Life lessons from a 'kid's' movie?!

I was eleven when Disney’s ‘Beauty and the Beast’ came out and I was in love with it from the first. Now Disney Princess fetishes are not at all uncommon amongst modern girls, it may actually be an approved alternative lifestyle choice for all I know, but back then (1991) the phenomenon didn’t exist, not that I was the ‘princess’ type, preferring to climb trees to hosting a tea party any day, but it was not for love of princesses that I adored the movie, and still do. I have long pondered my fascination with the movie, most girls outgrow such infatuations, but I never have. I still enjoy ‘The Little Mermaid’ and ‘Aladdin’ which are from the same era, but nowhere near so much. Every time I watch it, I still wonder what is it that sticks with me, though 25 years and a whole lifetime have passed in the interim?

First, I was taken from the first with the heroine: a spunky, independent girl who was still gentle, considerate, and kind, not lacking in courage or virtue, but was completely misunderstood and underappreciated by her community and even her well-meaning father. I was that girl, though my eleven year old mind could not comprehend such a concept at the time, but I felt for that girl’s plight as I felt for my own: trapped in a world not of your own making, with dreams and aspirations that others sneered and laughed at with no one to turn to for understanding or escape, save perhaps a book.

Second, it is a tale of brokenness, mistakes, and finally redemption, one of those rare stories that show characters with the flaws and idiosyncrasies that make us indelibly human, yet also gives us hope to rise above our current circumstances. It shows the true meaning of love: a willingness to sacrifice everything for the sake of the beloved, rather than the shallow infatuation and lust we often mistake for it in these strange modern days. It shows that no matter how grim or dark your circumstances, there is hope and a morning unlooked for beyond the longest night. It shows that people can change for the better, that love can triumph over evil and death, but only if we let it. It also proves what happens when we refuse to change, to look within ourselves and see the flaws as well as the better parts. Most of all, it shows that what really matters is our heart, not our flimsy physical exterior.

Third, it teaches us that ‘happily ever after’ does not come by sitting idly by and waiting for our fairy godmother to make all our dreams come true. It takes hard work, the risk of failure and uncertainty, and a willingness to change and work on our own flaws and inconsistencies. Gaston felt he deserved the best and was baffled when Belle did not share that opinion, and not learning his lesson, his arrogance led to his downfall even when offered mercy and a second chance. Belle herself was surprised to discover that inside the ferocious and horrid beast lurked a great heart, now malleable and gentle under the softening influence of love.

Fourth, and this is peculiar to my own situation, is that it is possible to escape a narcissist. Belle had her Gaston, and I had my mother. Again, my eleven year old sensibilities could not possibly comprehend such a concept at the time, but as an adult who has only recently awakened to the fact that she was abused as a child by the person who should have loved her best, it is a bittersweet revelation. As it was Belle’s devotion to her beast that rescued her, so it was with my own little family that I was able to shed the chains of a lifetime of abuse and misperception. When Gaston offered to marry her, she knew it would lead to a lifetime of hurt and heartache, though the whole village thought her mad, she did a very brave thing and refused him. So too, did I find the strength to say, ‘this is not right,’ and move on with my life.

For a simple cartoon, this story packs quite a wallop when it comes to showing life and human nature as it truly is, especially to those who feel trapped in a world that does not appreciate or understand them or that all is fickle, shallow, and vain about them. In our age of social media, where relationships are flimsy at best, it is almost prophetic in its message of the importance of deep and real relationships in a world of vanity and falsehood. It is one of those rare works of art that give us the courage to be who we were meant to be and dares us to be comfortable in our own skin, clinging to what we know is right, despite the consequences: a breath of fresh air in a world of fickleness and egotism.

Yearning for home

Why is the hero of most stories always a person with an interesting familial background: orphan, step-mother, foundling…?  It does make for an interesting plot twist of course, usually involving mysterious parentage resulting in either a lost heir to a throne or fortune or some sort of long prophesied hero, but after a lifetime of study upon the subject (I should probably get an honorary degree or something, people get them for far less) I have my own conjectures.  What makes me an expert?  First, I have a very interesting family background, albeit I won't be inheriting either a fortune or a crown, nor am I like to save the world, but still interesting.  Second, I am an avid student of stories, having escaped into them from the moment I could read.  So there you are, a bona fide expert.

Now as to my theory: it is only persons with a sad or mysterious background that have the impetus to leave home; the rest of us spend our entire lives trying to find it or get back again.  One requisite for having adventures is usually leaving home, or whatever passes for such in a given story, unless of course the adventure comes to you, in the form or war or pestilence or violence or dragons or some such, which either destroys your home or thus forces you to leave it anyway.  While we all love adventures, as long as we aren't the ones having them, is it not the ending we really enjoy, when at last the hero finds home and peace and joy?  If you already have that, why on earth would you go out looking for it?

The truth is, we're all on that mysterious journey, in the midst of our own particular story.  Some are blessed with a happy home of origin, others less so, but we all yearn for something we can't quite describe and as we mature and are on the brink of adulthood, we find ourselves (usually) on that inexplicable journey searching for we're not quite sure what.  We try to find it in relationships, career, kids, hobbies, sports, possessions, drugs, travel…whatever, but alas we still can't quite grasp it.

Sally Lloyd-Jones, in her wonderful book The Jesus Storybook Bible, hints at this yearning, this longing for meaning and purpose and home and sums it up well at the end of her telling of the Fall and the expulsion from the Garden of Eden:

"then he sent them away on a long, long journey- out of the garden, out of their home…and though they would forget him, and run from him, deep in their hearts, God's children would miss him always, and long for him- lost children yearning for home."

In the Society of Dead Poets

I thought I was simply a post-mortem anglophile when it comes to literature (the authors are dead, not me), but strangely, or not so strangely, I think it is rather that I am drawn to books to which I can relate, but then books are sometimes likened to our dearest friends and who has a dear friend with whom they share nothing in common?  Sometimes I feel like an anachronism: out of place and time when I might have lived 200 years ago, but thanks to books, I can still enjoy all the convenience of modernity and still 'live' in by-gone days.

My current project is 'Lorna Doone,' I finally watched the DVD I got for my birthday last year and it was excellent, forcing me to seek out the source material, which may be the longest book I've ever read, but happily it is well worth the reading, at least if you appreciate the author's wit and obvious enjoyment of bucolic life, but I fear the urban modern may find it tedious, dull, and the language nearly incomprehensible (I admit the sections, though few, 'written' in the local dialect make middle english look readable).  There are certainly no zombies, except maybe the mysterious fellow in the night cap who is out digging a hole behind the Wizard's Slough, though I have not read far enough to uncover that mystery.  It is strange to think that this book, if written today, would likely not fare well at all.

So what is it I love about the work of dead Englishmen?  For one thing, they know how to use the language, their prose is very nearly poetic in places (George MacDonald is a Scotsman, but Scotland is still subject to the Crown) and many have the knack for a witty turn (most especially Miss Austen).  Second, they love their country and know it in all its moods and seasons, now I am not talking English politics here but rather the natural world about them: forest and fen, field and hedgerow in dawn and dusk, rain and sunshine; the natural world is almost as vital a character as any human in most tales, sometimes the most important.  Third, the characters are actually people, rather than avatars that must run around accomplishing tasks while spouting the occasional witty repartee (have you been to the movies of late?) and avoiding zombies, explosions, aliens, or whatever threat of imminent death awaits them.  Nothing really happens in a Jane Austen novel, at least nothing that should spawn a five hour movie, but the characters and the dialogue are what make 'Pride and Prejudice' a classic.  And lastly, perhaps it is the common humanity of each work that draws me in, rather than a juiced up comic book, these novels explore what it is to be human: to live, to suffer, to struggle, to laugh, to yearn, to be disappointed, but in the end, to triumph.

In our materialistic world, where our value is based upon our power, friends, possessions, social status, or whatever, these books take each human soul at face value: you are valuable because you are a person, and nothing can be taken from or added to that value by external sources, save the One who made you.  And as a person, you are possessed of various blessings and curses, joys and sufferings, and these books explore that enigma, that paradox, and help us understand ourselves and our world a little better.

Once upon a time…and theology?

Theologians, professional and amateur alike, which includes all of humanity at some point in their individual existence have pondered the 'problem of pain' as C.S. Lewis termed it since first there was such a difficulty to contemplate.  How can a loving, all-powerful God create something and then let it moulder in brokenness, fraught with pain, sorrow, and death?  The term 'loving God' gives a clue to its own enigma.  The price of Love is risk, the risk of sorrow, because ever the beloved might turn away from or be taken from the lover.  If there is no risk, there cannot be Love, for Love must be a choice, if the beloved has no choice, it is a mindless slave, a robot, an automaton.  Humanity made a bad choice, thus did sorrow come upon the world, but worse, into the very heart of Heaven.  But like the great lover in all the stories, He journeyed through much pain and sorrow to rescue the beloved, at no small cost to Himself.  Now that's a fairy tale!

Wisdom in Silence

I've been reading the book of Job lately and I can only scratch my head in wonder at the marvelous timelessness of its message.  We moderns pride ourselves on our scientific and technological advances, but the human heart hasn't changed all that much since the dawn of time.  With all of our so-called wisdom, I still find that these ancient books are still relevant today.  Ecclesiastes explores the meaning of life.  The Psalms records despair, hope, joy, triumph, faith, anger and most of the feelings peculiar to a human soul.  Proverbs has more wisdom than most can acquire in a lifetime.  Song of Songs explores romantic love.  But in my present season of life, I find that I relate best to Job.

Job's struggle to reconcile suffering with a good and loving God is something to which most people can relate.  His friends' complete inability to comprehend his predicament, and their insulting assumption that some secret sin is the root of all his present evils and that everything would suddenly be all right if only he'd admit it, is a frustration many a grieving heart has known all too well.  Not that our nearest and dearest, well meaning though they be, necessarily accuse us of secret sins but rather the things people say (or don't) when we are struck by some grievous tragedy can drive you to distraction.  At the end of the book, God appears and chews out Job's arrogant friends, telling them they haven't a clue what they are talking about, and as Job formerly stated, 'it would be wisdom for you to remain silent.'

We don't have all the answers, the pain is not going to go away just by thinking it should, there is not necessarily a reason for things, it isn't necessarily 'better' this way…you know all the platitudes and one-liners people say at funerals, when you are having health issues or lose your job or…whatever.  Job's friends sat with him in silence for a whole week, it was only when they opened their mouths that they got into trouble and made their friend's misery worse.  Mortals donning the cloak of omniscience is a great way to inflict more pain on those you intend to help and make yourself look foolish in the process.  Yes, you probably mean well, but often, if you don't have all the answers, and in a tragedy you don't, just let the person know you are there for them.  Don't get philosophical and muse on meaning or what good might come of it or why it's better like that, just let them grieve as they must.  Time is the only thing that will ease their grief and perhaps answer the what ifs.

Job does however give us this comfort: despite what happens to us, despite how others make us feel, God sees our suffering, He has suffered Himself, He knows what it is to hurt, to ache, to be tired, to die, to be alone, to be human.  And He has promised that in the End, everything will be better than Okay.  That doesn't mean whatever went wrong will suddenly be right or that bad things won't happen, but rather we are not alone, we are not misunderstood, He has seen the end and knows all through which we must muddle.  Suffering and sorrow are a part of our broken world, but we need not suffer alone.  Job cried out for a Redeemer in the midst of his grief, and some thousands of years later, He came.    And when He comes again, the story will finally make sense and all the tragedy and grief with which this world is fraught will not even be a memory.  So amid your tears and pain, hold fast to that thought, no matter how dark the night, we have been promised Joy in the morning.

The blogger awakens: a review of the movie everyone on the planet has finally seen.

I can finally review the new Star Wars movie, and yes, I am officially the last person on the planet to see it so I can include spoilers, not that anyone actually reads this blog, but you've been warned!  Three weeks ago I read an article that stated 'as there are only 3 people who have not yet see this movie…'  I was thrilled to be mentioned in an article!  I live somewhere between Jakku and Hoth so it takes a bit for movies to make it to the local one screen cineplex, but it still costs less than a direct flight to either (unlike the big city theaters) so it is worth the wait to go.  Overall, this was a strange experience for me, it may be the first movie in history that I emerged from without knowing my own mind on whether I liked it or not.  It wasn't like the Hobbit (any of them) from which I emerged in shock, scandalized and disappointed, but rather it felt much like deja vu.

Now I am a geek through and through, except I don't know elvish or klingon, but then my latin and spanish are also rather dismal; languages just aren't my thing.  I have been known to skip class to go to a premiere and even dress up for a showing.  I've even read the books (yes, there are a plethora of Star Wars books, though most of them are now non-canonical).  So it was a little weird sitting in the theater for the 7th Star Wars installment and feeling like I was in an alternate universe where things were familiar yet utterly strange.  It was a similar feeling when they hit the reset button on Star Trek.  I was completely lost as to the socio-political situation in the galaxy since the battle of Endor.  They blew up a planet, I think it might have been the Republic capital but I'm not sure, they spent more time on the masked man's temper tantrums than they did on that minor detail.  I'll need to watch it about 6 more times with the subtitles on to make sure I get all the dialogue before I understand, if it is even comprehensible.

From what I can discern, there is a recognized galactic government but for some reason Leia's off running a new rebellion type outfit while there's also an empire in exile run by Gollum who has learned english but he only makes appearances as a giant hologram.  The villain from Star Trek: Nemesis (my least favorite Star Trek movie), along with far too much of the plot, makes a reappearance as Han and Leia's estranged and murderous son, who is into Emo, throws temper tantrums, and is a Darth Vader wanna be, complete with shrine at which he bows in worship on occasion.  He's probably the worst villain (not in a good way) I've ever seen in a fictional presentation, though he does bear a striking resemblance to his teenage grandfather in the prequels (we won't mention those again) with his whiny, self-centered attitude.  I actually miss Chancellor Palpatine and the elder Darth Vader; Darth Maul was pretty cool until he spoke.  I won't even mention how ridiculous it is to have a light saber with mini lasers in place of the traditional (not for a light saber) guard.

I did love the new trio of characters, but the kids hardly got to know one another.  Has the pilot even met the girl?  And what's with killing off Han Solo and immediately filling his pilot's chair with the girl, as if he's just been outsourced?  But then she also needs to be Luke too, and there's certainly a bit of Leia too: she's the whole gang wrapped into one!  I really like the new Yoda (that cat lady) and Chewbacca is always fun.  Why does every Star Trek or Star Wars movie need a planet destroying weapon, especially when it was almost a subplot here?  Luke's off filming Castaway II so we don't see much of him and why are we ending the movie exactly where we left off in The Empire Strikes Back?  I am ecstatic that the quirky humor, snarky comments, camaraderie, and great one liners of the original trilogy are back, but this film still manages to take itself too seriously at times, which was the greatest failing of the prequels, that and the stiff acting, which is only a problem with a few characters here (mostly among the Empire Wanna-bes, but that's how they are supposed to be so no problem there).  I love that smuggler dude with the Scottish accent (see, I knew there had to be a Scotland in the galaxy far far away), he should have been the villain, not that guy from Nemesis.

I'll decide whether I like it after I've seen it a few times and figure out what is actually happening, perhaps the sequels will improve matters as well, but at least I was not disappointed (except with the villains).  How can you have an awesome series without great villains?  But then we just got spoiled with the original Vader.

Trusting an end you cannot see

Faith has been called a crutch for the weak, a coping mechanism for those not strong enough to deal with reality by those that have no idea what it is they are talking about, as if the believer is just someone who ignores the cruelties and sorrows of this present age, blithely saying it is not so, it cannot be so because they 'believe,' and pretending life is all sunshine and roses somehow makes it so.  That isn't faith, it is either ignorance or an intentional perversion of reality bordering on neurosis.

Today I sit here, feeling as if I'm between the proverbial rock and a hard place: one an abusive past that erased any sense of family or childish innocence, and the other the inability to produce a family of my own, at least in a traditional sense.  Worse, there are no comforters, no people in whom I can confide, that would understand without making senseless and often painful remarks because I suffer from two of the last social taboos.  'Mothers do not abuse their children, what are you smoking?'  'And infertility is no big deal, and even if it were, no one wants to hear about it, it might make them uncomfortable.'

So I sit here with my faith amidst my pain wondering where all that sunshine and those roses promised by the scoffers might be.  My faith doesn't tell me that we'll be adopting anytime soon or ever.  My faith doesn't say my emotional state will ever be normal and healthy, whatever that is.  It doesn't bring back my lost childhood; it won't mend a shattered family; it won't fill the empty crib.  So what is the use?  Why hang on?  What does it do?

It tells me there is sense beyond the illogicities of this present age, justice beyond all injustice, peace beyond all chaos, hope beyond despair, that light defeats the darkness, that there is purpose and meaning in this world, that there is joy beyond all the tears, rest beyond all the toil, that though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I go not alone, and that though I sit and cry, neither is my sorrow unseen.  There are no easy answers, there are no simple explanations, but whatever betide, therein can I rest secure.  All of my todays might not be happy or blessed, there will come fog and rain and snow, but Tomorrow will be far better than okay.  Even amidst the disappointment and sorrow, healing will come, comfort is there, even be it more slowly than or in ways that I had not anticipated.  That is faith.  It is not simple.  It is not easy.  Nor is it for the faint of heart, for it is not a thing that is idle or passive, rather daily we are told to 'take up our cross and follow Me,' to intentionally pick up the implement of our own death and torture and walk a road whose end we do not know, but we do so in knowing the End is but the Beginning of things too marvelous for mortal minds to even begin to ponder.

G.K. Chesterton once said, "Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried."  It is a complete surrender of all I think I am, all I think I want to be, but in losing what I think I want, I gain and become everything I should be, which is a better thing by far, and certainly very different than simply donning a pair of rose-tinted blinders.