Zombie books are jumping off the shelves faster than a lumbering… uh… zombie. A lot faster, actually, cause zombies aren’t usually all that swift. I guess that means my attempt at a metaphor is now officially dead. Or undead. Whatever. The pic is from “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.” A real book.
After an excellent writer’s conference that buried me with challenging ideas, deep conversations, workshops, plenaries, and dreams, I would have qualified for a cameo in Night Of The Living Dead, Part Eleven. Drool and all. After day three, a serious learning Conference is a lot like “eating” other people’s brains. You kinda have enough after awhile.
The day I staggered back to the airport, I managed groan something to God about sending me, using me, whatever. Later on I zombeed my rear end (hey, if I make up a word, I can decide how to spell it) into my seat on the plane, only to discover a non-zombie (a pleasant Mormon guy) who sincerely wanted to talk.
I lobbed out some remarks about my church and being a writer and a pastor to test his engagement, and he was interested. The plane lifted off the San Jose tarmac. Questions came fast and furious. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation, and so did he, by all counts. I mean, I shared my call into ministry. The gospel. The deity of Christ. What it means to be created in God’s image. The humanity of Christ. The indwelling of his Spirit. How our church works. Baptism. You name it. The plane touched down in Seattle and we left it at that—no heavenly choir, no kneeling to pray, but probably a hundred and forty six seeds planted in an open heart. It was the most incredible “witnessing” situation I’ve ever been a part of, and God did it through me while I was a zombie.
Funny, though. When all was said and done, I didn’t feel like one anymore.