The Golden Compass provides a new way to think and talk candidly about the church.

How often do non-Christian friends ask you to discuss your beliefs? How often does someone say to you, “My problem with the Christian church is … ”? A new movie just might spark those conversations. But some Christians will never see it.

That’s because The Golden Compass attracted controversy months before it opened on December 7. In October, the Catholic League called for a boycott of the film. An e-mail warning Christians to stay away from the movie circulated so widely, the mailing has become one of the top searches on the rumor-debunking website Snopes. A November news release from MOVIEGUIDE, a publication of the Christian Film & Television Commission, compared The Golden Compass to pro-Hitler Nazi films and stated, “If you are looking for a savior, you need look no further than Jesus Christ. If you are looking for bondage, go see The Golden Compass.”

Lessons I’ve learned behind the scenes

When I was 8, I believed I was destined to sing with the Carpenters.

When I was 11, I believed I was destined to star in a TV show with Shawn Cassidy.

When I was 20, I believed I was destined to headline on Broadway.

Now, at 42, I believe I’m destined to remain in the background. And I couldn’t be happier.

Finding comfort in the grim circumstances of Jesus’ entry into our world

More than 20 years ago in December, when I was a graduate student, I was held up at gunpoint in a public phone booth, robbed of a book bag containing my students’ and my own final papers, and sexually assaulted.

As often happens with trauma, the days that followed brought afflictions that seemed almost worse than the original crime. Everyone I knew responded that I “should be glad” I wasn’t killed, that I was “lucky.” I can’t explain how deeply these responses hurt me, but the title of author Alice Sebold’s account of her rape, Lucky, references the universality of my pain. To avoid it, I longed to retreat from my friends, my family, the world.

And why I praise God for it

I’m sitting in yet another hospital waiting room.

Ever since my husband, Barry, first underwent open heart and quadruple bypass surgery 15 months ago, I’ve been in this waiting room—or one just like it—more times than I can count on one hand, waiting for him to come out of the operating room.

In little more than a year’s time, my vocabulary has increased to include words and phrases such as aneurysm, atrial fib, and EP study with ablation. They all mean I have to put on a cheery face, kiss Barry good-bye, and promise I won’t worry about him or forget to eat lunch and lock the garage door at night while he’s in the hospital again.