Why War Veteran and Quadruple Amputee Travis Mills Is Thankful and 'Tough as They Come'

It's a love-hate relationship. While Glenn and his co-hosts love visiting with Travis Mills, retired United States Army Staff Sergeant and recalibrated warrior, it's a stark reminder of their physical shortcomings.

"We love having him here. He's the author of the book, Tough As They Come. And . . . we actually don't like having him because we always feel like the biggest weenies on the planet," Glenn said Thursday on his radio program.

RELATED: BOOM! Navy Veteran DESTROYED HILLARY CLINTON at Forum

Travis lost his arms and legs in the service of his country, but you won't hear him playing the victim.

"I go to the CrossFit gym. I really like to socialize a lot," Travis said.

When he's not at the gym, Travis travels the country sharing his inspirational message and helping other wounded war heroes. His bestselling book, Tough As They Come, was released this week in paperback. Travis additionally founded the Travis Mills Foundation, a nonprofit that benefits and assists wounded and injured veterans and their families.

Read below or watch the clip for answers to these questions:

• Would Travis go back in time and change things if he could?

• Why is Travis thankful to be taking his daughter trick-or-treating?

• What four items must be in a care package for service members overseas?

• Will Glenn, Pat or Jeffy ever make it to the gym?

• Can you get PTSD from watching a TV show?

Below is a rush transcript of this segment, it might contain errors:

GLENN: Good friend of ours is back into town. A guy who we had on about a year ago and has a great sense of humor and also has a mission in his life, I think because of what gave him a great sense of humor. Travis Mills is back in. We begin with him, right now.

(music)

GLENN: Travis Mills is back into town. We love having him here. He's the author of the book, tough as they come. And we -- we actually don't like having him. Because we always feel like the biggest weenies on the planet.

He's talking about -- he has no arms and no legs. He lost them in the service of his country. And he's just talking about swimming and going to the gym every day and how he listens to us at the gym. And we have arms and legs, and we don't even go to the gym.

PAT: Haven't seen a gym in years.

GLENN: No, uh-uh. I don't even like people named Jim.

PAT: I don't even like to drive by them.

GLENN: Right.

TRAVIS: No, I understand that. And I -- you know, I go when I'm at home. I go to the cross-fit gym. I really like to socialize a lot. They're like, come on, Travis. You got to do stuff. And I'm like, I'm kind of busy talking. So don't think -- you know, I have cool tricks. Like, check these pecks out. You know what I'm saying? I can do some things.

GLENN: You can do that. You got that going for you.

TRAVIS: I'm glad you allowed me to believe back and hang out with you some fine gentlemen.

PAT: I don't know who you're talking about --

GLENN: Yeah, he obviously has no judgment either.

So just recap your story real quick, the story of the book.

TRAVIS: Absolutely.

GLENN: And your near-death experience, in case people don't know who you are.

TRAVIS: Yeah, so I'm from Michigan originally. My mom and dad had me. I was a middle child. So they had the first one. They were like, not what we want. Second one, perfection. Third one, crap. Not Travis. But I digress.

JEFFY: That's the way it goes.

TRAVIS: After high school, I went to college. My girlfriend said she moved home. I moved home. Found out she had a boyfriend. Joined the military.

My third deployment, my wife and I were doing well. Had a house and everything out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina. The 82nd Airborne Division.

Third deployment came up. I decided I was going to go. I had orders to take me somewhere else. I didn't want to go somewhere else. I went on patrol two months there -- a month and a half into my deployment. You know, hit a bomb. IED. And it ripped off portions of my arms and legs.

At the bicep -- my right arm and right leg, at the knee, disintegrated and gone. Left leg snapped to the bone and left arm was blown out the wrist. But hand was still there. So I hit the ground. I radioed my LT with my left arm. I said, "Hey, six. This is four. Just hit a bomb."

My medic came up to me, started working on me. I told him, leave me alone. He just said, let me do my job. Tourniquets. Operating table. Eventually, 14 hours of surgery. Nine doctors and seven nurses put me back together, I guess in a way or got me stable. Two nurses for nine hours just pumped air into my lungs, keep me alive.

And I made it to Walter Reed on April 17th for the first time. And my wife when I first saw her, she had to sign papers to cut my right leg up higher. It wasn't that Kodak moment you would think. She had to do that. And then the next day, I told Kelsey, she walked in, I said, look, honey, you don't got to do this. Like, this is not the life you chose. I'm not the 6-3, 250-pound behemoth of a good-looking man anymore. You know, and I basically just gave her the out.

She said, "That's not how this works. We're going to do this together." And she also said, "And I want the handicapped parking." So, I mean, I get it. I get it.

PAT: So she really kept you around for Christmas time.

GLENN: She has unbelievable parking spots.

PAT: Yeah.

TRAVIS: When she said she was going to stay -- I had a little girl, six months old, who I thought would think I was a monster. But obviously I didn't realize I looked like every single toy she's been given.

GLENN: Right.

TRAVIS: Yeah, short arms, short legs, fuzzy chest. Teddy bear.

But it just came down to a choice. You know, get better. Push forward in life. Learn the difference between reminiscing and dwelling. So I reminisce the past, but I don't dwell on it.

GLENN: What's the difference?

TRAVIS: You know, I reminisce the past. I'm very thankful. I've met a lot of people, a lot of children actually, that never had the ability to have arms and legs. Never had the ability to grow up healthy and strong and to go places. And I did.

And, you know what, I can't change the fact that I got blown up. I can't change the fact that my arms and legs are gone. But what I can do is push forward every day and be thankful for that.

You know, I'm able to speak for my speaking company across the nation because of this book. And the things that it's unlocked for me, the doors it's opened. I'm able to go and tell people about perspective. And it's all about perspective.

You know, my message is never stop. You know, never give up. Never quit. Always keep going.

And I just -- you know, you got to be resilient to things. But when I look back in the past, I can be like, "Oh, well, this sucks. This is miserable. Why would I want this ever?"

But the truth is, I didn't choose it. But I choose to shape my attitude to keep going forward and being positive.

My little girl, I take her to school in the mornings. I hit the gym after that. In between that time, I'm listening to the radio. You know. Yeah. Eh. Eh. You guys.

GLENN: Eh. He's pointing to us. I'm not sure, but I think he's pointing to us.

TRAVIS: Yeah. But, you know, from this book, I'm able to you tell my story in a positive way. I don't sit there and call myself wounded.

GLENN: If you -- if you could --

PAT: What an important message for this victim culture.

TRAVIS: Yeah, I never play the victim.

PAT: That's just unbelievable. Because so many people are victims from words or Halloween costumes.

TRAVIS: I saw it at Target.

PAT: It's gotten that ridiculous now. And here you are, who have gotten blown up literally, and you've chosen to be positive about it.

GLENN: Can I ask you this? And this is a hard question to ask because nobody would ever -- you know, nobody is choosing -- you know what I want -- when I grow up, I want to go to war and have my limbs blown off. So I don't mean it that way.

TRAVIS: Oh, I understand.

GLENN: But knowing who you are and where you are now, do you regret that day?

TRAVIS: Oh, absolutely. I mean, I get asked that all the time. You know, would you go back in time with all the great things you're doing? I say absolutely I would.

PAT: Yes.

TRAVIS: I would love to take my kid and throw her in the air and catch her.

PAT: Heck, yeah.

GLENN: How would you be different today?

TRAVIS: I would probably be an E-7. Maybe be working on E-8 in the military. I'd probably have two more kids. We're working on kids now. I'm fully capable. Still works, if anybody is wondering.

GLENN: TMI.

JEFFY: No judging. We're not judging.

GLENN: Nobody was questioning that.

TRAVIS: Some people do. They wonder.

GLENN: Don't really need to know.

TRAVIS: But, you know, I would still be a family man. I'd still be taking care of business. This has just allowed me to take a negative, turn it into a positive --

GLENN: So you believe that the core of who you are now was already there?

TRAVIS: I was the same person. You know, my wife is happy. And also she thought there probably could be some characteristic traits changed a little bit. But I'm the same person that I was before.

And, really, when it boils down to everything -- you know, there's so many men and women that have lost their lives for this country. And I tell the story of my buddy Francis. Went by Frankie. He was a really close friend of mine. And he didn't make it home. He had a daughter that was four. Now she's going on eight. He had a wife of four years, Christine. And, you know what, he doesn't get to take his daughter trick-or-treating.

On Monday, I'm taking my daughter trick-or-treating. He doesn't get to take his wife on dates. My wife and I go on dates all the time. And my parents are very close to me. His mother would give anything -- his mother would have anything to have him come back. And, you know what, he's not coming back. And it's sad, but it's true.

So why would I want to live my life down and out, you know, dwelling on the past and angry, when I could be out there and changing people's perspective on life, letting them know, life goes on. And think about the lives lost.

GLENN: What do you say to people, who -- they don't even have to be in your situation, they don't even have to go to war, there are a lot of people who are just -- and I'm not talking about clinical depression. I'm talking about just they're feeling sorry for themselves. And they might have good reason to feel sorry for themselves.

TRAVIS: Well, and that's a tricky conversation. Because people see me, and they always think, "Well, jeez, I thought had problems, but looking at you, you know, how did you get through?" And I tell people, it's very clear actually in my book, in the author's note. I said, first thing, if you served, thank you for your service. I did not not serve more than anybody else. I had one bad day at work. Case of the Mondays. We've all been there. But I don't think I served more than anybody else. I raised my right hand and took the oath.

The next line, it basically just states, I don't think my problems are more than anybody else's. You know, we have all our things that we go through. We have family members that deal with cancer. We have things that we go through.

And if my story helps get people through it or past what they're going through, great. If I can be a positive light or mentor for people, that's what I try to do. But I will never sit there and say, "Well, that's a dumb thing to be upset about, or that's stupid." I get a lot of parents who reach out off my website, and they want to have me talk to their family members and like get them through. I do more of a hard truth campaign. I'm more of like -- a lot of PTSD counseling. I don't have PTSD, fortunately. But a lot of gentlemen I serve with and people I know --

GLENN: Hold it. Hold it. There are people that are claiming now they have PTSD now from watching a TV show. You were blown up, lost your limbs, you don't have PTSD?

TRAVIS: No, I don't regret anything I did overseas. I don't regret anything I did overseas. If anybody does get the book -- not to sell it too hard. Tough As They Come. TravisMills.org. No, I'm kidding. But if anybody does get the book, you're going to find out, yes, I've killed people. Yes, I've put friends in body bags. Yes, I've had every single thing that people could claim for PTSD that would affect them later on. But I don't.

I know what my direction in life is. You know, the book is faith-based. So it's just -- it took me a while to get back to that, about two or three weeks, I guess.

But, really, you know, that is a long time. Because you can be a believer all you want, until the day it happens, and then you're like, "What the heck. Am I a bad person?" And then you have to get back on track. You know, bad things happen to good people. But for PTSD --

GLENN: So when you're -- when you're on the phone with these parents and they want you to say, what, to their --

TRAVIS: A lot of people just want to know, like how can I get them motivated to get out of the couch? If I talk to this person or that's going through something, I'm like, "Look, why are you letting one day or one week or one month hold up your whole entire life? Why dwell on the past?" Think about the lives that are lost. Think about the people that would give anything to have the opportunity to still live in, you know, the greatest country in the world, with the democracies and the freedoms that we have.

Why not get out there and go forward in life? Why be the victim? Why dwell on it?

You will never see me the sob story. I will never ever be the one that is like, you know, oh, poor me, pity me. I don't want to be the sob story. I don't have people pity me. I don't even call myself wounded. I mean, I used to be. I have awesome scars. Ladies, I'm married. But I have awesome scars. And, you know what, I'm a recalibrated warrior, if you want to call me anything. But I go by Travis. And I'm just thankful to get out there.

I mean, if anybody wants to know my story, like I said, it's just TravisMills.org. And we appreciate just being be able to push the ball forward and keep moving.

GLENN: Now, you're going around and you're speaking. And one of the things that you're trying to work on is the Maine Chance Lodge veterans retreat. What is that?

TRAVIS: Well, we had the ability to start a foundation. After being at Walter Reed, which is a phenomenal medical facility, we saw all these 501(c)(3)s come in and do some wonderful things. And Kelsey and I said, you know what, let's just start a foundation. We'll just send care packages overseas.

If you have loved ones overseas, send them these four things: Orbit gum, not sweet mint. Okay? Orbit lasts the longest. It's just a fact.

Peppered beef jerky, okay? Peppered beef jerky. Peanut butter M&M's and gummy bears.

GLENN: Wait. Why those two?

TRAVIS: Those are delicious. Everything on that --

GLENN: All right. I thought maybe there was a heat thing.

TRAVIS: No, no. Can you say any of those things are not good?

GLENN: No, I was wondering.

STU: Oh, M&M's are tremendous. I mean, they are delicious. Where are they? Why don't we have some?

TRAVIS: Oh, yeah. Wonderful.

But my wife and I wanted to give back. We thought that would be a good option. Well, then a gentleman from Maine said that he wanted to make friends out, and they started the Travis Mills Project. It would be an umbrella under his foundation, and I would be the face of it, and that would be it.

So he brought some people to Maine, showed them how to kayak, canoe, go boating, swimming, build that network. Say, hey, thanks for your service. Don't live life on the sidelines. You know, here's a network of people you can rely on and lean on, and you can still do things with your family adaptively.

So it went so well, I started raising funds all across Maine and the nation. And we got to the point where it was too much for this foundation to hold. And they said, "Well, this is too big. So we're going to have to just let it fizzle out." I said, "No. No, we're not. So my foundation, which was only care packages, decided we were going to take over."

Now it's a $2.7 million project to get the building done. We were fortunate to raise over a million dollars last year. And this will be done next summer. And we'll be hosting families.

We bring out six to 10 families, up to 35 to 40 people a week. We're going to do five weeks next year. And we're going to bring them from throughout the nation and just bring them in and say, look, I know there's not a lot of people in your community that looks like you. I get that. But here's a network of people to lean on. We appreciate your service. Come on out to Maine. Vacation land is where I live. We show them how to kayak. I go kayaking. I go canoeing. I go swimming. I go tubing. And we do all this stuff. And we bring them out and say, "Thanks for your service." And it's not just the soldiers or the military members that are going through this. It's the families.

GLENN: Have you ever faced anything since the accident that freaked you out of your mind?

TRAVIS: Well, I mean my next goal is to go great white cage diving. Great white shark cave diving because they can't bite my arms and legs off.

GLENN: Right. There's not that much left.

TRAVIS: I will tell you, I wasn't always this positive. It took me a little while where I could look in a mirror at myself after this explosion, you know. But nothing really scares me, you know.

GLENN: So first time you're thrown into the water, you're helpless if you're thrown into the water for the first time, I would imagine. And, you know, you're in a canoe. You don't -- it's not crossed your mind that, crap, I lose these devices and I'm done.

TRAVIS: Well, I mean, I have a life vest. I'm not going to sit there and tell you I don't have a life vest that I wear. My biggest fear is actually water I can't see the bottom of. So fish scare the -- I mean, I was on the lake all summer in Maine. And I jump in and I have to be brave because my little girl, who is five, is sitting there next to me swimming, having a great time. And I can't let her see that I'm so afraid something is going to come bite me. But, I mean, it's like the biggest fear I have.

STU: Yeah, sometimes they like bump into you, underwater. And that's creepy -- and that's creepy man.

TRAVIS: No, it better not. You'll see me walk on water if that happens.

But, you know, it's just about coming together and doing something great. Saying thank you for your service. We really appreciate it. My foundation, I'm the president, okay? We have a great board. A great board of people, and we're never going to take a dollar. We're never going to pay ourselves. It's all voluntarily. People can see my 990s (phonetic), and they can understand that this is one of the A-rated nonprofits. And we're going to keep that driving forward. Obviously, we're taking donations and funds. We're building a pool right now. We need an elevator to go into the building. Because (unintelligible) -- from 1929, it was massive. And we had to -- this undertaking. The construction.

GLENN: Wow.

PAT: So how do people donate?

TRAVIS: Just TravisMills.org. Foundation tab. Again, I'm not trying to like push that agenda, but at the same time, please check us out. You know, the book is on the New York Times bestseller. It's doing fairly well. We just had that paperback come out two days ago. The cover on it is my daughter and me. You know, my daughter, Chloe and I, we're best friends, and I'm very proud of that.

GLENN: Nothing better.

TRAVIS: What's that?

GLENN: Nothing better.

TRAVIS: No, no. My little girl, she's awesome. She woke up this morning, and we were playing hide-and-seek in the hotel room. I mean, big hotel room, but we were trying. We were trying.

STU: Just a general charity question, how many 6-foot oil paintings of yourself have you purchased with charity dollars?

GLENN: None.

STU: Interesting approach.

TRAVIS: You know, we're almost to the point where -- no, I'm kidding. It's not -- I'm 17 miles away. My house is 17 miles away from this place. I'll never be a guest. I will go out there. I will hang out for the day. I will meet these families. I will encourage them to do better. But it's not about me being out there and taking advantage. I'm not doing this for myself.

So I might go out there to introduce myself on the first day. And I might have meetings and traveling. I mean, next week, I'm in Minnesota to Charlotte, to Chicago. I'll be speaking for Allstate in Chicago on Veterans Day. Then I'm back to Maine, to California.

But, you know, I want to make sure I greet these families. We appreciate what you're doing. Enjoy. Please, you know, this is all about being able to get back with your families. Learn how to do things adaptively. And take this knowledge and abilities back where you live. And, you know, I might -- we'll see what my future holds. Probably politics, I would imagine.

GLENN: Ooh.

TRAVIS: I will tell you, I love what's going on right now. Isn't it exciting?

STU: Yeah.

GLENN: Do you?

STU: You can have it.

GLENN: It's all yours, brother. Congratulations, it's all years.

STU: It would be nice to have somebody who would actually be trustworthy running. So please do. We need somebody good to run.

GLENN: Please do.

TRAVIS: Yeah. Because it's not an exciting time for politics, in the most weird way.

GLENN: Yeah. No, no.

TRAVIS: It's the most awkwardly exciting, weirdest time ever.

GLENN: No, no.

TRAVIS: Oh, you'll never find a political post on my Facebook page, no way. I'm never choosing sides. I got to stay right neutral. Because the foundation -- I don't want to hurt my foundation because of one side or the other.

STU: Yeah.

TRAVIS: And that's the world we live in.

STU: It's too important.

GLENN: Travis, I'm glad to have you on again. TravisMills.org. TravisMills.org, if you want to help. And grab his book, Tough As They Come. TravisMills.org. Thanks for coming by.

Featured Image: Screenshot from The Glenn Beck Program

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Ryan: Elizabeth Warren does the Wing Ding

Photo by Sean Ryan

Two thousand people yipped and howled as Elizabeth Warren bounced onto the stage like it was a stairmaster and she was a gym rat.

Sold out. Maximum capacity. Whole place writhing, all 30,000 square feet, with tight rows of folding chairs like checkers on the dancefloor big as a Walgreens.

Photo by Sean Ryan

Under the disco ball that hung from the dark blue ceiling, the crowd screamed like Warren was Led Zeppelin and the year was 1970, when really she was a 70-year-old Senator and this was a fundraiser called Wing Ding, in Clear Lake, Iowa, at the Surf Ballroom, where Buddy Holly spent the last few cold hours of his life.

Photo by Sean Ryan

Warren did not stand behind the podium like Biden or Bernie Sanders.

She was a yoga grandma! A rapping pastor! A beat-boxing cop! An energetic manager! A cat who thinks it's a puppy!
It was like she needed to move around the stage and wave her arms and fire up the congregation or else the floor would belch into lava.

Photo by Sean Ryan

Iowa would work its magic on Warren. By the end of the weekend, she emerged as a top contender, a position she'd maintain with alacrity, then build on.

In her turquoise blazer and her shoes-that-meant-business, she strolled out to the edge of the stage and gave her speech like a natural-born specialist of hootenanny.

Only thing missing was The Who's "Teenage Wasteland," or, better yet, that "Sail away, sail away, sail away" song by Enya.
Warren was a car commercial, the kind directed at Millenials, with plastic indie rock and a phony "who gives a shit" vibe. She was expensive cheese from right around the corner. She was Nancy Sinatra, but without Lee Hazelwood.

Photo by Sean Ryan

Voice like a stack of hay catching fire, she made promises. She riled the crowd. And it was an odd sight, the way these meek folks attempted to get rowdy. The way they grimaced and writhed, it was like seeing the reclusive kid volunteer to be the mascot.

It was like they were trying to match the intensity of Trump rallies. No politician has been able to do that so far. The man fills arenas, for God's sake. And his supporters wait for hours outside hoping to get inside. Then he makes them wait. Let's the place get feverish.

Until people are so psyched that they literally cannot remain seated, and they stand their eagerly for thirty minutes, gasping every time a song ends with the hope it means he has arrived.

The Wing Dinger — God bless them — just didn't have that dragon energy, that ravenous devotion. Have you ever seen that show "Tim & Eric Awesome Show, Great Job"? The people in the ballroom were hyperventilating and spazzing like characters from Tim & Eric. The whole occasion would have been a pickpocket's dream.

Variously, they bulged and shuffled and freestyled to themselves. Who gave the kids sugar cookies at the Baptist youth sleepover? You know they can't handle it, you know they get twitchy, so manic it's almost violent.

And that fed Warren, revved her manic engines.

Full speech: Elizabeth Warren speaks at the Iowa Democratic Wing Ding www.youtube.com

If this had been the 1980s, I would have suspected everyone there had spent all day railing cocaine. And Warren would be the Sly Stone of the event, guarding the vault full of drugs.

If only she could have pulled out a guitar and played AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" or performed a duet with a cat on a keyboard. My dad and I had arrived late, and both of us struggled to relax our eyebrows because this scene was unbelievable. It must have been especially odd for my father, who emigrated from Ireland at 33.

And right now he was frowning because it was so loud in there.

As Warren shouted into a handheld mic, my dad turned to me, almost upset, "Who is she?" he asked, but before I could answer, he said, "I do not like that woman."

*

When Warren was 12 years old, her father suffered a debilitating heart attack.

He didn't die, but he wouldn't be able to work for years.

The medical bills got so bad that Warren'sfamily nearly lost their home. The car was repossessed. Those were gritty, emaciating days.

Her older brothers joined the military. Her mother got a minimum wage job at Sears. And, at 13, Warren started waiting tables.

She grew up in Oklahoma, where I myself was raised, so I can tell you that it is the Cinderella of States. My personal favorite. At night, the stars croon down over you like they are checking on their infant in its crib and you are that infant. Much like Iowans, people from Oklahoma tend to be kind, and patient, and wild like Americans ought to be.

*

When Warren was growing up, Oklahoma was a Blue State. Her family wasn't Republican. And, these days, Warren is considered a progressive.

But her worldview has evolved over the past few decades.

Photo by Sean Ryan

As a girl, she had seen the effects of bankruptcy firsthand. But her early conclusions led her to personal responsibility. After all, she had taken a job at 13 to help pay her dad's medical bills.

One of Warren's former students, told reporters that, "What changed [Warren's ideology] was the stories of ordinary people filing for bankruptcy. That speaks really well of her that she was presented with information contrary to her worldview and adopted it."
Before that, she leaned right, politically. Or, in the words of one of her best friends growing up, "Liz was a diehard conservative in those days."

Another friend called her an "ice-cold Republican."

A colleague at the University of Texas in Austin, where she worked in the early 1980s, said that "Liz was sometimes surprisingly anti-consumer in her attitude."

Another colleague said "I remember the first time I became aware of her as a political person and heard her speak, I almost fell off my chair. She's definitely changed. It's absolutely clear that something happened."

Until 1996, when she was 47 years old, Warren was a registered Republican.

And I do not mean this in a snarky way. Opposite. It's admirable when people undergo personal change. We have to. It's a matter of survival. A person who never evolves is blinded by hubris and destined to fail.

Longtime Warren collaborator Jay Westbrook has told reporters, "It drives me crazy when she's described as a radical left-winger.

She moved from being moderately conservative to being moderately liberal. When you look at consumer debt and what happens to consumers in America, you begin to think the capitalist machine is out of line."

At some point she got pregnant for the first time, setting in motion a series of events that may have involved discrimination, or may have been a fabrication she has since used in stump speeches as a heart-tugging anecdote.

As far as controversies go, it's as goofy and PG-rated as her onstage persona.

Who cares if she lied for the sake of a story and the benefit of victimhood? Trump lies constantly. Politicians lie constantly. It's part of the reason public trust in government has sunk lower than ever before.

No, it's not morally acceptable that politicians are habitually dishonest. But the outrage aimed at Warren isn't actually about that, is it?

*

Warren won state debate champion in high school. Shortly after graduating, at 19, she married Jim Warren, a mathematician who worked for IBM, then NASA.

The two dated when Elizabeth was 13 and Jim was 17. Warren chose marriage over a full-ride to the prestigious George Washington University.

Three years later, she gave birth to her first daughter. You can find the picture of her in the hospital bed, surrounded by white sheets, her eyes an oceanic blue, glowing as she holds her baby for the first time, a technicolor sash around her left shoulder.

She focused on being a mom for two years, then put herself through law school at Rutgers. At her graduation, she was eight months pregnant. Most airlines won't allow women so close to their due date.

After ten years of marriage and two children, her husband divorced her.

Warren hadn't expected it. One night, she asked her husband, "Do you want a divorce" and he said yes, even though she'd been asking in that, "Something's wrong but surely things aren't so bad" kind of way.

Imagine the enormity and disbelief she must have felt as her husband said he'd be leaving her. The kind of moment that gives a person vertigo.

Warren tried to revive the marriage, but her husband had given up. Before long he moved out, quit smoking, got super into dancing, then remarried.

Politicians tend to mention tragedies only as evidence for a policy stance. Or occasionally these stories will appear in a candidate profile. Or you can read the ice-cold Encyclopedia version.

I always wonder about the desperation people suffered in those moments that must have seemed so long, the quiet after bitter words or desperate outbursts. The enormity they must have felt.

In moments of trauma, we become intensely aware of the noises and smells and colors and momentos around us. What was the first object Warren noticed after hearing her husband say, "Yes"?

She has since said that she and Jim never really fought. That she didn't blame him for leaving. But that they just didn't work out. "I can't imagine anybody putting up with me over long periods. It's why I can never be cranky about Jim. I get it."

Still, a marriage has to be fairly bad for a couple with young children to divorce. But even an amicable divorce is devastating. It marks the death of a love that had once been good enough and deep enough for two people to bind themselves together, if only by law.

Photo by Sean Ryan

Now, Warren was a single mother. Surely, at times, that was lonesome. She must have felt moments of intense waywardness.

There must have been anxious nights, lonely mornings, swarming with memories about life as it was, all those plans for the future that must feel so naive in hindsight.

Warren's quirkiness has made her an easy piñata for her rivals.

But I just think about her, alone in a room, folding clothes or staring off, blinking and slouching there alone, and I feel disgust for politics as a bloodsport.

What do rancor or invective get us in the end? A winner who trounced a loser? What is the human cost? Not just for the people being targeted, but for the world as we'd like it.

Why isn't it enough to disagree with an opponent? Why does there have to be humiliation?

And if it's wrong from one politician, it's wrong from them all.

A person can't decry the abuse that President Trump faces — which is daunting in intensity and volume — then cheer him on when he's doing the same exact thing.

Somebody is going to have to take a slap or two to the face and not react, but it would accomplish far more than a vitriolic comeback.

At this point, three years into Trump's Presidency, there was no way to tell who started it and who was just reacting, so everyone involved in the fight was guilty.

In other words, people could no longer blame Trump for how the selfsame persona they had taken in response.

To quote Morrisey, "It's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate. It takes strength to be gentle and kind."

When the ram charges straight for you, all you have to do is take a step to the left or the right and off the angry bastard goes, headfirst into the ground. Do that a few times and you'll get more support than you might expect.

Which, I'm not saying to never fight. Conflict is healthy. Passivism can be worse than violence. To fight is to live honorably. But only if justice is the reason for fighting.

If the ram is coming at you because it wants to silence or control you, grit your teeth, chalk up your horns, lower your head, and go to battle. Courage and morality are vastly different than bravado and self-righteousness.

As Tolstoy wrote in his novel War and Peace, "If everyone fought for their own convictions there would be no war."

*

Two years later, Warren married Bruce Mann, a law professor. They've been married ever since.

For nearly three decades, she taught law, mostly at Harvard.

Then, she shifted to politics. In 2008, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid appointed her to a congressional panel. Two years later, she became a special advisor to Barack Obama, who had selected her as special adviser to the Treasury secretary, but stopped short of nominating her as director of the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau.

Shortly after, she resigned. A month later, she announced her Congressional bid, which gained momentum after her speech at that year's Democratic National Convention.

In 2013, she was elected senior Senator of Massachusetts after beating Republican incumbent Scott Brown with 53 percent of the vote. She would go on to win a second term in 2018, this time with 60 percent.

Every candidate has a stain. Warren's happens to have led to mockery. For years, she claimed Native American heritage. For many of the right, it was yet another example of the left's allegiance to identity politics.

The left was more concerned with the way the issue come to attention to begin with, after remarks President Trump made during an event honoring Navajo code talkers. As has become the norm, many of the country's leading news outlets ran scathing anti-Trump op-eds that they labeled as hard news.

In other words, opinion was being packaged as fact. In other words, propaganda. Like the passive-aggressive tone of this Washington Post article.

Which is certainly not the right way to handle injustice. And is certainly not journalistically sound.

Once again, the media's blatant disdain of Trump only served to further empower him. Gave him more proof of fake news. And allowed him to justify, in the eyes of his followers, the repeated use of the Warren's nickname.

Worst of all, it widened the distance between the news media and the portion of the American public they'd long ago lost access to.

Likewise, conservative news outlets pounced with an air of, "See? I knew it all along?"

And responded with a different version of the same aggression used by the media. Outlets like FoxNews played up their masterful victim narrative, the idea that the mainstream media has a stranglehold on America, despite the fact that FoxNews has long been the dominant news source of the mainstream media they claim to be a victim of.

Photo by Sean Ryan

This feedback loop played out until Elizabeth Warren's genetics became a national conversation.

Last year Warren released a DNA test that revealed sher to be only between 1/64th and 1/1,024th Native America. Fellow democratic candidate Corey Booker — a Senator from New Jersey — has more Native American DNA than Warren. And, unfortunately for Warren, the nickname that President Trump gave her gained more power.

During an interview on MSNBC, Warren said, "It is deeply unfortunate that the President of the United States cannot even make it through a ceremony honoring these heroes without having to throw out a racial slur. Donald Trump does this over and over thinking somehow he is going to shut me up with it. It hasn't worked in the past, it isn't going to work out in the future."

In a bizarre twist, Warren's ex-husband was a pioneer in the field of genetics and helped make the technology accessible to the public when he co-founded FamilyTreeDNA, which sells genetic testing kits.

*

Across the street from the Surf Ballroom, 300 yards from the entrance, a Trump 2020 sign the size of a front door glared out, impossible to avoid.

Photo by Sean Ryan

It's a power play in line with Trump's own combat style — which, again, there's nothing wrong with a good fight, even if there is some dirty fighting, but why did it have to be all of the time? And why had everyone joined in on it?

*

Warren began her presidential campaign on Febraury 8, 2019, with a rally in Lawrence, Massachusetts, at the site of the 1912 Bread and Roses textile strike, a two-month-long standoff that led to 296 arrests.

Three people died, an Italian immigrant, who was shot in the chest. A Lithuanian immigrant who was beaten to death for wearing a pro-labor lapel pin. And a Syrian boy who was bayoneted in the spine.

The strike takes its name from a James Oppenheim poem.

"As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,For they are women's children, and we mother them again."

*

As Warren drove her speech to a close, Kamala Harris paced down the long ramp by the side of the stage, then walked through a curtain that divided the hallway from backstage, then into the crowded ballroom, immediately surrounded by cameras, lights, hands, selfies.

Ten feet behind the curtain, Joe Biden shifted at the side of the stage, chatting with several people in brand-new Biden 2020 shirts, and waiting to go on.

Photo by Sean Ryan

Each candidate had 10 minutes or so, which Biden, like most of the other candidates, would use to insult Trump and fumbled through his "President's words matter" speech, two days after his "poor kids are just as talented as white kids" comment, and I wondered if everyone else found the irony as hilarious as I did.

Now Warren was pounding her fist.

The already hysterical crowd became even more incensed with each of her words. It was the first moment I realized that Warren actually had a shot at winning the nomination.

*

Of all the towns we visited while in Iowa, Clear Lake was the most puzzling. It didn't feel like the rest of what we'd seen. It didn't resemble any other town in the country, far as I can say. Just a general ideal for "lovely American town."

Maybe Clint Eastwood's Carmel, California, or the wealthy part of Charlotte, North Carolina, or the gorgeous shaded Rice Village neighborhood of Houston, Texas.

Warren shuffled offstage and shook hands with Biden.

Then cue the Bruce Springsteen song. And somebody hurry up and push the button that activates Biden's facelift.

"The words that Presidents speak matter," said Biden. And some of the crowd were hearing him say it for the first time.

Warren gabbed with a lady in a floral dress backstage. They held hands like sisters. After a minute or so, she vanished backstage. Then the whole gig was finished. Closing time had come.

Andrew Yang hung out in the lobby after all the other candidates left. He took selfies. Talked policy. Behind him, young people in Yang 2020 shirts and hats that said "MATH" handed out Yang money.

He hugged. He laughed.

People puttered out of the Surf Ballroom in no sort of hurry, giddy in their candidate t-shirts, ready to effect change, to dethrone Trump.

The air had a gentle sway, tilted by a northern cold that felt winter-like, especially for August.

Right as the last big group of Wing Dingers walked out of the Surf Ballroom, a small car drove by, windows down, packed with young men who kept shouting, "Vote for Trump, baby!"

Then, stalled at a stop sign, the driver revved the engine and spun the tires, and as it sped off, one of the guys in the back seat shouted "Trump 2020, bitches."

New installments of this series on the 2020 elections come out every Monday and Thursday. Check out my Twitter. Email me at kryan@mercurystudios.com

He may not be a super hero like he plays in the movies, but Chris Pratt is proving once again why he's a hero to so many. The silver screen protector of the universe announced on his Instagram page a contest that will benefit the Brain Treatment Foundation, who is a partner of Mercury One that does amazing work with veterans. The Brain Treatment Foundation specializes in helping combat veterans who are suffering from traumatic brain injuries and post-traumatic stress disorder.

The contest asks fans to donate $10 to the foundation for a chance to win a trip to drop in on the Guardians of the Galaxy star on the set of his new film Tomorrow War.

Watch his video below to hear all the details.


Ryan: The Ascent of Kanye West

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Apollo, god of poetry, light, prophecy, dance. Star of Greek mythology, rivaled only by Zeus, his father. God of justice. God of purification, knowledge, healing. God of the Sun. But most of all, god of music. So they called him the Leader of the Muses.

And on a bright Sunday morning midway through November, at the tail end of a decade, Kanye West looked out at the congregation of Joel Osteen's Lakewood Church, a 16,000-seater originally built for the Houston Rockets, and said, "Jesus has won the victory: Now the greatest artist God ever created is now working for him."

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Kanye's newest album, Jesus Is King, had been out for three weeks, and like every Kanye album, it was controversial, as adored as it was unaccepted.

Critics had shown a mostly tepid response, but nobody could tell if their disinterest was genuine, or if it was politically motivated.

After all, for the past year, Kanye had once again managed to penetrate the epicenter of American society. The last two Presidents had literally shamed and cursed Kanye, but, still, who could've guessed he would befriend this one?

Photo by Caroline Ryan

The week after Kanye's Olsteen appearance, at the House impeachment hearings, as the entire country watched and listened, Congressmen and diplomats would mention longtime Kanye collaborator A$AP Rocky no less than five times, in casual reference to the Kardashians and the deal between Trump and Sweden, struck at the urging of Kanye West.

Meanwhile, Jesus is King became the ninth consecutive Kanye album to debut at number one on the Billboard 200 — a feat he shares with Eminem and The Beatles — and the sixth time in the 2010s alone. And, to be fair, his only studio album not to debut at number one was The College Dropout, his first, which went triple platinum and earned the third-most Grammy nominations in one night, winning Best Rap Album and Best Rap Song with "Jesus Walks."

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Jesus is King was also the first record ever to top R&B/Hip-Hop Albums, Rap Albums, Christian Albums, and Gospel Albums simultaneously. All eleven tracks charted on the US Billboard 100, joining the other 96 Kanye songs to have landed on the Top 100.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

This album was different, and not just because of Kenny G. For the first time, Kanye was not a god or a self-destructive fallen angel. He was a father, a husband, a son, and, most important, a man full of belief, with his hands outstretched, surrounded by a choir.

"I remember sitting in the hospital at UCLA after having a breakdown," he told the congregation, "and there's documentations of me drawing a church and writing about starting a church in the middle of Calabasas."

That night, following an afternoon of ice-skating at the Galleria, Kanye returned to Lakewood Church and performed a concert. Imagine hearing a his electro-gospel opera in an arena designed, acoustically, for professional basketball games. Only better, because everything had been padded. With LSD graphics on the swirly blue carpet.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

When we experience art, it changes us.

So there I was, four rows from the stage, crying in front of FoxNews. Because Kanye had brought his Sunday Service choir with him, and they were singing "Ultralight Beam," one of the few perfect songs ever made, a song that played during my wedding ceremony, the song my daughter, God willing, will be born to, a song I have never once listened to without at least tearing up.

“Jesus Is King" A Sunday Service Experience at Lakewood Church with Kanye West youtu.be

"This is a God dream, this is a God dream. This is everything."

Kanye was the only person onstage dressed in his own clothing, a neatened blazer. The choir were draped in grey, like holy silhouettes.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

So who cares about FoxNews and their snotty reporters in their shoulder-padded blazers. The rest of us had drifted into the immediacy of it all. And I wasn't about to play stoic journalist here. I wasn't a reporter first and a human or an American later.

The choir zigzagged on the loft flanking the stage. Each of them had a headset microphone, like Garth Brooks.

God only knew how they sang so perfectly. How did they project their voices like that? More beautiful than anything we had ever heard, more beautiful than water.

After "Ultralight Beam," it was "Every Hour," the mesmeric opening track of Jesus Is King.

Sing every hour, Every minute, Every second, Sing each and every millisecond, We need you

Every Hour youtu.be

The performance felt all the more sacred because this was church, where people gathered to lose themselves, to sing as a chorus, to confront who they really are.

Across the street, one protestor stood hollering.

Meanwhile thousands of people waited at the entrance, giddy to get in. They would join us in no time. Soon, they would fill every seat in this church.

*

That morning, Kanye told Olsteen,

"It's like the devil stole all the good producers, all the good musicians, all the good artists, all the good designers, all the good business people and said, 'you gotta come over and work for me.' And now the trend, the shift, is going to change."

Jesus Is King was the result of a new cultural and artistic movement that more or less started with 2016's Life of Pablo, Kanye's closeted gospel album. Which was a surprising departure from 2013's Yeezus, with its tangled social commentary and fashionable solipsism. And that drum sound, the one every half-decent producer has spent the last six years failing to emulate.

The 2010's saw him grow more cerebral. He even teased a book of philosophy titled Break the Simulation.

Then, in 2018, he released Ye, the second of five albums in a Kanye-produced series, all recorded at his Wyoming studio. In keeping with the criticisms of hip-hop he voiced on "Ye vs. The People"

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Kanye eschewed many of the themes he'd embraced for so long, replacing them with meditations on mental illness, fatherhood, suicide, love, and addiction. The album's working title had been "LOVE EVERYONE."

On "I Thought About Killing You," he raps,

The most beautiful thoughts are always beside the darkest.

The title "Ye" is not just the diminutive of "Kanye."

As he said in an interview

I believe 'ye' is the most commonly used word in the Bible, and, in the Bible, it means 'you,' so it's [saying] "I'm you, I'm us, it's us." It went from being Kanye, which means the only one, to just ye – just being a reflection of our good, our bad, our confused, everything, that I'm just more of a reflection of who we are, just as beings.

Philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer wrote that

All individuality is a manifestation of universal life, and hence everyone carries a tiny bit of everyone else with him, so that divination is simulated by comparison with oneself.

In the months following the release of Ye, Kanye would live out this idea, and build his own movement, a reflection of who we are, then begin his church in Calabasas.

*

At 10:30 that morning, the three of us — Samantha Sullivan, my wife Caroline, and me —- strolled into the arena and claimed seats in the media section.

That place resembled the inside of an ant colony. We were three ants.

The service began with errorless music, then shifted into a quick, stirring message by Osteen, who always seemed to appear onstage from nowhere, privvy to the kind of big-money stage tricks you find at a Shania Twain concert.

The entire place and all the Jumbo-Trons and all the people, it all had a cinematic presence.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

A preliminary giddiness spread through the room. Then, Kanye emerged, there on the stage, and the place erupted.

A man in a "Jesus is King" shirt danced around his seat.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Everyone took their seats, but one man standing in the crowd shouted affirmations. "Speak truth my brother," he shouted.

The man shouted several more times, then Kanye politely told the guy to hold off on the support because it wasn't helping, because Kanye needed relative quiet to capture and release his flow.

The ceiling glowed in skittish purple.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Kanye described the corrupting force of the media. A chill came over the room. Behind him, the unapologetic blue of Jesus Is King.

It was my first encounter with Joel Osteen, and I was surprised and somewhat baffled to find him likeable, based on everything I'd ever heard about the man.

Kanye said as much, that Osteen is nothing like the version of Osteen many people have broadcast.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Osteen laughed, "When you've got Kanye defending you, you've made it, man."

Rays of light danced through the arena. I'm talking Pink Floyd light show levels.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

With 21 Grammys, Kanye is tied with Jay-Z as the most decorated hip-hop artist of all time.

Osteen asked Kanye what he would say to his younger self, if he could go back in time.

"You know, it's nothing I can say to the younger Kanye through words," he said. "I could speak to the younger Kanye through music."

*

Osteen played the middle section of "God Is," arguably the focal point of the album.

And Kanye danced and rapped along with it. And the surreality of the situation was daunting. Was that really Kanye West up there? with Joel Osteen? dancing to his gospel song?

Six or seven years ago, I saw Kanye a mile away at the Toyota Center — coincidentally, the current home of the Houston Rockets — for his and Jay-Z's Watch the Throne tour. It was a much different experience than this.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

When Kanye finished, the media flooded out. As did a quarter of the people in the congregation. This bothered many of the regulars.

Security and ushers yanked big grey mop buckets from cabinets, and dispersed them down aisles, and money music played.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Then the time for prayer. Prayer leaders lined the walls and pews. And anyone could walk over to them and pray. Men and women clung to strangers, crying sometimes, hugging. Holding hands, whispering phrases.

*

One of the media coordinators pulled us out of the sermon, led us through passageways and elevators, past classrooms and security guards, through a black sheet, then behind a barricade.

This is where all the media had rushed off to like old folks trying to get the best seat for bingo.

Each news outlet was allowed one question.

After 15 minutes, the energy changed and you could tell they were near.

Then, Kim Kardashian-West was walking our way, holding her daughter's hand, followed by Kanye, who was followed by Osteen.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

"Nice tags," Kanye said, referring to my "GOOD" necklace.

Then:

Brief interview with Kanye West and Joel Osteen at Lakewood Church, Nov. 17 in Houston, TX www.youtube.com

Some of the outlets asked more than one question, but that was on them. They were the ones sinning in church.

*

As Kanye and Olsteen shuffled away, down the line of journalists, I said hello to a small crew from FoxNews as they packed their equipment.

"We're from TheBlaze," I said, smiling. To which they sneered and glanced at one another then got back to their conversation.
Samantha rolled her eyes and the three of us wandered around for an exit.

"Did we just get stiff-armed by Fox News?" Said one of us. "I didn't think they were allowed to look down on anybody."
"I've had that with people from Fox on several occasions," one of us replied.

"I mean, I thought I was doing them a favor a favor by acknowledging them. Nobody else does."

Then it happened again, a few minutes later, this time with someone we had worked with, someone who knew us.
You bet we were salty.

Bad as it felt to be judged like that, it was good to be underestimated. A relief. It meant we could perform without anyone caring or watching.

They had no idea who we were or what we were really doing. Good.

*

In November 2007, Kanye's mother died during a routine surgery. He and his mom, Dr. Donda West, had always been incredibly close. She raised him alone, after Kanye's father left, when Kanye was three.

A few months later, his engagement with Alexis Phifer abruptly ended.

He was 30 at the time.

Oddly, this tragic sequence of events would cause the birth of auto-tune in rap. Broken-hearted, Kanye wanted to sing. So he ran his voice through a vocoder.

Kanye's album 808s & Heartbreak, which like Jesus is King has no curse words, shoved music ahead at least two decades, into a world of synth-driven robotic R&B/Rap love songs belted out in janky auto-tune. That description doesn't sound ridiculous today. But that's only because Kanye eschewed the stale hip-hop of the early 2000s and reinvented the genre, something he has accomplished with every album.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Then, he went on tour. But he never took off any time following his mother's death. And, by the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards, he'd fallen to what he calls his sunken place.

He and then-girlfriend Amber Rose brought a bottle of Hennessy with them to the award show. They took slugs in the limo. Then on the red carpet.

When Taylor Swift won the award for Best Female Video, Kanye stormed the podium, sunglasses on, and grabbed the microphone, said "Imma let you finish," then let everyone know the award should've gone to Beyoncé, for "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)."

He was kicked out immediately. He tweeted, "Everybody wanna booooo me but I'm a fan of real pop culture... I'm not crazy y'all, I'm just real."

Followed by an apology. Then a few days later, during an appearance on debut episode of "The Jay Leno Show"

Leno asked Kanye, "What do you think [your mom] would have said about this?"

That hit Kanyelike a punch to the jaw. He teared up, froze.

He publicly apologized to Swift. Several times.

But it did little to quell the blowback. Once again, it felt like the entire nation hated Kanye. Compounded by a hot-mic recording of Barack Obama — the country's first black President — calling Kanye a jackass.

So the embattled Kanye retreated to Hawaii to record a masterpiece, 2010's My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.

*

"We are a Christian country," Kanye said at one point, to uproarious applause.

The vast majority of Americans, 90 percent, believe in a higher power.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

And America has the largest number of Christians in the world, with roughly 167,000,000, comprising 65-to-70 percent of the population. But that's down from 80 percent, as part of a downward trend over the last two decades.

The percent of Americans who attend a religious service of any kind — church, synagogue, or mosque — is even lower, less than half.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

One political scientist blamed the public's growing distrust in institutions. Another blamed conservatives. A writer from New York Magazine took it a step further.

Meanwhile, David French.

As always, the issue is far more nuanced than either side will admit.

Somehow, in the last twenty years, church and religion had become not just uncool, but slightly villainous.

All day, every time I looked around — at people singing, at people dancing, at people crying in joy or in the relief and recognition of their pain — I thought, "How could this ever be a bad thing?"

Photo by Caroline Ryan

I had spent my life going to concerts, had seen Kanye West numerous times, and this was something other than a concert, and unlike anything I'd seen from Kanye. It was also more than just religious or spiritual.

A family of strangers in a city of 6 million, in a world of 7-and-a-half billion, broadcast live, led by a man who fought off the devil in front of us for years. Who struggled with life just like we do, only we could nitpick through the one-way mirrors of our phones and our TVs.

But, now, he had been baptized in public.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

Some people were still negative about Kanye's recent faith, especially Christians. As Kanye raps on "Hands On"

What have you been hearin' from the Christians?
They'll be the first one to judge me
Make it feel like nobody love me

Consensus was, they couldn't believe him. As a Kanye fan since I was 13, I can tell you that he is genuine. It's really his only setting. Plus, his spiritual transformation has been building for quite some time.

*

By the time we returned to Lakewood that evening, the sky had turned dark blue, and frantic with airplanes.

The sidewalks around the arena overflowed with people. Police cars jutted out in crooked lines to block entrances or exits, the strobe of red-white-blue whirling onto pedestrians' faces.

Across the street, facing the giant arena, a man with a bullhorn ranted about the evils of sinful music.

Earlier that day, sheepish protestors had occupied the spot, holding red poster-sized letters that spelled out "I M P E A C H." There were only four of them, though, so they had to double up and share, and sometimes the "H" slanted down or the "I" slipped loose.

"Impeach Kanye?" one of us said, laughing.

"Kanye 2020," shouted someone.

The air was electric. People bounced when they stepped, or walked faster than normal, or turned oddly as they spoke like a third-year professor.

They sang along as they passed traffic-jam cars, most of which were blasting Kanye.

A chorus of police whistles and the usual rumble of semi-trucks passing on US-59. Just down the street, porn shops and strip clubs and a Ferrari dealership. Immediately Southwest, the Mahatma Ghandi District. West, the Galleria, home of the opulent Galleria mall, where Kanye and Kim and family gone ice-skating earlier.

Inside the arena, a different world, low-lit and glowing. A dreamscape of lambent crimsons and violets, a deeper, warmer, slower take on the lights atop the police cars outside. Globular squares of blue were arrayed along the ceiling.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

When the musicians emerged to their instruments, the arena was still half-empty. The show had already been delayed 40 minutes. The demand to get in was so ferocious that the security gate was jammed up like a glass Ketchup jar.

Then, like spirits, men and women drifted onstage in all-grey uniforms and matching hats that looked like they should say "VIETNAM VETERAN" but actually said "Sunday Service."

Every single member wore brand-new grey YEEZY Boosts.

From the start, the performance was cinematic, a sort of new-world opera sung by a chorus of young American muses with nose rings or gold chains or dreadlocks or pink hair.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

From the huddle, a young man rose, and began reciting a poem. It was the invocation of the muse.

Gadamer wrote that poetry "becomes a test of what is true, in that the poem awakens a secret life in words that had seemed to be used up and worn out, and tells us of ourselves"

*

After a whirling rendition of Carl Orff's "O Fortuna," the choir began "Ultralight Beam."

They let the song spread. It grew enormous.

The air swirled as the song widened.

Kanye waited out of view, then appeared without ceremony.

A collective gasp when people recognized the melody of Stevie Wonder's "Overjoyed." Which sounds like a dream already, with all that wilderness.

So it was even stranger when the song morphed into SWV's "Weak," a skating rink anthem written by Charlie Wilson of the GAP Band. A classic.

The choir were their own countervailing force. Yet they also connected us to the drama of the performance.
Looking back, I wish I could live in those moments forever.

*

Then came their cover of "Father Stretch My Hands" by Pastor T.L. Barrett And the Youth for Christ Choir.

Father Stretch My Hands www.youtube.com

Kanye has paid homage to Barrett's track on two different songs, from two different albums.

It was his prayer.

Pastor T.L. Barrett, a man who's lived an exciting and at times difficult life, only to become a Pentecostal preacher on Chicago's south side, and form a choir of 40 teenagers from his weekly choir practice.

If you dive into Barrett, you'll better understand what Kanye is doing.

*

Ten seats from Kim Kardashian-West, Rep. Dan Crenshaw (TX) stared ahead in a neat grey suit, occasionally poking at his phone and blasting people on Twitter.

Which means there were at least two people in the building who have appeared on Saturday Night Live.

There were other politicians, including Texas lieutenant governor Dan Patrick. And even more at the earlier service. You could tell they were politicians the same you can tell a vegan burger from a real Whopper. Several times, Kanye held up his phone up and read the words from his newer songs.

Like "Selah," which built into "Hallelujah"s at the end, intoxicating and perfect, like being sucked into an undertow. Which led into "Follow God," a continuation of "Father I Stretch My Hands."

Kanye uses the image of stretched hands to express his own submission and the process that leads to his healing. As a reference to John 21:18

Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.

But the song is also about Kanye's literal father, and an argument they had. Then, under it all, he adds a sample of "Can You Lose By Following God" by Whole Truth. He ended the song with his Kanye shriek, somewhat confusing and abrasive with a choir present.

Then — something I did not expect. The thumping bass of Cajmere's "Brighter Days (Underground Goodie Mix)."

And now this was cosmic gospel.

It felt like a rave. Have you been to a rave? It's people dancing, taking MDMA. That is what it felt like.

Flourishes like that were part of Kanye's genius. No other gospel performance would dare. You won't find that kind of diversity at any other hip-hop show, either. The acoustic instruments, the choir. Maybe during a set by electronic musicians like Moodyman or DJ Koze. But, no choir. Yet here Kanye was, at Joel Osteen's church, blasting classic techno.

Oddly enough, though, the most popular song of the night was "Closed on Sunday," Kanye's ode to Chic-Fil-A.

Everyone in the arena knew the words. So then there were two choirs, in a dialogue. I didn't think it was possible, but the collective harmony got even more intense and engulfing than it had all night. So much so that the house speakers started to peak in one corner of the arena.

Photo by Caroline Ryan

The Ancient Greeks were the first to use a chorus. In the 5th Century B.C., 50 actors would gather in the orchestra pit and sing in unison, commenting on the action of the play, describing scenes to the audience. They were a collective force. They represented one character, who was able to connect the audience to the characters and events onstage.

Kim Kardashian was front and center filming with her phone, as two of the West kids jumped around on the trippy blue carpet.

The performance was nearing its end, and suddenly Kanye was dressed like everybody else in the choir. Grey Yeezy kit and the Sunday Service hat. His transformation. From Kanye West to Pastor Ye, stretching hands.

Then, he was gone.
One by one, the choir began fluttering off the stage, to the Clark Sisters' "You Brought the Sunshine."

Half were gone, when I noticed the singer with braided hair crying. With every exhale, she collapsed her hands into the floor. Let them fall like tired flowers. Arrayed in fitful blue. She gasped. She heaved her shoulders like a wingspan. For a moment it was like she would actually take flight.

A security guard peered over the railing from above the stage. He looked like God.Symbolically, he was.

New installments of this series on the 2020 elections come out every Monday and Thursday. Check out my Twitter. Email me at kryan@mercurystudios.com