anything! We don't deserve that at all! God has absolutely nothing to apologize for! He is perfect and unblemished! He has done no wrong! You can't apologize for being perfect! But from the same unfathomable love and compassion that drove Jesus to the cross, came a personal apology from Jesus Christ to Ian for all the hurt and pain that Ian had to suffer in his life. Wow. When I read that, something clicked in my head, and I had to put my book down and spend several moments in prayer to God praising Him and thanking Him for this crazy love!
If love stoops, and we are to love our brothers because Christ first loved us, I've got some stooping to do.
God spoke to me in many, many other ways through Ian's story, but the one that sticks out the most and will not leave my head, is the sacredness of Ian's story. Out of that, I understand the sacredness of everyone's story.
I was completely and honestly prepared to sit down and analyze Ian's book like it was as fictional as the green unicorns that interrupt my train of thought every now and then, but God slapped me across the face—lovingly of course. Ian's story is not just a story. That book contains a very honest recounting of his life! It's sacred! “Jesus, My Father, The CIA, And Me” is not written for our entertainment and enjoyment! I can only imagine the numerous times Ian may have stained the pages with tears as he penned the first manuscript. Sure, some of those memories are pleasant and lovely, but some of them are horrid and awful! But they are Ian's, and because Ian is a real-live human being, that makes them sacred.
I'm not going to give a brief summary of Ian's book, because that's identical to trying to make a brief summary of Ian's life. In my eyes, that is disrespectful. How would you feel if someone told you they could summarize your life-story—and only the important moments at that—on a three page book report?
Ian took roughly two-hundred and fifty pages to share some very sacred, significant, and delicate memories of his past, and I won't dishonour that by quickly brushing over them as if they hardly matter. They do.
Just as Ian's story is sacred, everyone's story is sacred. Almost every time I have heard someone's testimony, I have thought two things: “Cool” or, “Boring”. People's stories aren't boring. They may have boring moments, but they also have funny moments, sad moments, horrible moments, beautiful moments, scary moments, happy moments, goofy moments, loving moments, hateful moments, caring moments, and every other moment the human brain can comprehend. Through Ian's story, God has taught me the sacredness, and the honour that every single one of every single human being's stories deserves. My prayer is that He keeps that revelation ever-present in my life. The end.
