Fireproof

The movie Fireproof certainly is popular these days. It seems like everyone is talking about it, watching it, doing bible studies based on it, buying the dvd, etc. Tonight, my small group is watching it together. 

I actually rented this movie a month or so ago and watched it, on my sofa...alone. Now, I'm pretty particular, some might say critical, when it comes to movies. If a movie takes itself seriously, pulls out its soap box, thinks it has something to say, well, I expect the movie to say it with no excuses...and not fudge on the actual making of the movie in doing so. I expect actors to be able to act, and act well since I am paying to see them perform "their craft". I expect the writers to provide pleasing, effective, poignant dialogue as opposed to trite and predictable drama club fare. I also expect the movie to feel real, not forced for effect or overdone. I expect to leave entertained, not annoyed...having my thoughts and or emotions provoked, not manipulated.

As I said...I'm particular.

I am particularly particular when it comes to Christian movies. I don't really like the whole ideology of providing christian surrogates for all modern forms of media, or for using movies to mold and shape and influence popular thought, in general. But, if a Christian group is going to produce a movie, I want it to be an excellent one. Typically, though, it is a cheesy one. And, typically, the "message" is seriously diluted. Modern movie makes are not afraid to be in your face about their thoughts on romance, sex, race, prejudice, gender, violence, crime, drugs, parenthood, abuse, religion, or the president, so why should Christians? Why should we soften the message that should be at the heart of what we do? Why should we have to make our messages more palatable? Why should we not say "Jesus" when other movies use His name as a swear word, and use any other word they choose, as often as they choose? Why should we have to turn down the volume? 

I submit that in trying so hard to seem normal and inoffensive, we lose what would make these efforts seem more authentic, more meaningful, more powerful...and decidedly less cheesy.

Some might argue that the budgets aren't there to produce the types of quality movies my particular tastes require. I would say that talent and heart and faithfulness to the message of Christ doesn't have anything to do with money.

Thus endeth my rant.

All that said, though, tonight, my main concern isn't so much the cheese factor as it is my own heart. There is only so much romance a single lady with no prospects can be subjected to, and I have found the need to ration myself pretty severely.  Pray for me.

Finally, a confession...cheesy, movie of the week though it was...I sobbed at the end of Fireproof.  I also cried at the end of High School Musical 3. True story.

Quote

Your worst days are never so bad that you are beyond the reach of God’s grace, nor are your best days ever so good that you are beyond the need of it. - Jerry Bridges

We Do Not Fight Alone.

THROUGH the night of doubt and sorrow

Onward goes the pilgrim band,

Singing songs of expectation,

Marching to the promised land.

Clear before us through the darkness

Gleams and burns the guiding light;

Brother clasps the hand of brother,

Stepping fearless through the night.

--BERNARD S. INGEMANN

WE fight not for ourselves alone. These are they--our brethren--the cloud wherewith we walk encompassed; it is for them that we wrestle through the long night; they count on the strength that we might bring them, if we so wrestle that we prevail. The morning that follows the night of our lonely trial would, if we be faithful, find us new men, with a new name of help, and of promise, and of comfort, in the memory of which others would endure bravely, and fight as we had fought. Oh! turn to God in fear, lest through hidden disloyalty we have not a cup of cold water to give those who turn to us for succor in their sore need! --HENRY SCOTT HOLLAND

Romantic Feelings

Tall.

Rich.

Smooth.

Dee-licious. (swoon)

Beads of sweat glistening under the florescent glow of my office lights. (swoon, again)

I gaze, longingly. My breath catches in my throat. My lips draw nearer, nearer, nearer...to the edge of the cup...and I drink. I love. I am satisfied.

Coffee is the love of my life.

As a single woman in my late 30's, I'll take what I can get. Please don't judge me!

Thank you.

A Song and Not a Sigh

On my birthday, the Lord gave me a verse: "The Lord will provide." (Gen 22:14) The verse comes near the end of the story of Abraham and Isaac, after Abraham has laid his son on the altar and God spares his life. "The Lord will provide" is what Abraham named that place, for God had provided an offering, and spared Abraham from sacrificing what he cherished most in this world...his hope for his future and the fulfillment of what He believed God had promised him.

In the weeks preceeding my birthday, this passage of scripture came to mind often, along with a sense that my own most cherished hope for my future - marriage - also needed to be put on the altar. It has become more and more evident to me that my desire for marriage, my certainty that it is coming, my insistent and, at times, burdensome, hope that it will soon be reality and my devotion to God cannot co-exist. Something has to die.

As I've waited, though, something has been dying. My confidence in God to give good things, to hear and answer prayer, to bless those who are called by His name, to satisfy our souls has withered and has long been languishing on this bed of despair called "singleness". Because of this one thing, this one hope, this one dream, this one expectation, this one desire - which is neither promised or guaranteed or necessary - my view of God has become small and a bit resentful.

So, like Abraham, I've tied my future hope and joy to a person and not to God. Abraham had his son, mine is a phantom, but it is nonetheless wrong, sinful, and faithless. When God led Abraham up to the killing stone, he was saying "Isaac is not the fulfillment of my promises and purpose for your life...I am." Had God not provided a ram in a thicket that day, he would have provided another offspring...His promise to Abraham would have been just as sure.

God hasn't promised me marriage. He has promised me Himself, peace beyond understanding, joy unspeakable, a very present and constant help, and all things necessary for life and godliness. I keep insisting on putting "marriage" in that list of "all things". I keep insisting that God must fulfill this "desire of my heart". But the truth is, he doesn't. He may not. He has not. And that is what I am left with now. Thus far, God has said "no" to marriage for me, but He has promised that He will provide, that He will not withhold any good thing from me, and that He will never leave nor forsake me.

I am single. I am not forsaken. Now to the living...

As with any death, there is grief. Though this is "just" the death of a hope or dream, the grief is no less real. My tears are real. The heavy, squeezing and rending of my heart is real. But God...

Yesterday morning, in my quiet time with the Lord (my first in a while) he led me to a particular, and favorite, devotional book. It said: "As for God, His way is perfect. (Psalm 18:30) ...the love of God is searching...He is partiently teaching us truly to mean [this]. ...he does not hurry us, but He does wait for us...till we can look in His face and say - not with a sigh, but with a song, 'As for God, His way is perfect!' This is victory; nothing less can be called by that shining name!"

This is what I want. This is my new hope, my new dream. This is the promise I am claiming, and trusting that God will hear, and answer.

It's not such a small world, afterall

This morning, I got to work about an hour early. A few months ago, this would not have bee n noteworthy, but today, after many months of sleeping "in"...it is. Since I was early, and it is daylight savings time, I made sure I lugged my camera with me as I stepped out of the house into utter darkness this morning (if you can call it that these days) and headed to work. Our building is 4 stories high, and if you are brave enough to venture out on to the 4th floor fire escape, you can get a pretty fair view of the City's skyline. I thought the skyline + sunrise might make a nice shot.

When I arrived at work, though, it was still pretty dark and there was not a ray of sun in sight, so I went to my desk and started my normal morning routine, keeping a keen eye on the window and the soon-to-be approaching sun. As I waited, a few other people filtered in. One was a client who would be travelling to a meeting with some of our guys. As far as I can tell, he is of Indian descent. He stopped to look at a huge sat map of South Louisiana which hangs outside my office and asked one of our guys some questions about it. Hurricane Katrina came up. He didn't really know what our guy was talking about. I had to pick my chin up off of my desk.

He didn't know the levees broke.
He didn't know that 80% of the City (and burbs) flooded.
He didn't know our neighborhood was virtually underwater for weeks.

Weird.

As I grabbed my camera to head up to the dizzying heights of our building, I continued to be puzzled. Katrina was like national news forever. I talk to people regularly who still think the majority of the City is in ruins, but this guy...he had no clue.

Weird.

Then again, I can't tell you the last time a tornado swept through Kanasas, or a monsoon overtook a village in Africa or a mudslide destroyed a part of Mexico. So maybe it isn't such a small world, afterall? Maybe we tend to think our issues are bigger than they actually are? Or maybe this guy's been living under a rock?

I vote for rock. Who's with me?

The End of My Birthday Week.

When I was a kid, my birthday celebration consisted of my grandmother calling me before school and singing "Happy Birthday" to me the morning of my actual birthday, and a family party the weekend before or after. Highlights of birthdays past would be: my first slumber party (I sponge rolled my hair the night before and had a missing front tooth), the year I got Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall", the year I got my Darcy doll (think Bratz, only less skanky); it was the only gift my paternal grandmother ever bought me, and then there is this year. It was my first birthday week, ever and I think its going to become tradition for me.

My grandmother didn't call to sing me "Happy Birthday" this year on account of she's in Heaven and I can't even imagine what a long distance call would cost from there. I also didn't have a signficant other to share the day with, but let me tell you, my friends and family went all out to make sure I didn't miss that too much. Tuesday morning was filled with phone calls, texts, e-mails, facebook messages and repeated "Happy Birthday" wishes from a certain hairy young atheist who frequents my office. After that, my small group from church through me a surprise party. Over the course of the rest of the week, I had dinner with friends and capped it all of with a trip to the French Quarter with my family this weekend.

Now, when we planned the trip, I envisioned a beautiful, partly sunny day - perfect for picture taking - and all sorts of silly antics in the Quarter...most of them involving my brother, Brad, who has a penchant for making public displays. What we got was rain...and wind...and more rain. It wasn't the day I thought it would be, but we had fun, albeit it wet, muggy fun.