The other night Chris and I watched the movie Stranger Than Fiction. The main character Harold Crick, played brilliantly by Will Ferrell, is a man who plays life by the book. A lonely IRS agent living a life that consists of the same mundane routine of “infinite numbers, endless calculations, and remarkably few words.” His life is completely void of any sort of color or adventure. It’s safe, and he feels safe in it. Love would be too risky and relationships too messy. Then one day, his routine is interrupted when the wristwatch that he times his life by as if it were his own beating heart, suddenly stops. The changing of Harold Crick begins when he is jolted out of his boring life by a sudden voice in his head. The nameless, faceless voice cheerfully narrates his every move and eventually tells him that the stopped wristwatch is a sign of his imminent death. He’s sent to the IRS shrink, a retired hippie, who asks him if he’s feeling “wibbly wobbly” and then to another professional who tells him he has schizophrenia. “No, no, it’s not schizophrenia,” he insists. “I mean, the voice isn’t telling me to do anything. It’s telling me what I’ve already done…accurately, and with a better vocabulary.” With the threat of “imminent death” hanging over him, scrambling for answers to save the life he’s just found, Harold Crick finally wakes up for the first time and starts living.
I thought about the movie long after we turned off the t.v. struggling to figure out why it stuck with me so much. It occurred to me that I’m actually a lot like Harold Crick. I play it safe. I like being comfortable. For months now I’ve felt like God is asking me to let go of what I call safety. To let go and trust him, to take risks, and most of all to embrace a life of adventure. I got ready for bed that night still thinking about the movie. As I sorted through my dresser, pulling out pajamas in preparation for a shower, I yanked out a large white pair of ‘granny underwear’. “Perfect,” I thought. “These will be comfortable.” There was that word again. Comfortable. And then it dawned on me. Maybe my life is like that. Maybe I’m like a big pair of granny panties. Safe. Comfortable. Old before its time. Definitely not up for an adventure. And the more I thought about it the more I realized I stopped taking risks a long time ago.
I certainly don’t regret my life, but when I tried to think of the last time I did something that felt even remotely risky it was hard to remember anything. What did come to mind was when I was pregnant with my son Jack. The fear of not knowing absolutely terrified and unhinged me. The great unknown of motherhood during those last few months of pregnancy loomed over me like an executioner’s axe waiting to drop. It was nothing I’d ever experienced, and well, obviously I had to give birth. I couldn’t carry the baby around in me forever. There was no prolonging it until I felt ready. I’d waited so long, prayed, begged God to be a mother, and when the time finally came I felt completely emotionally unprepared. How can you prepare yourself for a headfirst dive off a cliff? At least that’s what it felt like to me.
I thought long into the night as I lay in bed. Because to be honest, God feels like a risk to me. He’s unpredictable. He doesn’t do things the way I expect. And when I let go of control or at least the illusion of it, it scares me to death. I like it safe. Comfortable. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, God doesn’t feel safe. Like Aslan in the Chronicles of Narnia – who is “not a tame lion.” Mr. Beaver puts it this way . “Safe! Who said anything about safe! Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.” I’ve always thought I believed God was good, but maybe I think he’s distant and withholding. Or maybe I think he’s a cruel puppet master. Sometimes my thoughts of God are small and dark. My expectations of myself are massive and my expectations of God are nonexistent.
So in embracing a life of adventure I’m realizing I’m going to have to trust God. Because adventure means you don’t know what’s going to happen next, it means you let go of things that make you feel comfortable or safe. Wearing the red bikini underwear instead of the tighty whiteys. It means you live your story. The one God created you for even if that means you have to feel pain or get hurt or lost a few times or jump headfirst into the unknown realms of life. And he’s asking me to live. To take a chance on him. To live in his story for me. To jump over that great chasm between fear and faith even if it means falling. And most of all to believe that he loves me, and to believe that he’s good. To believe that he’s worth the risk. And I do believe that. And I think I can do that. I want to do that. I am doing it.
In the film Twilight, the vampire Edward takes his love interest, Bella, to the top of a tall tree on the side of a mountain where he shows her the most beautiful view she’s ever seen. A gorgeous river surrounded by deep green mountains and drifting fog, and evergreen trees as far as the eye can see. “This kind of stuff doesn’t exist,” she gasps as she begins to accept his supernatural nature. “It does in my world,” he says. Adventure, surprise, shock, awe, desire, inspiration, transformation. I think when we open our eyes to the supernatural nature of God, anything is possible. And we get to see and experience the most beautiful things that we’ve never dreamed of in our limited imaginations. And most of all we get to see him. And the view is breathtaking.
So I’m reading this as one who has taken a more than a few risks with life because of faith, calling, and a certain conviction about how we ought to prioritize things. I agree with everything you’re saying. It’s laudable and, really, a key to a separate joy as a believer.
Yet it brings to mind 1 Kings 19.19-20, and enigmatic passage in which Elijah designates Elisha to succeed him as Prophet of Israel. Elisha asks to return to say goodbye to his family, to which Elijah replies, ““Go back – What have I done to you?”
That can mean three things in the original Hebrew. (1) Something like, “Backup from that idea. What I’ve done has already separated you from them. The door is closed behind you. What did you think this was all about?” (2) “Yeah, go. That’s your call. I’m not your boss, God is. If it’s OK between you and God, go tell ‘em bye.” (3) “Yeah. Go. You have no idea what lies ahead for you or how far from home you’re about to feel. So you’d better go and talk to them while you can.”
Hebrew is great like that – maybe the reason so many Jewish comedians and Jewish moms communicate with questions that leave you to draw conclusions. (“What’s the deal with Goy pastors talking about Hebrew?” or
“What, would it be too much trouble to call your mother?”)
So I read this and I think. “Yep. Way to think, Laura. It’s the only way to be.” Yet I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.
What, that’s not what I’m supposed to say?
Frodo the Hobbit did what few Hobbits did. He had an adventure, like his uncle Bilbo. It was wonderful, powerful, beneficial in ways few could appreciate … and terrifying, exhausting, and costly in ways even fewer could appreciate.
Thinking of Matthew 16.24, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” Living life that way is free and powerful – you’re totally disconnected from so many things that bind (and support) us otherwise. People like that, who have lost themselves for something greater than themselves, truly live and truly bless the world – as Jesus did himself. But it’s not glamorous. It’s not even pain-free. It may not even be “effective”. At best, we or others might recognize a benefit in living that way sometime after the fact. But very, very rarely in the moment itself.
One last thought. To embrace risk, to invest in it, does actually cost something. I’m not just talking about weighty, spiritual risk. Any time we choose one direction, particularly a less certain one, we are leaving something behind. We are accepting that some things – things (and maybe people) we love now have an uncertain, unpredictable place with us. And the meaning of that doesn’t dawn on us for a long time.
“Go back. What have I done to you?”
Steve – sooooo good thank you for that. I’ve been chewing on it for a little bit too. Hearing your perspective is awesome because I know where you guys have been and how many different journeys you’ve been on. And you’re right – most of the time we don’t see the beauty of what God has done until much later. And a lot of times on these so called adventures (which truly just mean giving up everything to follow Jesus) it’s one foot in front of the other which can be not only monotonous but highly frustrating. That can stir up all kinds of things in us which to be honest is just as if not more important than the end result. And seeing God’s perspective is absolutely vital but most times it’s a real struggle to get there. I think I’m in a place right now where I’m excited for the future after having been in a season I’ve not been so fond of. It is scary because I see great risks, pain, lots of change but I know God will lead us to a good place. Hopefully I’m being realistic about what that entails. I do feel very ready and pumped really ready to let go of things and move forward. Will it look the way I expect? I’m sure it won’t! It never does, but I think God gave me these analogies that I mentioned to show me he is good and that trusting him means we get to truly live. And you’re right – the journey may sound glamorous but it’s very unglamorous.
I laughed over your comments on the Hebrew language and the use of questioning. “What’s the deal with airline food?” The tradition of answering questions with questions has definitely been handed down in Jewish culture. I read ‘The Chosen’ not too long ago and learned about pilpul – I’m sure you’re familiar. Just the deep investigating, questioning, probing especially in Talmudic study. Very interesting. My friend Alexis gave me this joke about it. An Example of Pilpul….Student: “Rabbi, why do the Jews always answer a question with a question?” Rabbi: “Why do you ask?” Her mom (who completely rules) is always saying “Who lives like that?” She loves watching shows like Hoarders and Clean House. We’ve adopted the saying.
So yes, I agree. Thank you for your perspective. And it seems you’re on an adventure now – how’s that working out for you? Who lives like that?
I also want to point out that I think it’s very important to dream with God. Not to become cynical – which I must admit I’ve been. Cynical has been my bread and butter. I’m excited to start dreaming again. I’ve limited him so much by not dreaming so I think he’s opening me up to that again.
Hey! Which sentence did you mean? Wasn’t sure – probably b/c I’ve read it so many times.
oooo I LOVE this. Love that you guys are dreaming and you’re getting excited for what’s to come.
I feel like the Lord is taking me on this long painful journey and I’m experiencing the pain of Him being “not safe, but good.” And experiencing what it means that my original faith has failed and re-learning what it means that He is a God of love and mercy and rebirth and the old has gone and the new has come.
The new has come.
This is my year of living “fearless” and I feel like I’m feeling that. That unbalanced but good trust in Him and in What He brings to the table…..
….and I LOVE that movie!!
In the end, though, time is short. And we can regret things we didn’t do as well as things we did … In the end, I Suzanne and I don’t regret choosing risky paths. Can’t lie – sometimes you fall. But sometimes you don’t! Either way the view is better.
Where to start…..
1. I LOVE Stranger Than Fiction.
2. We are in a time right now where we are taking some major risks with God. It is both uncomfortable and thrilling at the same time. I will have to email you with the details, but we are jumping off a spiritual cliff right now so this really spoke to me.