Between Heaven and Hollywood Page 3
God saw what he wanted done here on Earth, so he said, “I’m going to need someone to do ______________ for me. It has to be just the right person with all the right qualifications. I should probably then make this person.” So he took a little bit of this and a touch of that and he created you to do this specific thing. He conceived and designed you to do it better than anyone else. There is a certain way your heart loves that nobody else can duplicate; a unique way you process information that nobody else can imitate; a way you relate to people; a particular sense of humor you have; a unique way of singing, telling stories, building a business, designing, or decorating. You bring something to this world that no one else can deliver. You please God unlike any other. Your dream is inside your heart, but it didn’t start there. God put it there, and now it lives within you.
I suspect that some of you reading this are doing a quick inventory of your talents and your special attributes and somehow coming up with nothing. You have concluded there is nothing special or unique about yourself, and therefore God has nothing in mind for you to do for him. You feel as though God has left you to fend for yourself.
You might have come to this erroneous but nonetheless dangerous conclusion for many reasons, but one comes to mind that I see a lot in the entertainment business. My guess is, you are comparing yourself to people our society celebrates, and as a result you feel less than special.
We live in a culture that glorifies certain talents and attributes while ignoring others. Much is made of the NBA player who repeatedly and without fail sinks the ball from the three-point line or the young woman whose voice wows the celebrity judges on American Idol. These people are elevated to the status of superstars and royalty and are rewarded with vast sums of money and adoration. “He has a God-given talent,” they say, or “Her voice is a gift from God.” It appears logical to us that people who are so blessed by the Lord would be successful in their chosen endeavors.
What about the talents and gifts that are not so obvious or the dreams that don’t seem so grand? What of the basketball coach with the gift of organizing and fund-raising who imagined building a community gymnasium and, after ten years of work, finally realized that dream, offering a place where young athletes can begin to realize their own dreams? What of the piano teacher who led a children’s choir and in doing so introduced music into the lives of children and instilled in some of them a great passion for singing?
Unsung heroes? Maybe, but I tell you this. When people achieve their God-given dreams, heaven sings for them. What else really matters?
Every day I meet people who feel they are nothing special. It reminds me of a disease, actually. It’s almost like some kind of illness that has spread like a virus throughout our society, causing people to look into the mirror and see so much less than what God sees when he looks at us. God sees more because he can see into our spirits. He is not distracted or dismayed by the external, what exists only on the surface. First Samuel 16:7 tells us, “The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”
There are tons of suggestions and explanations as to why there might exist a type of institutionalized epidemic of low self-esteem. I have heard it theorized that advertisers need for us all to think less of ourselves so we’ll buy their products that promise a new and improved life. Some say it’s a result of social media; others suggest uninvolved caregivers or early emotional trauma.
Whatever the road or reason that leads people to despise or think less of themselves, their assessment of themselves is erroneous. It is a lie that they are less valuable or significant than anyone else. I know this to be true, for there are piles of Scriptures announcing God’s love for each individual soul. Here are just a few:
Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:6–7)
See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. (1 John 3:1)
But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. (Ephesians 2:4–5)
The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing. (Zephaniah 3:17)
We are, after all, each and every one of us, made in his image. Do you think that when it came to you, God made a mistake? Do you imagine that in the very instant you were created, God was distracted and you were shortchanged?
You might be thinking I am giving you too much credit. David wouldn’t say this about me if he really knew me. I’m far from special. I’m not particularly educated. I’m not successful. I have no illusions of grandeur. You might also be thinking, Actually, if you get right down to it, I’m a seriously flawed individual. I don’t live a perfectly righteous life—far from it. I’m not the kind of person God would have a special plan for.
If you remember nothing else in this book, remember at least this: It doesn’t matter where you were born or what kind of life you had growing up. Maybe as an adult you have felt unappreciated or even rejected. Maybe you’ve had your share of bad luck and misfortune or suffered great tragedy. It is not an accident or random chance that you are here on this planet. You are here for a reason—and that reason, that unique destiny, is found in your God-given dream.
There is no one too common, too ignorant, too uneducated, too poor, too inexperienced, or too broken and sinful that he or she cannot be used by God to achieve his goals.
You think I am the one giving you too much credit? Actually, I’m not the one giving you credit—God is! At the end of the day, what difference does it make what I think? Or what your boss, teacher, spouse, neighbor, or anyone else thinks? God has faith in you. He thinks you can do what he created you to do.
“In the beginning” refers not only to the creation of time, space, and matter. It also refers to the conception of you and me and the dreams God has instilled in each one of us, dreams to do specific tasks that he needs done on this planet.
Now that we’ve established that your dreams are not entirely your own, that they exist because God gave them to you and that God thinks you are worthy of these same dreams, you may be thinking the hardest part is behind you. If so then you should probably turn to chapter 2.
For photos of David’s childhood, his early jobs, and his first acting role, go to DavidARWhite.com/Exclusive.
CHAPTER 2
Turn Right at Second Thoughts and Go Straight to the Other Side of Fear
Don’t let fear cheat you out of your dreams. God is bigger than whatever you’re worried about.
Unknown
In eighth grade, I watched a movie that would change my life forever—Rocky III—and I watched it repeatedly. I knew every line and could do bad impressions of every character in the movie. “I’m afraid. For the first time in my life, I’m afraid!” Seriously though, that movie packed in so many life lessons, including: Never give up, and whatever you do, don’t go into a fight right after your manager just died. Sylvester Stallone wrote, directed, and starred in this enormously successful film, and he became my hero.
So inspired was I by Stallone’s achievements in Rocky III that I would often catch myself fantasizing that he would one day get lost while traveling through Kansas, pull over, and ask me for directions, and as a result my life would be forever changed.
“Hey, uh—excuse me,” Sly would mumble in the way only he can. “But, uh, I don’t know where I am. All these roads, you know, they look the same. Maybe you could help me get back to Hollywood?”
I would shield my eyes against the harsh midwestern sun and answer politely, “Yes, sir, Mr. Stallone, sir. You just have to get back on the highway and continue west on Route 54.”
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“Hey, thanks a lot, kid. You know, come to think of it, I could use a bright, polite guy like you to costar with me in my next movie. As long as it’s okay with your parents, y’know what I mean?”
This fantasy was as far as it went when it came to my planning and preparing for a career in show business. I know. Ridiculous, right?
HIDDEN SECRETS
I spoke very little to anyone about my dream of working in the entertainment field. It was just too different, too unorthodox for the folks in my community, and I feared I would no longer fit in if I spilled the beans. I was afraid they would think I was crazy for believing I could move to Hollywood and become a movie star. Perhaps deep down I was afraid they were right. The few times I mentioned it to my parents, their response was pragmatic. “Son,” my father would begin, “you don’t know how to sing or dance, so that’s not an option.”
I couldn’t argue with him. My father was right. I was not blessed with a singing voice, and as a Mennonite Brethren I was forbidden to attend dances, so I never had a chance to pick up any dance moves or even find out if I had a natural talent. The thought of dancing or singing in front of people filled me with so much anxiety and apprehension that to this day I get uncomfortable even watching musical theater.
Mrs. Thomas, our school librarian, once asked what my plans were for after graduation. I think I mumbled that I wanted to move to Hollywood and become an actor. Her response was measured and matter-of-fact: “I think you’d make a great actor.” I couldn’t believe she said that. She was the first person who thought my dream wasn’t stupid. I’ll forever be grateful to her for validating my life choice. I held onto her encouraging words, despite the fact that I knew I would not be going to Hollywood after graduation. I never had any question, any doubt, as to where I was headed after high school.
THE RULE
My father had one rule that all of us kids had to abide by. It didn’t involve picking rocks, weeding gardens, or working on a wheat farm; those things I learned to navigate around. My father firmly and without negotiation insisted that after high school graduation, his children must attend Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, Illinois, for at least one year.
Moody is a conservative Christian college specializing in careers for students interested in Christian ministry, counseling, and education. My father’s dream for me was that I would follow in his footsteps and become an evangelist, and Moody was a step in his plan for how I would achieve that dream.
Not only had my brother and sister graduated from Moody, but both my father and mother had graduated from there as well. As a matter of fact, Moody was where my parents first met each other. Likewise, it was at Moody where my sister met her husband and my brother met his wife.
Are you sensing a pattern here? Not only was Moody Bible Institute a time-honored establishment of higher learning with a reputation for training generations of preachers and church leaders, it was also an opportunity for the Whites to widen the gene pool. There were only eighteen young women in my high school graduating class. There were thousands of available coeds at Moody. You do the math.
While my parents were calculating the statistical probabilities of my scoring a life mate at Moody, I was contemplating the realities of living in the Windy City. Even though I didn’t want to go to Moody and didn’t want a career in the ministry, I was oddly comforted knowing what the next year of my life entailed. My friends were stressing about their college choices and anxious over their futures, but mine was all planned out. I didn’t have to figure out what I’d be doing for the next twelve months, nor was I burdened with accountability, because I had no say in the matter. My father’s ultimatum stirred my sense of duty but also triggered in me a sense of relief—kind of. For the time being, I was content to stall my dream and put it in the “someday” category. After all, I was still young with plenty of “somedays” in my future, but right now I needed to buckle down, get a college degree, and be responsible.
THE WINDY CITY
So that is how it came to be, in the fall of 1988, that my parents and I set out in their Ford LTD for Moody Bible Institute.
Moody’s campus is located in the Near North Side of Chicago and is 881 ground miles from Meade, Kansas, about a fourteen-hour drive. I spent the majority of that ride wondering how I was going to figure out the “acting thing” while at Moody. Even though I had not abandoned my dream of succeeding in show business, I still had not told anyone of my secret intention to go to Hollywood. I told myself that Chicago just might be the gateway to my dream. After all, I had a much better chance of meeting Sylvester Stallone on the side of a road in Chicago than I ever did in Kansas.
I remember when I first drove into Chicago and how I felt when I saw those massive buildings looming high above me. On the one hand, I was ready to leave the nest and be on my own as a young man. On the other, I had a nagging fear that Chicago would swallow me up and spit me out. I had never experienced anything like the city before, and I was overwhelmed. The city was too bright, too noisy, and too expensive. There were too many streets with far too many addresses to remember. For me, Chicago was a vast and impersonal city too easy to get lost in and too easy to be ignored by. I wondered, What am I doing here? How will I be able to drive my car through all of this traffic? What if I am recognized as a country rube and someone tries to sell me a bridge? How will I afford to live here? How can I stand out amongst so many different kinds of people and make my mark?
Despite my conflicted feelings, when I said goodbye to Mom and Dad on the steps of my dorm room, it could have been a scene in a Norman Rockwell painting. I promised my mom I’d be home for Christmas and assured my dad there’d be no horseplay at school and that I would treat the whole college thing seriously. There may have even been mention of my yet unknown bride-to-be. Despite my apprehension, I assured myself all would be fine. After all, my parents believed I needed to be at Moody. What could possibly go wrong?
TIME TO GET TO WORK
As pastors of a small midwestern church, my parents couldn’t afford to help me much financially during my tenure at Moody. Although tuition was free, I still had to pay for room and board, so getting a job was one of the first things on my agenda.
Luckily, a local valet company liked to hire Moody students to park cars for the city’s restaurants and nightspots because we often turned out to be the most honest of the company’s employees. I quickly found a job parking cars for some of Chicago’s hottest attractions like America’s Bar, Ditka’s, and Harry Caray’s.
In the 1980s, Chicago’s sporting teams reigned supreme, and I was right there in the middle of it, parking cars for the city’s most celebrated athletes. It was a nonstop party for the Bulls, Bears, and Cubs, and the air crackled with electricity, especially in downtown Chicago. Just imagine what it was like for a small-town kid from Kansas to be driving around in Walter Payton’s Testarossa, Michael Jordan’s Ferrari, or any one of Scottie Pippen’s vast collection of expensive automobiles. I learned to drive a stick shift on a Porsche in the parking lot of the Steppenwolf Theatre, where I would later watch performance after performance of Gary Sinise and John Malkovich in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. It was the first professional play I ever saw. I was mesmerized at what they were able to do. I loved the fog, the sets, the crisp, cold air in the theater. I was alive, and I wanted to do what they did.
That year, I grew up in so many ways and had so many different experiences. For instance, I went to almost every Chicago Bears home game. People would leave at the end of the first or second quarter, and they were happy to give me their ticket stub. I’d stroll into Soldier Field like I’d been going to games my whole life. I was living the dream. I wasn’t living my dream, of course, but at least I was having fun living my parents’ dream for me. I kept busy and distracted. I barely noticed the time ticking by.
Looking back, I am struck by my level of naïveté during that first year at Moody. I lacked what many call “street smarts,” as there weren’t many paved roads in Mead
e, Kansas. One particular story comes to mind that illustrates my innocence and perhaps even ignorance as to my new surroundings.
One night while I was parking cars for Ditka’s, the valet staff was given brand-new pairs of promotional Kangaroos sneakers, those trendy tennis shoes that came with a small zippered pocket on the side. At quitting time—three in the morning—I decided to save some time getting back to Moody by cutting through Chicago’s infamous Cabrini-Green public housing project.
Yeah. So there I am with a couple hundred dollars in cash folded up in my pocket, twisting my way through dark alleys, past piles of garbage stacked many stories high right in the middle of gangland central, when I am stopped by three very large African-American men. “Where’d you get those shoes?” was all I heard over the pounding of my heart.
This is where I die, I thought, all over a silly pair of sneakers with an even sillier pocket sewed into the side.
It turned out the man asking me about my shoes was legendary Chicago Bears running back Walter Payton. Apparently he had just signed an endorsement deal with Kangaroos and was genuinely interested in my thoughts about the sneakers. So instead of dying that night, I spent fifteen minutes discussing the benefits of a shoe pocket with Walter Payton in an alleyway of Cabrini-Green at 3:00 in the morning.
I would like to tell you I learned a lesson from that evening, but I’m afraid that would not be the last time I tempted fate, acting impulsively or even foolishly with little regard to consequences. Clearly, I had the Lord’s hand of protection around me, but in the months and years to come, I fear my rash spontaneity may have tired the Lord somewhat. I’ll get to some of that later.
WHAT DIDN’T HAPPEN