Sunday, September 13, 2009

Sad day, sad say.

I have a love/hate relationship with pop culture. I love movies with happy endings (predictable chick flicks) and I love top 40 (my seat bouncing music in the car). What I don't love is that when I turn the radio off or leave the theatre, the world I return to is nothing like what I've just left.

I want to have a sit-down with Taylor Swift and make sure she knew that Romeo didn't get a happy love story ending with Juliet.

I want to document an attempted entry into Harvard Law School using the same techniques as Elle Woods and send it to MGM.

Life isn't full of happy endings. It's full of crying little girls begging Daddy not to go away again. It's bombarded with disappointment over both possibilities of a pregnancy test. It's abuntantly supplied with headstones displaying a shorter than wished for lifespan. It brings us big red F's and criticism. It has long and drawn out court dates. It has the brokenness of unreturned love, the shattered pieces of relationships, and the tears of unanswered prayers. And worst of all, the unbearable loudness of God's silence.

The movie told me I could leave everything behind. I could run away with nothing but a duffel bag, and begin a new and successful and better life. I've tried running from my problems. On a smaller scale, of course. Guess what? They followed me. Like the smell of Mexican food from Mi Toro. They just stuck around.

But maybe a happy ending wasn't always the intent. Honestly, I don't think God ever intended on any kind of ending. Just an ongoing party forever. And if I flew straight to the happy ending, I'd miss the whole middle. And I'd never grow. And I'd never be better. And I'd never know the beauty of hope or how far grace would go. If I missed the whole middle of brokenness and strain and missing pieces that I endlessly search for. How would I ever know how far his love for me goes if everything's peachy?

I don't always wake up to peppy music starting my day. It was rainy this morning. And dark.

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