No Spoilers

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.

-James 4:14

 

"I can't believe that Kylo Ren burst into that creepy rendition of 'Let It Go' at the end of the movie!" Sam shouted.

Yesterday I saw The Force Awakens. If you haven't seen it yet, don't worry, I'll abide by the title of this post. Except to assure you that Elsa's song did NOT make an appearance.

As we left the theater, Sam loudly pronounced his shock over laughably untrue spoilers, just to confuse movie goers who were already filling the seats for the next showing.

Which got me thinking, why do we hate spoilers so much? Why don't we want someone to tell us the outcome, good or bad, in an upcoming movie? Why do we avoid Facebook on the release date of a big film we haven't seen? Don't we want to know what happens?

Of course we want to know, but even more than that, we want to see. To experience the emotion of the characters, to cry when Wallace sacrifices himself, to cheer tragically when Gaston slips, to rejoice when Aslan resurrects.

Why then, do we take the opposite approach to life?

God, who will I marry? How long will I live in this city? Will my children follow you when they grow up? When are you coming back? And could you please give me a detailed timeline of important events between now and then?

God is not fooled by our begging. He tells no one the day or the hour, their number of hairs, or the weather tomorrow. And deep down, we don't want him to. It would ruin the surprise. So today, let us live life as it comes, rejoicing and weeping as God directs, trusting him to weave an even better story than The Force Awakens.

Merry Christmas!

"The Lord himself will give you the sign. Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel (which means 'God is with us')."

-Isaiah 7:14 

I'm taking this week off in honor of the holiday. I hope you are doing something special as well!

Laws and Baseball Bats

I've been in a bit of a down mood lately. Here's a Dave-Barry-inspired humorous piece I wrote in 2009, in case you've been feeling the same. Enjoy!

Laws and Baseball Bats

            Hello there and welcome to Science Class 101! Today’s Fascinating Topic of Discussion (during which you will probably nod off) is: Newton’s Three Laws of Physics! That’s right. These Laws are so powerful and inescapable that you are probably snoring with your head on your desk in a pool of your own saliva from the mere thought of them, which goes to show that you are still obeying Newton’s Law of Gravity, a sort of Bonus Law scientists awarded him when they saw how clever his first three were. See how oppressive our scientific system is? You’re still following a law awarded years ago to some dead guy who wore a wig.

            I think it is unfair that Newton gets three laws all to himself, while I, though I have just as many, if not more, cleverly worded sayings, cannot have even one law. Newton refuses to share a law with me, and, given the current state of his mind, is not likely to budge from his position on the issue. This is a shame, because I have already thought of several good ones, such as my Law of Neutrality, my Law of Electrolytes, and my Law requiring people engaged in tooth-brushing to stay in the part of the house designated for disgusting activities (directly in front of the bathroom sink), which would prevent the increase of minty-smelling saliva specks in other, more habitable, parts of the home.

            So here we are today, discussing Newton’s Laws, instead of mine. Newton’s First Law of Physics states, “An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” This means that you will keep your head on your desk until some unbalanced force, like me with a baseball bat, sneaks up behind you and shoves you in a menacing manner. At the approach of this unbalanced force, you will cease to remain at rest but will sit bolt upright and focus on my discussion of Newton’s next two Laws.

            Newton’s Second Law of Physics required slightly more insight, and probably caused Newton to sweat profusely into his wig and have it sent off to the 17^th Century Wig Cleaners Guild. The result of this sweat was the following: “Acceleration is produced when a force acts on a mass. The greater the mass, the greater the amount of force needed.” This Law results in a nifty little equation, F=ma, in which F stands for force, m for mass, and a for acceleration, though if the letters stood for fights, muscles, and annoying little brothers the equation would still hold true.

            Newton’s Third Law took him no time at all to create. It is, in fact, quite obvious to any parent of teenage boys. This Law, “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,” shows why, if you ask your teenage son to empty the trashcan, he will, without fail, get up and move away from the trashcan toward the stairs up to his room, claiming he has some urgent homework he had forgotten about until just that moment. It also shows that Newton had a teenage son.

            So there you have them. Newton’s Three Laws of Physics, constantly explaining why everyone in the world behaves as bizarrely as they do. You may now feel free to stand up and resume your normal mental functions. No really, you should, because your teenage son IS STANDING RIGHT BEHIND YOU WITH A BASEBALL BAT.

To an Aging Lover

"Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first."
Revelation 2:4

 Today we go back to a Shakespearean-style sonnet I wrote in 2010.

Your love is a bloom that’s crunchy and dried

From rosy to brown: You left it to rot.

The yestereve of yestereve it died

Like the lonely lover you forgot.

Your love is iron crunched over by rust:

A steel sword to slice through medieval foes.

It beat off dragons and lions and dust

But caked in winters of winters it froze.

Your love is wind: it dusts crunchy, dry air

That used to loft scents of flowery spring.

It bites your bronzed skin, your lips, your teased hair,

Your fingers that will never fit into rings.

Just as lives wax in order to wane

So with your love: its life was its bane.

The Effect of Christmas Trees upon Broken Vacuums

On Saturday, my mother and I crept into our freezing garage, dusted off cardboard boxes, heaved them upstairs, and splashed our walls with green, gold, red, and silver. Most of the decorations went up easily enough, curling up in last year’s allotted slot, but a few needed creative placement. When the last box was empty, I sneezed and slunched into an armchair.

But only for a minute. I wanted the house to look nice, but open boxes and countless fallen plastic pine needles stood between me and my goal. With a final effort, I forced myself to take out the vacuum while Mom put the boxes away.

VAROOM! said the vacuum. But the needles refused to leave their comfy carpet home. I peeked under the vacuum and sighed, exasperated. The brush roll stood motionless.

I gave myself a pep talk. Ok, fine, I can fix the belt. I can do it. I braved the cold garage again, this time for a screwdriver. Four screws later, I discovered that the belt had not merely slipped off its shaft, but had cracked and broken.

Gah! Fine! The needles win! Frustrated and drained, I gave up. I turned on the Christmas tree lights, turned off the room lights, and sat.

In the warm glow of hundreds of minute, colorful suns, the needles didn’t look as prickly and disappointing, and the upside-down vacuum seemed more peaceful. I noticed the star on top of our tree, just above a small nativity ornament.

In light of that nativity, I saw how utterly ridiculous I was to be angry at a broken vacuum. I laughed at myself.

God, how incredible you are. How unimaginable your gifts. In comparison, clean houses are less than plastic pine needles. Forgive me. And thank you. Thank you so much.

*****

Turns out God cares about little things, too. When I showed the vacuum to my father, he said that yes, of course we have an extra belt in (you guessed it) the garage. Fifteen minutes later, God had added one clean carpet to the extensive list of gifts he’s showered on me.

Baby Steps

This week I offer a poem I wrote in 2010. It remains relevant in my life.

I stride along the warm dirt way

Thanking God for little things

For dew that shatters glimmering ray

To reds and blues and lively greens

If only he were with me.

Longing creeps in,

Slashing contentment, joy

Breaking rhythm, stride, worship

Shoved back by a wall

I find I cannot

Walk

At all.

I fall.

Now bitter righteous guilt

Condemns my longing for

Sugary, sickly candy

You’ve buckled again, why don’t you stay?

Don’t try to clamber up

You’re worthless, faithless, virtueless

You can’t, you won’t—

Shut up!

I Sit.

Silent.

Cry.

Silently.

Wait.

Daddy lowers a proud hand

Let’s try that again, he smiles.

******

The recurring stumbling block I currently see is my pride. It's good to know God is patient!

Cleaning Closets

“Every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.”

~John  15:2

“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.”

~1 Corinthians 13:12

I stepped into my teaching office Monday morning and nearly suffocated in a rack of billowy sleeves. I navigated around it, stepping over scattered props, and slumped my bags down on my desk.

“Hi,” came a muffled greeting from another rack. Stephanie, our school’s drama director, curled herself around the costumes. “Sorry about the mess. I did make sure they didn’t leave anything on your desk.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t totally unexpected. Due to a lack of office space, I had taken up residence in the drama closet when I started teaching last year. It’s generally a hassle-free arrangement, but twice a year, during production week, I’m forced to relax my organizational standards to include wigs and hairspray on top of my grading stack. Our students finished their (excellent) performance of “The Music Man” last Saturday.

Not unexpected, but still stressful. Though there was a path to my desk Monday morning, the path disappeared frequently, occasionally just at the moment I needed to rush in and grab books for my next class. I reminded myself that I was glad Stephanie was sorting, stuffing, shelving. Someday soon it would be clean, even if I didn’t know when that day was.

Hearing a vacuum around noon today, I avoided the office altogether, opting to plan whatever subjects I’d taken from the room earlier.

God’s pruning is also messy. When God decides to pry my heart away from money, friends, reputation, the process feels like using training wheels after a bike race.

This afternoon, I opened my office door and breathed a relaxing sigh. Stephanie had left shelves stacked neatly with labeled boxes, two costume racks along the side wall, and a thoroughly-vacuumed carpet. The office was cleaner than it’s been since last fall. My heart swelled with gratitude and I silently kicked myself for having been frustrated.

Someday, I’ll have a perfectly organized, cleaned, radiant life. But until then, I’ll live in this God-ordained mess, because that’s his plan, and it’s worth it.

******

Life’s messiness is the focus of my friend Amy’s blog. She has lots of valuable and entertaining thoughts, so swing on by!

Yahtzee

 "And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified. What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?"

 ~Romans 8:30-32

Clatter, clatter, clatter. Thump, thump. Two dice escaped my blue plastic rolling cup, bouncing on the tablecloth. Six and six. I moved them beside my other three sixes.

“No way!” my mom exclaimed. “Three Yahtzees?! We don’t even need to finish the game, we know you’re going to win.”

I smiled. It was true. And yet I found myself vexed by each subsequent roll. I’d gotten my small straight before my large straight, and as I gambled with a one, two, three, five, I felt my gut twist as four refused to come out on top.

Good grief, Elizabeth! Why are you so worried? You’ve already won!

*****

I've already won, indeed. Jesus is preparing a New Earth as I write. For millions upon millions of years, I will revel in complete victory. It is finished.

And yet I find myself biting my nails. How will God bring in enough money for me to follow him to China? Can he possibly fix that broken relationship? Will he be able to support my emotions if I never get married?

God has handed me ten thousand and one Yahtzees. May he forgive my frequent faithlessness in fearing one lost large straight.