Boats at Sea

Usually we don't realize what's going on around us in a given moment. Only in hindsight can one see (and marvel at) all that was taking shape at a given time, and how it all worked together to bring about the present moment. We're thrown into situations and have to figure stuff out while it's already going on, and there's no pause button. [A friend said of this: it's like a boat at sea. You can never dock it on dry land to patch holes or whatever; you have to make all your repairs while still keeping yourself afloat.]

The whole process of growing up fits this pattern. To use a super simple example, we had bodies long before we knew what bodies were, or that we could control our hands and feet using our thoughts. Which, sidebar, seems pretty miraculous when you think about it. This wordless fluency with which we pilot these bodies we didn't choose and often don't understand.

In a relationship with God you eventually look back and realize He was pursuing you all along, way before you were aware. He works before you give Him permission, to get you to a place where you will give Him permission.

All of life is improv. Maybe this is why on-stage improv can be possible. It's not nonsensical to step into a pre-existing situation/"scene", or, if it is, at least each player/actor has loads of experience from doing this every single day of their life. People say to me all the time that improv must be scary, and I appreciate what they mean by this, and don't mind the comment, but each moment of their own life has been improv. No matter how much you prepare for something, it's never exactly how you expected it, and you must adapt or face grave consequences. "Yeah, but you have to be funny," they reply. Well, it's easier to be funny than to be loving, kind, brave, gentle, good. Much. I would know.

I like clean breaks. Clear beginnings, wrapped-up endings. But I rarely seem to get them. I recently read that "closure" is an idea that often makes people unhappy by getting them to think it is a real thing. This was both a relief and a great disappointment. I'm sure closure is a real thing, but I am equally sure it is way more elusive than anyone wants. Certainly more elusive than I was able to admit to myself before reading that it might be fake.

You don't get the hang of almost anything until you've been doing it for a while. Here's an example about getting involved in a new place. I've been telling people about this theory I have that it takes, say, 51 times showing up somewhere to reach the tipping point. The first 50 times you show up somewhere (examples: Bible study, the teachers' lounge) in a foreign country, you see strangers and any contact is necessarily shallow and you feel awkward and have to make an effort not to leave. But that 51st time you enter the room and are greeted by name and surrounded by familiar faces, probably friendly and smiling ones. If you are living somewhere for only a semester, you can hit this sweet spot right before it's time for you to move away. Here in France, the other teachers seemed to be nicer to me than ever in my last two weeks of teaching.

It's sometimes difficult for me not to feel a little regret and wonder how this year (this seven-month?) would have turned out if I had been more outgoing and taken more risks earlier on. But, two problems with that: 1) I can't turn back time, and there are plenty of great things about this experience, I'm not going to go out of my way to engage a bad feeling; and 2) I think you always appreciate people the most at the moment you say goodbye to them. This was one of my favorite things about the study abroad experience. I appreciated my college and all my friends sooooo much when I left the country, but unlike with graduation, I got to come back the next year and appreciate them in person again. In my experience you can't rush this goodbye- closeness/attachment/appreciation. I suspect it's brought on by the pending separation. That was why studying-abroad "worked" in this way: I really left, and really came back.

Is there a lesson I gained from this? I think it changed my interactions with people because I began to think, "This is fleeting. When I look back on this, how will I want to say it all went down?" Which I think is a good way for me to live in general, in relationships or in other areas. Because life is pretty short when all is said and done. And I loathe the idea that someone could be feeling unappreciated or unloved and have to wait until, like, their retirement party to find out what they meant to people. Or worse. But I bet that happens often. People say really nice things at funerals. When we die, hopefully we go to heaven and see what we meant to others, though while we were alive we just had to trust that it was Something and that there was a current guiding our little bobbing undockable boats that we just woke up inside one day with no warning.

If you are not too long...

...I will wait here for you all my life. -Oscar Wilde

[source]

Today an episode of Futurama made me cry. I thought that I was just being extra sensitive lately (yesterday I burst into tears five separate times) but in fact that was not necessarily the case today, as I am about to prove. I wanted to find a picture for this post, and when I began my search I was surprised how much Google Instant filled in for me; I clearly wasn’t the first to look for it. I came across the episode’s Wikipedia page and saw that a critic described the ending as, “one of the saddest endings to a television program that I have ever seen.” A TV critic. I’d assume this man has seen his fair share of television programs, and of sad endings. So that made me feel better, but what really clinched it was the enormous amount of commenters on some site (and also below the youtube video) talking about how this made them cry, even though many of them said they weren’t the crying type, or hadn’t cried in five years or whatever. So in this particular case, it’s definitely not just me.

SPOILER ALERT, I’m going to ruin this 2002 episode of Futurama. I don’t feel that bad about it because the rest of the episode wasn’t that great (my overall personal take on this show is that it’s very hit or miss, but mostly miss) and it’s not like you were planning to see it anyway.

So, for necessary background, the character Fry was living in New York in 1999 when on New Year’s Eve of that year he accidentally fell into a thing (a freezer? A time machine? Who cares) that sent him to the year 3000, where he made new friends, etc. Life in the year 3000 is the show’s basic premise. In this particular episode (it’s called “Jurassic Bark”—very classy) Fry and his self-centered robot best friend visit a museum exhibit that happens to be of the pizza place where Fry was working in 1999. They see a few artifacts Fry recognizes, and then a gray dog-shaped fossil. Fry gasps when he realizes who this is: his loyal dog, Seymour, who was his best friend at the time he was suddenly sent to the future with no warning. Through flashbacks you see how close the two of them were. Examples: after rescuing the dog from starvation, Fry says something like, "you're nice, you don't judge me like other dogs do," (my translation from French) and they have a song they sing/bark together.

Bref, I mean, anyway, Fry's doctor friend says he can clone the dog, and that they can even restore his personality, and even his memory to the moment that he died. Fry is SO excited about this idea and buys his dog a collar and a bed and everything in preparation. The robot gets jealous of the attention (and the collar) and throws the fossil in lava, but then rescues it, this just serves to heighten the suspense, and then the moment of truth arrives and they begin the cloning process. First they see that Seymour was age 15 when he died. When Fry sees this, he decides not to go through with it, reasoning that he knew Seymour when he was three, so the dog had had 12 years to move on, find a different master, live a full life. He says, "surely he's forgotten all about me." This is sort of a touching/selfless idea, and who would want to be resurrected old?

It seems like the end of the episode. But then there's one more flashback. Seymour never moved on at all. He sat outside the pizza place every day for twelve years, in all kinds of weather, a fact made most poignant when you see the pizza chef grow old, with white hair, and the pizza place close and get boarded up. He waited for Fry for the rest of his life at the place they last saw each other. Finally Seymour lies down, just once, and closes his eyes and the episode ends. I'm tearing up just typing about it. (It's very findable on youtube but I don't think it would be as good without the more detailed backstory provided by the episode).

I think the idea that really got me was that after all, Seymour would have LOVED to see Fry. Even if it were just for a little while before he would die again, even just one moment. That would have made his life complete in a sense. Yet Fry didn't give him this chance because he was trying to be nice, because he didn't know any better.

When I (and/or others) have a really strong emotional reaction to something, I try to find some sort of way that the emotion-triggering-thing can relate to universal ideas, and/or to God.

In my opinion, a surefire trigger (if done well, of course) is this idea of two ships passing. Sometimes it's two people who physically occupy the same space, but in Grey's Anatomy and The Golden Compass it can also be people who are in a physical space that overlaps but that is spiritually a different/alternate dimension and thus at least one of the people has no way to see, hear, or feel the other person, though they might somehow sense their presence, a little, for a moment.

"All day long I have held out my hands to an obstinate people," -Isaiah 65:2a

I don't see God as a stray dog who waits for us outside a pizza place. Honest, I don't. But if this animated rescued-stray dog's 12 year waiting made me cry, then how much more powerful is it when God waits for us? Waits for we who were created to wait on him. He waits with open arms for his children to turn to him, and many of them never sense this. They never see that in their very own universe (not even an alternate one!) Someone holds out their hands, hoping for a response. I don't have an extremely clear picture of my theological beliefs in this area as regards every human who has ever lived, but I will say confidently that, at least some of the time, God waits for us, eager to share life with us. And his patience and forbearance are beyond all measurement or compare.

If we only knew how attentive God is towards us, even when we do not sense him at all. If we only saw all the ways he blesses us that we're not even aware of. "The Lord longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him!" (Isaiah 30:18)

I think these words are at the heart of the emotion for me: "If you only knew!" Someone could be praying for you right now, asking God for exactly that thing you need. You could be showing hospitality to an angel (Hebrews 13:2, lol). You could be days away from your next big break. Someone could be writing you a letter, or something could already be in the mail for you. Someone across the world, your next best friend, could be making the decision about what they'll do next in life, that will bring them into your neighborhood.

A closing thought. At prayer meeting tonight, our pastor mentioned that reading the Bible all the way through is something that should be completed by at least 1-3 years after someone gives their life to Christ. He's right, and I am not in any way denying that. But 1-3 years? How patient God is. I think the length of the Bible shows it as much as anything. God doesn't expect us to read the entire Bible in one day. Nor does he ask us to panic about it if we haven't finished yet. It's not about being finished reading the Bible, it's about reading the Bible every day. God just doesn't see time as we do: "With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but wanting everyone to come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:8-9)

God, thank you for allowing me to glimpse your truth and the beauty of faithfulness today through a scruffy cartoon dog.

God-wrestler

I think the first time I learned and retained that "Israel" means "God-wrestler" (I've also heard: "he struggles with God") was my senior year of college. I really didn't like it. I complained to Jeremy at the train station (because I learned the weekend of improv regionals) that God and Israel are supposed to be spouses! Not wrestle each other. Yucky. I hate wrestling. (I do struggle with God sometimes, but again, that doesn't sound like a good thing.)

When I was reading Prayer by Philip Yancey he said some of the people in the Bible who were most richly rewarded were those who bargained with God and got in His face about stuff. God frequently is petitioned and shows even more mercy than He was going to. Yancey (paraphrase) writes that He likes when we ask because it can unleash more mercy on earth. Obviously I can see how this is so in the case of Abraham asking to spare those cities if fewer and fewer righteous people can be found (Genesis 18:16-33 if you forgot). Yancey asks: "Abraham stopped asking; would God have spared the cities for just one person?" Also there's that story in Luke 18:1-8 about the widow who won't stop bothering the judge until he gives her the justice she asks for. My TNIV Luke 18:1 says "Jesus told [this] parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up." And there are plenty of others in the Bible too.

Yancey also mentions his relationships with the people closest to him in life, like his brother, his wife, and his editor. About them he says "with each of these people, my intimate partners, I act in a way reminiscent of the bargaining scenes with God. I make suggestions, back off, accommodate their point of view, reach a compromise and come away changed."

Obviously I think it's possible to argue/fight/wrestle someone without love, but maybe there's significance in the fact that they can be done with love, too, and it might be a sign of love to be willing to. It can be really really hard to bring up some things with people, and most of us aren't willing to talk about tough stuff with those we don't know too well. Some aren't even willing to bring them up with friends. But like Yancey says, challenge changes us.

There was also a part I read and was disgusted by. Yancey talks about wrestling his brother in the dark when they were both little kids. And I am paraphrasing this, but he said it was a lot like making love, because you grapple back and forth, using up your energy against each other, body on body, then fall back, spent. I was like, "hello, incest!" but the image has stuck with me for months now. Perhaps because he's right that wrestling indicates a certain closeness. That's why it's far more blessed to wrestle with God than to simply be far away from Him. Sometimes literally.. Jacob receives God's blessing (after having to ask for it) when the wrestling is over in Genesis 32:26-29.

Maybe this is part of the key to the spousal relationship between Israel and God. Maybe a marriage is a promise to keep wrestling and not just peace out when hard stuff comes up, because something of deep value is gained through the back-and-forth of an honest, loving challenge. And maybe that something is the experience of turning into the strong and selfless person you were created to be in the arms of the one you love best.