In the last post I let you (formally) know that we (Liza and I) are adopting. I also announced our adoption site, homeforhaven.com.

This is another adoption-related post. Though, I promise that this blog is not going to be all about adoption since that is what Home for Haven is for.

Also, this post is uncomfortable for me to write because… well, I don’t know exactly why. Because I’m proud, maybe. Because talking about money is weird and asking for money is even weirder.

Anyway, I’m just going to get right to it.

Some friends have been kind enough to host a benefit on our behalf.

But really, it’s not benefitting us. It’s all for Haven.

And, if nothing else, knowing the people throwing it, it’s going to be fun, and we’d love for you to be there.

You can see the invitation above but here are the deets.

Who: Us, the Kinsleys (well, it’s for us but some friends are throwing/hosting it)

What: A Silent Auction Benefit (including dessert bar and photo booth)

When: March 12, 3:00-5:00pm

Where: Second Row Studio on 2nd Ave N in downtown B’ham

Why: To help us bring Haven home.

How: $10 admission (kids are free) plus a silent auction (there is going to be some good stuff).

I really don’t like the whole fundraising idea. But the reality is that adoption is expensive. We’ve made a lot of sacrifices and saved a lot of money so far. But there’s still a ways to go.

If you wouldn’t mind helping, we’d be eternally grateful.

Thanks.

A lot of people know this already. However, there is a vast population here on the interwebs, which means that many of you don’t.

So, I’d like to officially announce to you that we (Liza and I) are adopting.

We’re already about six months into it. But we’re moving pretty slowly. We’re hoping the pace picks up a little bit, at least on our end.

There’s a lot to say about this, and I will say a lot about it in the months and years to come. In fact, I’ve already started.

However, for now, I want to let you know that we’ve created a place where we can focus on telling the story of our adoption.

You can go there if you want to.

In fact, we’d love for you to go there and tell your friends to go there.

Here’s where “it” is: homeforhaven.com

Why “Home for Haven”?

Well, by adopting we’re bringing a child into our home and family.

And this child’s name is going to be Haven.

So, there you go.

I hope you can stop by.

She burst on the scene on October 26, 1996, one daughter in a litter of puppies born to parents Littlest Rebel and Bonnie Abigail.  She first entered my life a few weeks later, in early December of that year.

I remember sitting in the kitchen and my dad bringing her in.  She was so little and so white.  I had done a lot of research and basically convinced my parents that a West Highland White Terrier, or Westie for short, was the type of dog we should get.  However, I wasn’t expecting them to get one so soon.  But they did, and it was love at first sight.

We’d been a dog family for as long as I could remember.  I loved all animals, but dogs in particular.  At the time I was a senior in high school and worked part-time at a veterinary office, Ridgetowne Animal Hospital.  I had unfortunately been involved in a terrible accident at the vet’s office that had resulted in the death of our most recent pet at that time.  That experience had really torn me up.  I carried around a lot of guilt about it (still do, actually).  His loss had really wounded my heart.  However, when she looked at me and I held her for the first time, I felt those wounds begin to heal.

I don’t remember the conversation exactly, but we had a round-table summit in our kitchen that resulted in granting our new dog the inconceivably ridiculous name of Www.mistletoe.com Kinsley.  To most people, thankfully, she was known simply as Missy.  To Liza and me she’ll always be THE Missy Dog.

Even though she was a family dog, I honestly always considered Missy mine.  She and I just seemed to share some kind of special bond from the beginning.  At times, this caused some trouble in the house.  Missy got into this routine where she would get so excited whenever I walked in the house from being away somewhere that she would urinate wherever she was.  Thankfully, this was normally on the kitchen tile and not the living room carpet.

I like to think that Missy cared just as much especially for me.  I know that she was very protective of me.  A few years after we got her, when Liza and I started dating, we would sometimes go hang out at my parents’ house.  Somehow, Missy knew that Liza was really special to me, unlike any of the other girls I had brought home before.  She wasn’t sure she cared very much for this new development.  Anytime Liza and I sat on the couch, Missy would rush to get beside me before Liza could sit down, or she would wiggle herself down to squeeze in between us.  She’d then look up at Liza and let out a low growl, just to let the newcomer know to whom I really belonged.

Missy was never much of a barker.  That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t do it, but she didn’t do it much.  Instead, she would talk.  You may think I’m kidding, but I’m not.  Of course, she didn’t really form words, but she would open her mouth and just make noises in this whiny, singsong voice.  I learned to mimic her, and there were times where we’d sit around and just have a conversation, neither one really saying anything but both of us understanding the other completely.

While I was in college and my brother and sister were still in high school, they each acquired dogs of their own.  My sister had a miniature pekepoo named Baby Dog and my brother a lab named Bailey.  Everyone joked that the three dogs each took on the personality of their owners.  I won’t describe here what how that played out for Baby or Bailey, but for Missy, it mostly meant that she got annoyed with the other two and often wandered off to find a place where she could be by herself in peace.

Missy didn’t initially come with me when I moved to Birmingham.  After all, she was technically a family dog, plus Liza really didn’t consider herself that much of a dog person.  However, when my parents decided to move to Africa, I knew that there was no place else she should be than with Liza and me.

While we were making plans for Missy to move to the ‘Ham, Liza made it very clear that she had no intention of taking care of a dog.  She would say, “Missy is your dog, Chris.  You’re going to have to take care of her.  You’re going to feed her.  You’re going to walk her.  You’re going to clean up her messes.  You’re going to bathe her.  She’s yours, not mine.”  Of course it wasn’t two weeks after Missy got here that she had won over Liza (as she did everyone), and the two of them had formed a little alliance.  I quickly realized that I had unknowingly become outmatched in my own house.

Those of you who haven’t had pets and aren’t really that into dogs probably can’t comprehend how greatly a person can care for an animal.  But let me tell you, it’s a lot.  Many of you know the difficulty Liza and I experienced in trying to have a child.  As absurd as it sounds, Missy really filled that void in our lives in a lot of ways.  I think especially for Liza.  Whenever she calls Missy her “baby,” on some level, she’s not kidding.

Of course, Liza did eventually get pregnant.  While we were eagerly anticipating Story’s arrival, we were also trying to assuage our fears, ease our worries and find out as much as we could to prepare ourselves.  One of our chief concerns was for Missy.  We knew that she had been the “princess” in the household and had long received all of our affection and attention, and now she was about to have to face some major challenges.  Once Story was born we would send blankets that she had been wrapped in home with people to place in Missy’s kennel so that Story’s smell would be familiar to her.  Then the day we got to come home from the hospital, we made a big deal about getting to introduce them to each other for the first time.  Story was asleep in her carrier.  So we brought her inside, set her in the middle of the living room floor and then brought Missy over to her.  Missy just sniffed at Story once, turned away, walked off, jumped up on her spot on the couch, and laid down.  She wasn’t interested.

However, Story eventually won Missy over and vice versa.  From the moment we knew about Story, I kept telling Liza that one of the things that pained me the most was thinking that she would probably never remember Missy.  I can’t describe to you how much I hate knowing that has come true.

Storykins and the Missy Dog from Chris Kinsley on Vimeo.

Missy has been slowly fading for a while.  She started sleeping a lot more than she used to.  She couldn’t quite make it around the block an entire time when we went for walks together.  Her hearing had started to go, and she sometimes didn’t eat very much.  I haven’t heard her “talk” in months.

She stopped eating sometime last week.  She started being sick to her stomach a lot and lost four pounds in about as many days (which is a lot for a dog her size).  We took her to the vet to get checked out on Tuesday and the news wasn’t good.  Her blood work showed that her kidneys were not working the way that they should be and that toxins were building up in her blood stream as a result.  So, we’ve been taking her in for treatment every day this week where she’s received fluids, medicine and special food, all in an effort to cleanse her system and see if we couldn’t jump start her kidneys to start working at least a little better.  Today the Dr. ran the same tests he did Tuesday and the results weren’t any better.  In fact, they were worse.  Knowing that her kidneys weren’t improving and were actually continuing to decline after four days of treatments specifically for them meant that there was not any hope left, especially with her age.  And we didn’t want her to suffer as her systems just continued to shut down.

So, Liza, Story and I went by the vet this afternoon to say, “goodbye,” and let her know how much we loved her.  At about 4:07 I held her while they gave her a shot through her IV.  She went to sleep in my arms as I stroked her fur, and after just a moment, her heart stopped and mine broke.

She was a dog, but she wasn’t just a dog.

I loved her and miss her and will always.

Many of you did, do and will too.

Thank you.

The Missy Dog ~ October 26, 1996-March 26, 2010 ~ The Preciousness

I have a posts lined up for all of December to get back into this thing.  I had planned on launching the first today.

However, today is World AIDS Day, and I can’t let it go by without some sort of commemoration.

I should have planned better, but I didn’t.  So, I give you a re-post, what I wrote for World AIDS Day last year.

Thanks.

Today is World AIDS Day. Not quite as celebratory of a day as we recently experienced with Thanksgiving, but one that people will commemorate around the world in various ways. Some will wear a red ribbon to show their awareness and support. Some will go to Starbucks and purchase one of their specialty holiday drinks so that $0.05 can be donated to the (RED) campaign. Some will give a speech. Some will examine patients. Some will stand in line for their ARV’s. Some will slowly and painfully pass from this world to the next. And some will go about their day blissfully unaware that any of the rest of this is happening at all.

What will you do?

The vast majority of the people I’m surrounded by on a daily basis are lucky enough to have not really been affected by the AIDS pandemic in a personal way. Many people I know haven’t even ever come into contact with anyone who has HIV/AIDS. On some level I’m thankful for that. I’m thankful that my city, my state, my country hasn’t been so ravaged by this disease that it is commonplace, that part of a person’s daily existence is a constant state of fear over when it will strike, when their luck, or the luck of a family member or friend, will finally run out. On some level I’m thankful that on World Aids Day there are a lot of people who can’t think of a single person with the disease that they can do something for, that the extent of their involvement really is ordering a grande peppermint mocha or joining a Facebook group that at least says they will. I’m thankful that this discussion of this disease can be dealt with in such a manner that junior high students in my country are more educated about it than the presidents of other nations. I’m thankful that we can make movies about it that make us cry and give Oscars to actors “brave” enough to play such a role with true, heartfelt empathy. I’m thankful that some of our largest companies can jump onboard with a campaign that spends more money on promoting awareness of the disease than it raises to help fight the disease. On some level I’m thankful for all these things. I really am.

However, I understand that the world in which I live, in which AIDS is a cause for action and not of death, is not the real world. I’m lucky. I’m blessed. That’s the only thing that separates me from those who live in constant fear and ignorance of this disease every moment of every day.

I understand this because I am not one of the people I’m surrounded by that have not been affected by the AIDS pandemic in a personal way. But again, I’m just blessed, lucky, in that the way in which I have been affected is in perhaps the most positive way possible. AIDS didn’t take a family member from me. Instead, it gave me one I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

Most of you have heard me talk about or have read my writings about my youngest brother, Alfie. Alfie is of the Tswana tribe in South Africa. He is four years old (He’ll turn five in January), and his adoption by my parents became official in September of 2007, though he’s lived with them since he was about eighteen months. Alfie is also one of the millions of children around the world that have been orphaned because of AIDS (in fact, a child is orphaned by AIDS every 14 seconds. How many orphans does that make in the amount of time it’s taken you to read this post so far?).

Alfie’s biological father is unknown and his birth-mother died when he was just a baby from AIDS. She was just another one of the thousands living with the disease made more complicated because they are stricken with poverty as well. I don’t say that to make light of her death, but to express the general attitude that is often taken towards those with the disease. When she died, Alfie was sent to live with his uncle who has children of his own, lives in a squatter camp outside Pretoria, and works as a day laborer if he can. He also has a drinking problem. Alfie has very bad allergies. So, you can imagine that a squatter camp wouldn’t be the best environment for him to be in. When my parents found him, he was really sick. They offered to take Alfie to get some medical treatment and to stay with them until he was better. This led to my parents wanting to adopt him. For a number of reasons, it was a really long process, but now he is a Kinsley (to be fair, I’ve just vastly oversimplified his story. Perhaps at another time I can do it justice, but that’s not really the point of this post).

Alfie is lucky. He’s blessed. His story is definitely not typical for these children. He comes from a continent that is ravaged by the disease. It still carries a heavy social stigma with it so that most people don’t want to talk about it and complete ignorance is the norm. I’ve sat and talked with other AIDS orphans who actually contracted the disease from their mother before she died. I’ve listened to their stories, their fears, their worries. I’ve heard them talk about how much they hate their medication, though it’s the only thing keeping them alive. I’ve seen the marks of the witch doctors on children they are “treating,” the same witch doctors that often prescribe to older men with AIDS to have sex with the youngest virgin they can find in order to be healed. I’ll allow you to take that to its conclusion for yourself. I’ve knelt beside a “bed” in a shack in a squatter camp and held and prayed for a young woman no older than myself and prayed for strength in healing as she faces the final stages of the disease.

In some ways I’ve had the opportunity to stare the monster of AIDS in the face, and I’ll tell you this: it scares the hell out of me. Literally. It makes me cling to the things of Heaven, the things of God, to Him and His wisdom and His will and His plan and His timing. I have to trust him. It’s too big for me to deal with on my own. Every country in the world is affected by HIV/AIDS. Every single one. Some, like mine, have stemmed the tide. Others, like Alfie’s native country, are on the verge of being awash in it. Still others are struggling to keep their heads afloat.

But I do what I can, and I hope you will too. Today, I hope you wear your ribbon. I hope you buy your peppermint mocha and join your Facebook group. I hope you have some conversation with someone who didn’t even know there was a World AIDS Day and open their eyes.

But if you want to think about maybe doing a little bit more, here’s some suggestions for you.

1. Sponsor a Compassion child. I know. It seems like there are tons of us within my circle that won’t shut up about Compassion. Well, there’s a reason for that. We’ve seen it first hand, and we know that it works. Some of those hit hardest and most affected by the AIDS pandemic are those who live in poverty. Compassion is releasing children from poverty in Jesus’ name. They focus on working with a child holistically throught their local church in six areas of development in their life: mentally, emotionally, spiritually, economically, socially and physically. For $32 a month you can help a child in one of Compassion’s 25 countries to ensure that they are educated and have access to all that they need so that they not only can avoid being a victim of this disease but of all the other trappings of poverty. I have other posts here you can read to hear about just what it’s like to sponsor a child, but I want you to hear me clearly right now. If you don’t sponsor a child with Compassion, you should. It’s easy and it changes their life and will lead to lasting change in their family, community, country and eventually, the world. Do it. Please. You can, very easily, by clicking here.

2. If you already sponsor or, for whatever reason, don’t feel like you can right now, then consider giving toward’s Compassions AIDS iInitiative. I give an additional $8 a month to Compassions work to fight this disease in addition to the children I sponsor. For that little bit (which goes a much longer way than the 10 cents that would be donated to (RED) if I spent that 8 bucks on two Starbucks) I’m able to be a part of making sure that communities are educated about AIDS and that those who need treatment are able to have access to it when they wouldn’t otherwise. Incidentally, the first prority in Compassion’s AIDS initiative is to promote abstinence before marriage and faithfulness inside of marriage. So, if you’re worried about condoms being handed out all over Africa because of your 8 dollars, then consider your fears relieved. Right now they do focus this work on the continent of Africa but have plans to expand it further to all of the countries in which they work. You can find out more about this by clicking here or read a blog post about their work by clicking here or on their blog in my blogroll at the right..

3. Contact your local hospital or health clinic for information about volunteering with AIDS hospice care.

4. Pick a country in the world to which you have some connection and find out how to be inolved there. You can do so by searching the various AIDS foundations through the World AIDS Campaign website by clicking here.

5. Forward this post to someone you know who is one of those going about their day blissfully unaware. Rock their world a little bit. Enlighten them. Make it happen.

Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, I think we should pray. I’m a huge believer in prayer. I believe it actually affects change in the world. What if all of the millions of Christians were united in prayer today for God to intervene miraculously in the world with regards to eradicating AIDS? I believe He’s listening.

I know that right now a lot of different ideas are being thrown at us about how we can and should be involved with various causes around the world. That’s great, but I know that it can either be overhelming or just become part of the noise surrounding us. I also know how easy it is to become cynical about it all.

So, my hope is that you can sift through the noise and discover where your involvement can be most effective.

Thanks for reading.

The image above is from my office. I have a bookshelf in between two chairs, and on top Max and the “Wild Things” from Maurice Sendak‘s classic Where the Wild Things Are dance on in a relentless wild rumpus.

I keep these figures there so that I see them every day and am reminded of that scene from the book because there’s something very attractive about it to me.  I find the image of a land where I am king of all that is wild and dangerous and frightening and adventurous and magical to be very appealing and conducive to my “process.”  Of course, I know it’s an illusion, itself a figment of imagination run rampant, but that doesn’t matter, not in the moment.  Whenever faced with trouble, whether of my own doing or not, I like the fantasy that I might conquer it all through sheer will and declare a dance rather than a tantrum.

Even though I’m now an adult, a grown up, with a child of my own, I like this idea. I’ve always liked it.  I can’t tell you that Where the Wild Things Are has always been my favorite book or that I’ve always loved it as much as I do, not because it wasn’t or I didn’t, but rather because I simply can’t remember.  You’d have to ask my parents (which I haven’t, so I can’t tell you what they’d say).  However, I can, at the very least, tell you I’ve always connected with it.  Of course, whether I could articulate why or not is a different story altogether.

I tell you all this just to try to put into context a little bit for you how excited I’ve been about the film version of Where the Wild Things Are that opened this weekend.  I’ve been sincerely worried about it.  I had the same thoughts as so many who have loved the book as children and carried some deep relation to it on into our adulthoods, which could be somewhat summed up with the following exhortation, “They better get it right.”

But what is “right” with regards to a masterpiece of children’s literature that is only ten sentences long, a mere 339 words, and extends just as firm a grip on the hearts and dreams of adults as it does on those of their kids?  I honestly don’t know.  Even though I wanted them to get it right, I would have been completely and utterly at a loss as to define for you just what I meant by that had you asked.  So, having now seen the movie, if you were to ask me, “did they get it right?” I think I’d still have to say, “I don’t know.”

What I can tell you, though, is this: what they did, in fact, “get” I absolutely adore.

Some people have expressed to me their interest in my thoughts on the movie. As I’ve just said, I loved it.  So, there you go.  For any of you who haven’t seen it, let me offer a “brief” review.  Then, for those of you who actually stick around, I want to try to express on a deeper level the resonant affection I have for this film.

The movie follows the same basic plot-line as the book, which can be summed up like this:

A mischievous young boy in a wolf costume named Max causes trouble for his mother who lashes out at him, leading him to escape to the land of the “wild things” whom he “tames” and over whom he is then made king.  As his first order of business, Max declares that a “wild rumpus” begin.  However, after the fun has run its course, Max finds himself longing to be back home.  So, he leaves the “wild things,” though they don’t want him to go, and returns to his home and his dinner.

However, don’t go in expecting a mere re-telling of the book. In fact, don’t go in expecting a children’s movie at all.  I’ve found that most of the criticism lobbed at the film is because of some unmet expectations.  So, if you go in expecting either of the preceding, know that you’re going to be soon joining the camp of the naysayers.

Even though it follows that same basic plot-line, it’s very, very different from the book and Spike Jonze (the co-writer and director) and his crew (including co-writer Dave Eggers) have made a beautifully raw film about childhood, but not necessarily a film for children.  It’s worth mentioning that they did so with cooperation, participation and blessing from Maurice Sendak who’s been quoted as saying, “I would rather not have had a film than turn it into a kiddie movie.”

Rest assured, it’s no “kiddie movie.”  You see, in adapting the book into a screenplay, Jonze and Eggers remembered what all children know but adults tend to forget, namely that childhood is not cute, precious and innocent.  Rather, it’s actually hard, painful, confusing, awkward, terrifying, violent and even, sometimes, lonely while also being endlessly adventurous, paradoxically joyful and heartbreaking, and most definitely fun.  So, that’s the movie they made.

Max is now the son of divorced parents and lives with his mother who’s busy with her own problems and a sister who’s leaving him behind in her own quest to grow up.  The kid’s got problems, both of his own doing and as a result of living in an imperfect world, and is definitely having trouble processing and dealing with them.  This results in fits of pure rage and attention-seeking acts of selfishness.  His mother reaches her limit with Max when he acts out in front of her new boyfriend causing her embarrassment.  She fails in an effort to calm/control/comfort/condemn/convict/corral Max resulting in his running away from home.  Max discovers a boat and sails to the island of the wild things, a dysfunctional family of larger-than-life monsters over whom he soon becomes king in the hopes that he’ll keep them together and make everything the way it should be.  The rest of the film follows the results of the very real truth that it’s impossible for anyone to do that.

I think everything about this film is great.  The writing.  The directing.  The performances, whether by live actors, like the perfectly genuine and relatable Catherine Keener or the new star-in-the-making Max Records, or the performers in the wild things suits designed by the Jim Henson Company, or the voice talent, a dream-cast that includes Forest Whitaker, Catherine O’Hara, Paul Dano, Chris Cooper, Lauren Ambrose and James Gandolfini (I admit that having heard Gandolfini’s voice in the trailer, I hated it.  However, hearing it in context, there’s no one else to play his part).  The cinematography is both beautiful and unsettling, and the music by Karen O is pitch-perfect (pun intended).  Plus, the CGI utilized is actually believable and serves the character (as much as it pains me to say it, take notice George Lucas).

I give it an A++ or 5 terrible roars out of 5.

I’ll eat it up, I love it so.

To sum up, here’s the tweet I posted right after I’d seen it.

Just saw Where the Wild Things Are. Wow! I’m a wreck. Loved it. Really really loved it. If you didn’t I understand. But… Wow. I did.

If you are one of those who just want to see the images of the book move (and I completely get that) you can check out the animated version here.

Now, if anyone else is left, let me warn you that SPOILERS MOST CERTAINLY FOLLOW. Scroll down if you want.  If not, don’t worry, I won’t take it personally.

Ultimately the real reason I love Where the Wild Things Are (the film) is because it’s truth. It’s an incomplete truth to be sure, but truth none the less.

As I’m sure you know from seeing the trailers or posters like the one above, the marketing tagline for the film is, “There’s One In All Of Us.”  And this is true.  That’s actually where the wild things are.  Inside each of us are those things that are out of control or wild.  They’re terrible and frightening.  They want to be our friend yet so often can’t be trusted.  They tell us we’re in charge yet constantly seek to consume us.  We can get lost indefinitely in being engaged with them, and this engagement can be both playful and tragic.  They’re broken and selfish and manipulative but also attractive and curious.

Yes, this is truth.  There is indeed a wild thing inside of each of us.  However, it’s an incomplete truth, because, like Max, most of us, perhaps even all of us, don’t just have one wild thing, but a whole family of them.  Inside Max it seems there are seven, maybe more, but these are the ones he meets, with whom he engages and from whom he’s able to learn a bit about himself and how he relates to the world around him.

I’m not a literary or film critic by any means.  However, let me take a minute and tell you, just from my perspective, what aspects of Max’s character I feel each of the wild things represents.

Ira is his innocence, goodness, artistry and naivete, and also Max’s openness to trust.  You might say that Ira is Max’s child-likeness.

Judith is Max’s skepticism, his burgeoning realization that things are not what they seem and probably shouldn’t be believed.  She’s weariness and sarcasm.  She’s kinda like his potential grown-upness.  Incidentally and significantly, Judith and Ira go together like husband and wife.

Alexander is Max’s insecurity and need for acceptance and affirmation.  He’s also honesty and hurt.

Douglas is reason and practicality.  However, he also possesses the propensity for relativism if it seems to serve the greater good.

The Bull is Max’s silent strength.  He also embodies all that is frightening.  He’s a thinker and represents potential.

KW is love, not a perfect love, but rather one that’s jaded, that’s seeking someone to return their understanding of what love is.  She’s a protector and a realist.

Then there’s Carol.  While Max is declared king of the wild things, Carol is their de facto leader.  This makes sense because he’s the one that is most like the Max we see.  He’s aggression and anger born out of a frustration with the sense that things aren’t how they should be.  He is passion personified.

Of course, these are oversimplifications.  The wild things are actually much more complicated and fuller characters than I’ve described here, but I think, hopefully, you get my point and can even begin to notice some of the wild things you have in you.

We all, at some point or another, think that this world would be better if we could just control it. We think this, of course, because we believe, on some (deep, often hidden) level that this world is our world, and that is the land of the wild things.  It’s a world in which we seemingly tame our wild things by giving false credentials for why we’re qualified to be in charge and are then declared king to rule as we see fit with the promise that we, like Max, could “be a truly great king.”  There’s just one problem… the land, like the things, is wild itself and cannot be tamed.

After Max is declared king and they have their wild rumpus, Carol takes Max on a tour of his kingdom.  Along the way Carol is telling him that everything that can be seen belongs to him as the king.  However, Carol then begins to make exceptions, like the holes that Ira makes in the trees or “that stick” or “that rock.”  See?  Even though Max is king he’s not fully in control, nor could he ever be.  There are even parts of his kingdom that already are “not that great.”

Of course, like us, Max can’t see this, at least not at first.  He believes he can be king and he can make things better.  He immediately sets forth trying to do so, to construct a place in which everyone will be safe and protected and can live together in Utopian harmony where they can “all sleep together in one big pile.”  It doesn’t take long for conflict to arise, though.  And what is Max’s solution but more conflict.

He divides the group into two teams of “good guys” and “bad guys” and proceeds to initiate a dirt clod war (remember those?  I do).  We might be tempted to think how childish this is of Max, yet I can’t help but realize this is so often how I address conflict in my own life, whether personal or corporate.  I compartmentalize and oversimplify, drawing clear battle lines and forcing everyone (even if it’s just myself) to choose sides.  In the end this strategy never works, and it certainly doesn’t for Max.  It doesn’t take long until feelings (and bodies) are hurt and the group is scattered again.

It’s following this that I believe the pivotal moment in the film occurs.  Max approaches Alexander who’s been injured both physically and emotionally in the war.  He’s alone, as usual, and feeling desperately sorry for himself.  Max realizes for the first time the trouble he’s caused and the impossibility he faces when trying to make everything right himself.  Alexander forces him to stare himself in the face by declaring:

You’re not really a king, are you?  You’re just a boy pretending to be a wolf pretending to be king.

Max, of course, realizes and acknowledges that this is true.  To which Alexander heartbreakingly replies, “I don’t think there is a king like that [that can make everything right and keep everyone together].”  And this is truth, though an incomplete truth.

I’m a man of faith and that influences everything in my life. I recognize that not all of you share my faith, and therefore, won’t see what I’m about to describe.  But the reason that Alexander’s resignation was so heartbreaking to me is because I know that there is a King like that, yet I also know well, as I think we all do, the doubt.

In the middle of all of it, though, we (hopefully) eventually come to realize that even without the answers, the first step is admitting that we’re not king, or at least not a very good one.  Max does and decides to return home.  None of the wild things really understand why but none take it more personally than Carol.  He basically goes nuts.  Douglas tries to calm him down.  So, Carol rips his arm off and then decides the only way to keep Max around is to eat him.  Max escapes by actually climbing in KW’s mouth.

Did you get that?

He escapes being literally consumed by the wild thing that represents anger and aggression by instead being consumed by the wild thing that represents affection and acceptance.

Later, after Carol has cooled off a bit, Max comes to see him.  Carol basically questions why he has to leave and why everything isn’t better since he came.  Max’s answer results in the following exchange.

Max: Because I’m not a king.

Carol: Well, what are you then?

Max: I’m Max.

Carol: That’s not very much, is it?

But part of what Max has realized is that it is, just not the “much” he had thought.

And that’s true, though incomplete.

Carol then walks off leaving Max alone.  Max goes to the beach where all of the other wild things are.  He promises to talk well about them when he returns and as he’s climbing in his boat to leave, Judith comments, “you’re the first king we haven’t eaten,” to which all the other wild things chime in with agreement.

And that’s true.  The wild things inside only consume us when we ceaselessly and uselessly attempt to exert control.  When we give up that illusion, we give up their control as well.

Meanwhile, Carol is off alone but stumbles across a simple message Max has left him: a heart made out of sticks with a “C” in the middle.  Just as Max is setting off Carol comes running down the dunes and straight out into the water.  Max looks back at him and all of the wild things, while they all look after him.  What’s left for them to do but to roar their terrible roars?

And this they do.

They roar.

They roar with longing.

They roar with regret.

They roar with expectancy.

They roar with sorrow.

They roar with joy.

They roar with fury.

And they roar with love.

‘Cause, you see, that’s what it’s ultimately about.  Love.  Love of self and love of others, regardless of how wild we all may be.

And this is true though incomplete.

And by this point the final scene is just icing, delicious and sweet and leaving us (or me at least) craving more.

Maybe you think I’ve read way too much into it, and maybe I did.  But I don’t care, because it got me.  Where the Wild Things Are really got me.

Some of the critiques from parents that I’ve read have centered around the film being too dark, the themes being too adult, Max being too rambunctious and angry, the wild things being too sad and scary and not being inspirational enough.  To those parents I would say that regardless of what their specific issues might be, their children are living in a very wild world and the vast majority don’t know how to deal with it if no one will help them.  If nothing else, Where the Wild Things Are illustrates this perfectly and provides all of you with the perfect opportunity to help your children along the way by talking to them not like a kid but a fellow wild thing.

So, if you any of you have made it this far… thanks.  I’m sure I haven’t expressed myself as well as I could have.  Maybe we can grab some coffee and just talk about it.

I think that would be nice.

Arrrroooooooooooooooooooo!

This past weekend, I finally did it.  I cut off my cable.

Some of you may be thinking, “Big deal.  So, what?”  But to me it is a big deal.  In fact, I’m not sure I realized how much of a big deal it is until I actually disconnected the cable box and had my TV search for what channels I was now left with.  When the number popped up and I flipped through them, I had a physical reaction, something between nausea and heartache.  That’s the moment I knew I’d made the right decision.

You see, I watch a lot of television.  When I say “a lot,” I mean that if I’m at my house, the TV is at least on, but, chances are, I’m sitting there watching it.  Even if I’m on my computer or playing with Story or cleaning or even reading, my attention is at least split between that thing I’m doing and watching whatever’s on.  I’m too ashamed to assign a percentage to which usually wins out.

So, a while back, inspired by some other people I know, I decided to get rid of cable.  Notice I didn’t say I was losing TV completely.  No.  It’s still there.  I just installed an antennae in my attic that now basically picks up the major broadcast networks, PBS and about seven religious channels.

We’ve (Liza and I) done this before, but I honestly plan on this time being more permanent.  We don’t need cable.  We’ve still got some channels.  We’ve still got the internet.  And those things are really “needs,” but still…

The whole thing has kinda been like exorcising a demon in my life that’s been a welcome guest for far too long.  I know that sounds overly dramatic, but for me, that’s honestly what it’s been.

Anyway, if I had to put down my reasons for losing cable in list form, it would look something like the following:

1.  Save money.

2.  Free up time to do other things.

3.  Pay more attention to and spend more quality time with Liza and Story.

4.  Read more (especially my Bible).

5.  Simplify things.

6.  Increase how often I say, “there’s nothing on.”

7.  No longer be sucked in by cheesy B-movies on SyFy Saturday or anything with the suffix “of Love” in the title on VH1.

8.  Cease allowing Saved by the Bell on TBS to cut into my exercise time in the mornings.

9.  To stimulate Story through actual tangible means rather than flashing lights and loud noises.  I’ll leave that to her toys.

10.  Cut dependency on something that was never meant to be dependable.

So, there you go.

Won’t you join me?

I’ve got some updating to do to the old site here and might get to it this weekend (hopefully).  One of the (many) things I have to do is to add to my ever-increasing blogroll.  I’ve gone ahead and started, though, with today’s Friend Friday Feature.

As you’ll notice (if you’re a careful observer), I’ve added a new category to the blogroll.  “Family Ties.”  As you might guess, this will be a place to bring special attention to blogs that belong to members of my family.  The only two I’m reading (and am aware of) right now are Liza‘s and (my brother) Craig‘s.

Craig just entered into the blogosphere this week.  So, please, welcome him and make him feel at home.  If you’re one of those people who likes to bring cookies to the new neighbors, Craig likes chocolate chip.  You can find him over at “Freeing My Mind.”

Since Craig just started blogging there’s not a lot to read, but what is there is good.  He’s an excellent writer, and you’ll probably discover that we have similar voices when it comes to that kind of stuff.  Also, once you’re done with the blog, you can head on over to his ministry site and check out some of the articles he’s written.  He also has a podcast that’s relaunching soon, and I’m supposed to be a part of at least one of them.  I’ll definitely link to those when they’re up, but you can always check out his other ones too.

From time to time someone will ask me what Craig does, and I never really know how to adequately answer them.  He’s in ministry (Awake International) , for sure, and he ministers primarily in a sector of the Church that most visitors to this site probably don’t encounter very much.  I think Craig would say he’s a reformer, or at least those are his aspirations.  At any rate, he’s a teacher and preacher and prophet and budding writer and mentor to various people every year through his AwakeU program.  The churches and events where Craig is are often marked by a working of the Spirit that many of us don’t get to experience very often.  To be honest, Craig operates in a world that I don’t always understand but I need to and that challenges me consistently.

If nothing else I can say that I have personally witnessed no other greater work of God than what He’s done in Craig’s life.  Maybe one day I’ll write more about here, but for today, I’ll encourage you to get to know him and find out for yourself.

I won’t write a long post here about all the ways my life has changed since becoming a father.  A lot of you aren’t fathers yourselves and often get sick of hearing us parents talk about it.  Instead, I’ll just tell you one way.

Life is often measured for us in milestones, significant events along the way.  Some of these milestones we work towards, others simply happen by chance.  Most of us, though, don’t have a lot of them, usually because the ones we really hang on to are the biggies.  First day of school.  First car.  First date.  First kiss.  Graduation.  Proposal.  Marriage.  Buying a house.  Etc.

Well, since the entrance of the Storykins into our lives, the way we measure things has changed a bit.  We still measure in milestones, but they’ve become much smaller (at least in comparison to the ones mentioned above) and, for the time being anyway, have become more frequent.  First poop. Rolling over.  First noises.  First time to sleep through the night.  First laugh.  First bottle.  Eating “real” food for the first time.  Etc. (I’m realizing that other than a couple of things, these kinda sound like the milestones for a dog).

Well, Story has recently hit another milestone and we (Liza especially) wanted to share it with all of you, hence the videos below.  In the first one let me say that I’m laying on the floor while filming.  That’s why my fat face looks like a gelatinous blob.

Storykins Sitting (How Exciting) from Chris Kinsley on Vimeo.

This next one isn’t really a milestone.  It’s just cute and funny (at least I think so).

Storykins and the Missy Dog from Chris Kinsley on Vimeo.

Pinch and Squeal is Liza’s (my wife) blog.  I think she should update more.  What about you?

Obviously, she’s more than a friend, but I’m beseeching all you other friends to joing me in campaigning to have Liza really step up her new media presence.

Viva la revolution!

Who’s with me?

I don’t normally get homesick, but I’m predicting that right now, I’m especially missing Story a lot.

(Sigh!)