Thoughts after watching “Eclipse”

So it’s 2:23 in the morning, and I can’t sleep. Not until I put the crazy thoughts tumbling around inside my head down into print. I had a frenzied mental debate with myself while driving at equally frantic speeds (or so it felt to me, even though I was probably only going 60 most of the time) on the freeway, coming home from the movie theatre where some coworker friends and I had just seen “Eclipse,” the 3rd movie installment of the Twilight series. The main question running through my mind, the one that sparked this whole internal argument, was this:

Why would Bella choose Edward over Jacob???

You don’t have to know much about the movie to follow my logic on this. My argument for Jacob being the better choice was simple, and based so much on normal standards of society: with Jacob, Bella could stay completely human, would never have to leave her friends and family, could live a normal life, would have the acceptance of others in the community and would be with someone who loved her, cared about her and would protect her, no matter what. With Edward, she would give up her friends and family, give up any semblance of a normal life and would even cease to be human, just so she could be with him forever. Why would she choose such a thing, I wondered…Jacob is the obvious, logical choice.

And then this thought occurred to me: whoa. Wait a minute. Look at me. Look at the choice I’ve made. Even though it’s only a movie, and a highly illogical, fantastical, far-fetched type of movie at that, wouldn’t I be acting hypocritical if I judged the main character of this movie and wrote her off as a foolish, love-struck teen for making an impractical choice based on love, when I, in essence, have done the exact same thing?

Okay, so maybe not the exact same thing. I don’t have to give up my humanity to love the man I’m with. On the contrary, I think I’m becoming more in touch with it every day. But I faced rejection and potential abandonment by my friends and family when I told them of the choice I’ve made, to be with a man 30 years my senior. I’m blessed to have wonderful, accepting loved ones who have not left me, and many who have stayed with me closely enough to realize that my choice has had a truly positive impact on me and my life in general. But I know at least one who will probably never accept this decision, especially once I marry this man, and there may be others down the line. This is a risk I’ll have to take. I can’t force anyone to accept me or the choices I make, but I am the one who will have to live with the consequences of these choices day by day.

The acceptance of society has never been a big deal for me. I don’t care if society at large accepts what I do or who I am. I am who I am and society will never change that. There will always be people who stop and stare or give strange looks; there will always be people who make rude comments. These I can brush off without any real effort.

I could be with someone who’s young, someone closer to my age. I could grow old with this person, raise a family with this person, experience life with this person…and forever live with the regret that would come from letting go of someone I truly love with all my heart. Anything worth having always comes at some sort of price. And the “price” I pay to be with this man is honestly tiny compared to the joy and peace that come from having him in my life. All the happiness and sorrow we’ve experienced together, the confidence he’s instilled in my soul that’s helped me overcome countless obstacles, the love and devotion I see in his eyes, the way he’s the first one I run to when I’m in any kind of pain and the way he eases it for me with just a touch and a word, the contentment and sense of completeness I feel just from having him in the same room with me…all of this is how I know. God made him for me, as bizarre as it may seem at first glance. Yes, there are moments he drives me crazy (in both good and bad ways). Yes, there are times when I’m so angry at him I could scream (thankfully, few and far between), but then that first flicker of pain and sadness appears in his eyes and I can’t possibly be angry any longer. Choosing to say goodbye to him would be like choosing to stop breathing. I don’t think I could ever do it, and I don’t want to. The day of our wedding will be one of the happiest days of my life; I don’t need to be able to see the future to know this already.

Provided life takes its natural course, I will outlive him. The day I lose him will be almost impossible for me to bear. The grief and loss will be overwhelming. I hope we’re able to have a child that will outlive both of us, but I hate to think of how badly the child will take it when his/her father passes. Hopefully he or she will be grown up by then, but even still, the pain will be horrible. It’s not fair that we love each other and yet will not have as many years to spend together as many couples do. But then again, what can really be called fair in this world? It’s better that we found each other now, despite the age difference, than if we’d never found each other at all. The grief I’ll suffer while watching him grow old and approach death will be bearable because of his love that I’ll have every day of my life, even after he’s gone. He’ll live on in my memory and in the memory of his children, until the day we meet again in the afterlife… I believe he’ll find a way to wait for me up there. Death isn’t the end; I refuse to believe that. Instead, it will be the beginning of a brand new journey, one that no longer has to end.

So why did Bella choose Edward? Because she loved him. More than she loved Jacob. More than she loved anyone. And she’s only a fictional character. Odd, that she could help me affirm something about myself. I knew this all along…guess it just took some weirdly attractive vampires and werewolves to help me remember.

Dreams

So anyone who knows me can vouch for this: I have had some crazy dreams so far in my life! Ranging from my mother turning into a ball of fire and attacking me to my boyfriend’s deceased mother fixing me crackers and cheese to Oh Holy Faddah (if you don’t know about this one, it’s probably better that way, and if you do, well, you’re probably laughing pretty hard at the moment, so that’s a good thing ), my dreams have been quite eventful, some disturbing and some just plain hilarious.

Some psychologists/psychiatrists interpret dreams. And any of them who would attempt to analyze mine would probably have a field day, especially the two that I’ve had over the past two nights. Any budding psychologists out there who read my blog, feel free to psychoanalyze if you wish (I think there’s only one person who reads my blog at the moment…hmm, I wonder who that is… ):

Last night’s dream: I was getting married, to my current boyfriend, who, as most people know, is considerably older than I am. And my parents, both of whom know him and like him but don’t fully know about our status as a couple yet, were both there and fawning all over him. I mean, like, schmoozing with the guy like you wouldn’t believe. And completely ignoring me. Which wasn’t really unpleasant, considering that my mother doesn’t talk to me now as it is, and it’s probably healthier that way. But it was definitely weird. Especially since I think my mother’s probably going to flip her lid in real life when she realizes that I plan to marry this man.

The dream from the night before was much worse: my boyfriend’s most recent ex was teaching a class that I was attending with a bunch of people I know, but I can’t remember who any of them were. I’m not even sure that it was his ex, because I don’t really know her, but it looked like her and sounded like her, so in my mind that’s who it was. And she’s not a teacher so that makes it even weirder. And she had all these crazy rules and demands we had to follow, like Mrs. Spear but ten times worse and much more cruel and uncaring (again, if you don’t know who that is, don’t worry about it; she’s an awesome high school English teacher), and she had a plot to kill each of us off if we didn’t follow her rules to the T. So I formed a plan to go to the authorities about her and try to report her, and we had to try to get to this other professor’s house before it was too late. I think she was going to kill my parents, and I couldn’t tell my boyfriend or anyone I cared about who wasn’t in the class because she would kill them too if they found out (why I don’t know, it’s a dream, just go with it ). And I woke up not knowing whether or not I had been successful.

Yeah. Suffice it to say, I haven’t had much sleep the past few nights, at least, not much sleep that one could call RESTFUL, lol. I have no idea what these dreams mean. Insecurity over my parents and fear over my relationship not being approved of, I guess. Rejection by my family and my boyfriend’s family. Probably unpleasant after-effects from watching The Secret Window (horrible movie, I do NOT recommend it, although the plot twist was okay, but just sick and twisted), where a guy goes crazy and murders his ex-wife and her new boyfriend. Other than that, I have no idea, since my relationship is solid, healthy and going extremely well overall, and I’m not really emotional about the lack of contact with my mother. But I really need to get some sleep tonight, so I’m hoping that I don’t dream, or if I do, I have just pleasant, calm, halfway normal dreams. But, given my track record, that’s quite unlikely…

In God’s Hands?

So an interesting conversation with a coworker friend of mine has led me to some questions about faith in general. We went off on a tangent about diagnostic tests for cancer and other diseases, and he made the comment that he doesn’t believe in most of those tests and wouldn’t have them done. He also said that his father is 65, had quintuple-bypass surgery on his heart, and is still living, all without having had many invasive tests done. But why wouldn’t you want to get checked out, I asked him, so that you could catch a disease like cancer in time, before it spreads too far? The sooner cancer is detected, the sooner doctors can do something about it, and a full recovery is more likely.

But his answer was something like this: it’s all in God’s hands. God decides when we’re going to live and when we’re going to die. If God wants you to live, you’re going to live, regardless of what disease you may have contracted. And if God has decided that your time is up, all the medical procedures in the world aren’t going to save you. He cited examples of people suffering from AIDS who have miraculously lived for 30 or 40 years with the disease, or people with cancer who have had tumors one day and awakened the next day to find the tumors completely gone.

I’d never really thought of it that way before. I believe in God and I believe there’s a final purpose to our lives and when we live and die, but I’ve always been a firm believer in “God helps those who help themselves.” There’s a story about the man who dies in a flood after turning down help from people in several boats and a helicopter, telling the would-be rescuers that he’s waiting on God, only to have God say to him when he gets to heaven: “I sent you two boats and a helicopter! What were you waiting for??” In my opinion, diagnostic testing is available as a way that God helps us help ourselves, and if we don’t make use of it, we’re turning down a way that He’s given us to help ourselves live better, fuller lives. But in the same sense, I can see my coworker’s perspective: maybe our time is already predetermined, and we can’t do anything to change it. But what if God allows us to have an effect on when and how we die? Then wouldn’t refusing medical testing be a foolish and arrogant behavior? Interesting questions to ponder. Thankfully, right now I’m in good health and don’t need a lot of invasive testing. But when I can afford it and need them, I think I’ll get those tests done. Being able to afford it, well…that’s another story altogether.

Sometimes Darkness Holds Only Bubbles

Have you ever looked for something in the dark, only to discover that it wasn’t in the last place you saw it? Or reached for something in the dark that you thought was one thing, only to find out that it wasn’t what you thought it was at all? There’s a reason why darkness can be so terrifying- it covers our eyes so that our perceptions are skewed, and our senses perceive things differently than during the daylight hours.

Walking with my best friend Rachel the other night, at around 12:30 or 1 in the morning (yes, I know…we’re kinda crazy!) led to some interesting experiences and revelations, the most eye-opening of which was when we came up to the river (Paint Creek; it runs through and around my apartment complex) and stood by the edge, looking down. Rachel got down near the ground and ran her hand in the water. I thought this was quite brave, considering how it was pitch black outside and we really couldn’t see what was in the water; there could have been fish down there! I looked down and watched what I thought were little white objects floating by- I couldn’t tell if they were fish or pieces of debris or what they were. Rachel noticed them too, and encouraged me to reach down and pick one up. I was nervous at first, afraid that the objects might be fish with sharp teeth, but since she’d already put her hand in the water with no ill effects, and since I didn’t want her to think I was a chicken, I did it- and found that the objects weren’t really solid at all, just bubbles from the river’s motion floating by. I couldn’t pick one up if I had sat there and tried all night long.

Because of the darkness, I didn’t see the bubbles for what they really were. I was afraid of them at first, even though a bubble is nothing to be afraid of. It’s ridiculous to be afraid of something that can’t hurt you in any way, but if you’re not able to see it for what it really is, then fear is a natural byproduct of that uncertainty.

Isn’t that the truth for so many of life’s problems? Sometimes we see our problems and issues as insurmountable obstacles that hold us down and keep us trapped in the darkness of fear and doubt. If we would just break a problem down into smaller, more manageable goals, and try to see it as simply a challenge to meet rather than an obstacle that holds us back, maybe we wouldn’t be afraid any longer, because we would be able to see the problem realistically. Finances, career choices, relationship issues; all of these problems can be broken down and tackled one step at a time. One foot in front of the other. And soon, what seemed impossible will be just one more bubble floating by on the river of our success. It’s time to come into the light and stop being afraid of bubbles!

Heaven: I Have to Believe

It’s 1 am on a Tuesday night (well, Wednesday morning, if you want to get technical) and I’m finally writing my first blog post, mostly because I’m recovering from a cold, am tired of studying for tomorrow’s psychology exam, and slept 14 hours from yesterday to today… not quite ready for sleep just yet. And, just as a side note, liquid DayQuil tastes incredibly nasty…

So, on to the topic that I’ve been thinking about quite a bit over the past year, especially in the past few days: heaven. Does it really exist? What is it like? Who gets to go there? Up until about a year and a half ago, I thought I had all the answers to these questions. Heaven was a beautiful place where all our desires would come true, we would meet God, worship Christ, and live happily ever after. Christians were the only ones who got to go there. And of course it exists: the Bible told me so! For many people, this answer is probably still completely valid. And that’s okay…many times I wish I could say the same for myself. But right now, I just don’t know the answer to those questions anymore, and maybe I never will.

When I was a small child, I didn’t think about God or heaven or the afterlife. My parents were the “gods” in my life, and as long as I behaved myself and did as they said, life was pleasant and there were no worries. I was a happy kid; I was smart, I had friends, lots of toys, food, clothing, a nice roof over my head in a bustling middle-class neighborhood, everything a child could desire. Then when I was around 7 years old, a strange thing happened: I started becoming curious about death. What it was, where we went when we died, what it would feel like…I began to obsess over this idea of death, having crying spells late at night, refusing to go to school because I didn’t want to be separated from my mother, becoming so depressed whenever we drove past a cemetery that my mother had to plan alternate, cemetery-free routes whenever we went out… it was pretty bad. I remember my dad trying to comfort me, telling me there were all kinds of toys to play with in heaven, but the grave, somber way that he and my mother approached the topic made me feel sure that death was not in any way a good thing, and the fact that I was going to unavoidably die someday really scared me. It wasn’t until some years later that I let this go and overcame most of this fear of death, when I began seriously practicing the Christian faith.

As a young Christian, practicing both the Baptist and Catholic traditions (my mother was Catholic and had me baptized and confirmed Catholic, and my best friend Rachel’s family is Baptist; I spent a great deal of time with them and became a part of their church), I was fearless. I felt that God was in control, that I was a friend of Christ, and that my life had an ultimate purpose. I no longer feared how I would die; I knew I was headed to heaven. I feared for the lives of all the unconverted, especially my parents, whom I felt were really not practicing the Christian faith enough to be “saved.” I wanted to save the world, one lost soul at a time. I read the Bible and other religious texts for hours each day, prayed fervently to God in my head or in a journal I kept, led a Bible study in high school and was an active member of my church’s youth group, and later joined campus ministry groups at OU that I remained active in throughout my freshmen and sophomore years. I was on fire for Christ.

Then, another strange thing happened: that fire inside me just died. I met many people at my job and at my school who didn’t feel the same way I did about this whole Christian thing. Some were members of different faiths who felt as strongly about their faith as I had about mine. Some were simply open-minded and didn’t want to align themselves with one particular religious faith over another. And a few were people that religions, especially Christianity, often shunned or pointed the finger at: gays, lesbians, drug users, sexual deviants. These people that I met weren’t evil or immoral; they weren’t the minions of Satan that I once may have believed them to be. All of them were, and are, real, beautiful human beings with flaws as well as strengths, and when I saw them for what they were, my faith, built on so insecure a foundation, simply crumbled.

I could not, and cannot, believe that all these beautiful people were headed straight for hell because they do not profess Jesus Christ as Lord. I can’t believe that anymore. I know it says it in the Bible: “no one comes to the Father but through me.” I’ve read the verses; I know what they say. I don’t know equally well what the Koran says, or what the writings of Buddha or the great Hindu texts say, but I’m sure they have similar calls to faith. And I admire and somewhat envy my brothers and sisters of all religious faiths who live and die by the convictions and words so eloquently stated in these holy texts. To some degree, I still have faith: I believe in God, the creator of the universe, and I believe that God is love and that this divine love is manifest throughout Creation. God is such a great artist; all the colors, all the beauty, all the diversity. And yet, through all of this diversity, did God decide that all people should believe in only one solitary path through which they could get to Him? Did the creator of all things strange and wonderful really intend for Christ to be the only way to Heaven? Maybe so, and if so, forgive my doubts, Lord, but I just don’t know how to reconcile what I’ve seen and learned with the fervent faith that I once had. I don’t even know what I believe anymore, and I don’t know how to find the answers. I know that when I’m out in nature and I feel the quiet stillness of the spring woods envelop me, I feel a life force, greater than anything I’ve ever known, and a peace that transcends all understanding: this is God, I’m sure of it. And sometimes I speak to him, and I swear I feel his presence in my heart. But am I going to hell for not being sure that Jesus Christ is the only son of God and the only way to heaven? Are my non-believing friends going to hell? I don’t know… I just don’t know.

As for heaven, though, I have to believe that Heaven is real. I have to. Remember how I talked about being so afraid of death as a child? Well, that old fear has returned…not for myself, but for those I love. I can’t stop thinking about how lost I’ll feel when some of the people I love the most, some who are in their 50′s and beyond, pass away. I think about my grandma and my uncle, two people that I loved dearly, who have already passed beyond the grave. Where are they now, I wonder? I can’t bear the thought of losing these people who have meant so much to me in life. I can’t bear the thought that death is the final end, that we all pass into some great black abyss of nothingness from which we’ll never return. There is so much beauty, so much wonder, so much power in life and love that death just can’t tear away from us…the very idea just isn’t right, just isn’t fair. All the losses we have to endure; they would be unbearable without the hope that someday we’ll see our loved ones again. I don’t know how I’ll go on without this belief. I have to believe that there’s something more at the end of this life. I have to believe that love lives on. Without this belief, then truly, what’s the point? Life isn’t meaningless; I won’t believe that. There is a purpose to all this, and whatever faith I choose, whatever hope I find that I can hold onto, someday I’ll know the answers that have eluded me thus far…and hopefully, when that day comes, I’ll be nestled safe and sound in the arms of the ones I love, never to be separated again.