The Director’s Cut

The book you hold in your hands represents a journey of Biblical proportions, not because it rises to the level of momentous earth-shattering literature, but because it chronicles an expedition into the wilderness of life, where, as it turned out, the only reliable navigation tool I could find was the Bible. I was raised in a Christian home, I attended church regularly, and I accepted most doctrine without hesitation. I had lived my whole life in a Christian “state” of mind, which inappropriately became my own, “private Idaho.” I had become so enamored with my home, “state,” that I never explored the vast country outside its borders. One particularly sunny day, as I strolled through town, admiring my mental Christian iconography, I was met by a first time visitor to my state. He commented on the beautiful scenery and the interesting historical monuments, but then did the unthinkable, and asked me to explain why I bothered to live in this sparsely populated state in the first place. I had no answer! Here I was, living in the, “Gem State,” and all I could offer him was potatoes. I had become so content living in the, “Urban Eden,” of my theoretic Christian knowledge, that I neglected to consider what difference that knowledge would actually make to my friends that lived in the boonies. It was at that moment that I decided I needed to take a road trip and carefully map the world outside my Christian happy place. I hooked up my, “spiritual Airstream trailer,” and toured the countryside of life, not knowing exactly where I was going, or even how I would get there, but what I found was astounding! I discovered that each and every historical site, natural wonder, and small community I encountered along the way had already been described in detail by a several thousand year-old Biblical “Atlas.”

I wrote this book because I have many friends who also live in this great Christian, “state,” but because the transit system is so good, don’t own their own cars, and never venture beyond the state border. In light of my own experience, I knew, that sooner or later, their comfortable routine of walking the dog, frequenting the cafes, and taking the bus to work, would be interrupted by an encounter with a visitor from out of town. This tourist would not only want to know where the bathrooms were, but would also have some very important questions about the “state” that he was visiting, such as. “Who is the Governor? What is the main industry?” And most important of all, “why would I ever want to visit here again?” I want my friends to be knowledgeable enough about the, “State,” to give them a guided tour, make a case for relocation, and hand them some spiritual souvenirs to take back to their families who live in the “Badlands.”