Digital Storytelling

The Gift is a digital story written for the graduate class EDLD 5363 Multimedia Video Technology at Lamar University. I enjoyed creating this story. Not only was it practical learning but therapeutic as well being that the content is personal. Below is the link to the video and the script.



I hope you are moved by the video.
J. Keith Cummings

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJkxZEbykYI

The Gift
I was raised in a religious family. Conservative and fundamental, the faith presented to me begged to be challenged. That faith, wanted to banish doubt but that seemed like cutting off part of me. I was not openly a rebel. My questioning was subtle and more scientific but I did what I was supposed to do. I remember as a child wondering if the miracles were real. Could they have been a natural process, physiological, mental, physical, understood by Christ but incomprehensible by those of a non-scientific age. Thomas was my apostle. He needed the physical truth to confirm his faith. “Place your hands in the wounds from my crucifixion” invited Christ. “Know that this is real.”
I have a romantic view of belief, of faith, of spirituality, of miracles. These are ideals that are valuable to me but it seems they are gifts for others. They never seemed completely real so I conceded that I will likely never experience them. My gifts are curiosity and rationality.
I believe life is God’s greatest gift but life became a dark psychological maze that was not so easy to maneuver; like walking on water but without the sureness of Christ. Will my unconscious support my next step? I floundered and depression clouded my judgment and for several years life was not a gift. Several years of psychotherapy unraveled the mess and life eventually became good.
During those early days of therapy, Don, my father-in-law, introduced me to wade-fishing and it became a living symbol for dealing with my subconscious. Wading in the bay is a risky business similar to therapy. You never know what is just under the surface and what it might do to you. Stepping on the occasional flounder was unsettling, and getting into a jelly fish was painful but I never got seriously hurt. Our trips always started early. Don insisted on being in the water, wade fishing before the sun’s edge broke the sky. And we fished hard and long. We sometimes would hunt them all day before being rewarded. We were artificial bait fishermen. They must be fooled by our presentation. He enjoyed catching big redfish or speckled trout but he love to watch others catch them even more. His deep belly laugh rolled when he wasn’t talking you through the catch. We fished together for many years until his health began to fail.
Don’s end was slow. He must have known something was wrong because he had stopped fishing for about a year before being diagnosed with a spinal tumor. A failed surgery marked the loss of walking and for 9 years he digressed until melanoma was discovered. His new prognosis was definite and clear – he had 2 months at best. I got to work collecting photos, scanning them, and creating a memorial slide show to the Five for Fighting song 100 Years. That was a tedious labor of love that pricked at my grief. Six weeks after the diagnosis he was on his death bed. Deanne stayed with her father as much as possible. Everyone was there when he passed.
My dreams are in black and white, but that night I dreamt in color. I woke early to write it down fearing that it would fade. Don was standing waist deep in the bay silhouetted against the brilliantly red-orange half risen sun. His rod was arched as the tip was vibrating in response to the tugging of a fish. And he was laughing.
There could have been no better gift to accompany my grief than this. Thomas had placed his fingers in the wounds of Christ. The resurrection was real. I had seen my father-in-law, my fishing buddy, vividly doing what he loved and my hope of heaven was rekindled. My doubt remains but my hope is stronger.