Of Course She's Broken

    In John Eldredge's "The Way of the Wild Heart," he makes this curious observation:  

   "I can't think of a young couple whom I've either married or become acquainted with early in their marriage where the young man did not find himself suddenly and often deeply in a battle for his wife.  And these are good people, quality young men and women who love God.  The great surprise is that she is broken.  Often her brokenness will remain hidden until she becomes engaged, or married, and then wham--it all comes out.  Why is that?  You'd think that now that she is safe, now that she knows she's loved, she would be in a better place.  But that's just it--now that she is safe and loved, her soul can quit pushing it all down.  Before she is pursued and wanted, she fears that she cannot be herself or no man will want her.  Now that she is loved, her heart comes forth and with it the sorrow of her life."

   John Eldredge, man.  He really gets it.

   Incidentally, I wonder when it'll be okay for the Church to start teaching on Biblical Masculinity and Femininity again.  I think everyone's squeamish to try it ever since the Purity Culture movement.  But today I'd like to zero in on the concept Eldredge was explaining: 
  

   "The great surprise is that she is broken."  

   I don't have any personal experience to relate here, but I've picked up on it in the culture.  I've seen this in young bucks, real or parodied, who commit to a girl and brag on her to their friends. 

   "Dude, I'm dating this girl, and she's like, awesome!  She's actually chill!  I know!  I couldn't believe it either, but she's like smart and chill!  There's no drama at all!"  

   And then the first time she cries in front of him he's completely taken aback.  Maybe she had a spat with her family, or her best friend blew her off, or she had a hard day at work, maybe someone close to her is in the hospital, or maybe just the quiet despair of everyday life that's been building on her shoulders for the past seven weeks just suddenly brims over at the tiniest provocation.  She starts crying, and the boy does not understand why.  He's wrong-footed and awkward and doesn't know how to respond.  

   I'm trying to see it from his perspective, too.  Guys don't connect the dots as quickly between our steps of reasoning, and hey, I understand the frustration of seeing a problem and not having the tools to solve it.  To them, I'm sure it sounds bizarre when we get mad at their attempts to fix what's wrong.  Communication on both sides is needed in such situations.  The lady will need to patiently explain her line of reasoning and/or more of the contributing factors that led to the waterworks.  The man will need to be patient and calm in the moment, offer comfort, and listen to her explanation in order to understand the "code," if you will, of her thinking process for future use. 

   That's just classic differences between men and women.  Troublesome, yes, but not uncommon.  It doesn't have to be insurmountable.

   But...all the same, I suspect that far too often once a woman shows that side of herself to a man, he feels a sort of grudge against her.  Whether he articulates it or not, I wonder if there isn't usually a sentiment on his part that boils down to: "I've been taken in"?  

   "What happened to the rational, level-headed, chill woman I thought she was?  Was she just lying to me the whole time?"  

   Or, as one man of my acquaintance infuriatingly put it, "All the crazy started coming out--and that's when I leave 'em!"  

   Of course she's broken.  

   How could she not be?    

   If she was lucky enough not to have suffered from a violent or passive father, she is having a terrible time trying to find a good man who will treat her as well as her father taught her to expect.   

   This world has lied to her with its ruthless propaganda and confusing, conflicting messages.  

   "You are strong and independent!  You shouldn't expect anyone to take care of you!  If you want that you are weak!" 

   "A woman can choose to be whatever she wants to be.  But just not a stay-at-home mom.  What are you, some kind of spineless slave?"  

   "You have to be sexy in order to keep a man interested."  

   "You can do it all!" 

   How about the ideals of femininity shown to us?  You need to be tall, have lustrous, perfect long hair, be slim as a model, have flawless skin, have the muscles and flexibility of a gymnast, expensive clothes, and have a cutting-edge career, or you aren’t worthy of love.

   Every woman in America is bombarded by these messages continually.  All the actresses in shows and movies appear flawless, incandescently beautiful.  In her heart she knows she can't compete.  

   That's only the culture, the outside.  Every woman has her own story, things she was told and believed as a little girl.  Each one has stories to tell of rejection, loneliness, and griefs that formed deep wounds on her heart.  All of us have our insecurities, those places of deep hurt that we guard jealously, terrified of them being used against us.  

   Feminists today are particularly good at that.  They hate the weaknesses and wounds that are within their hearts, so they do everything they can to smother and hide them.  It's their way of dealing with the suffering of life.  

   Men don’t have it any easier, either.  Today men are being told that masculinity is evil--anything that even smells of masculinity is therefore, (to use their term) "toxic."  

   “Men shouldn't be assertive--you sexist pig!” 

   “Men should never get the slightest bit angry--you potential rapist!” 

   “Men should never do anything risky--you idiot!” 

   “Men shouldn't be goal-oriented--you greedy, power-hungry control-freak!”

   “Men shouldn't like beer and sports--you ignorant, inbred hick!”  

   “Men shouldn't protect women--I don't NEED your help, you misogynistic freak!”

   “Men shouldn't be chivalrous!--you creep, all you want is to make me feel like I owe you something!  No thanks, pervert!”

   Men aren't allowed to be men.  Women aren't supposed to be women.  And again, that's only this culture we live in!  Who knows what each person's individual story is like?  Maybe he was beaten by his father, or maybe she was abused by hers.  Maybe his dad never spent time with him; maybe her father told her she was fat and stupid.  

   

   Or...what about people like me?  What about us girls--and boys--that were called by the Lord at a young age, who grew up in the church, choosing the things of the Lord over the values of the culture? 

   The truth is, nobody takes you very seriously if you grew up in a loving Christian home.  How do you share your testimony when there is no dramatic story to tell?  What’s worse, how do you share your testimony to unbelievers when most of your wounds were given at the hands of well-meaning Christians? People who loved you, just imperfectly. 

   I grew up thinking that I couldn't go to anyone for help when life overwhelmed me.  I saw wayward kids being disciplined, and decided they needed more attention than me.  When kids pulled stunts or flagrantly broke rules for whatever reason, all the adults rushed to help them.  I knew better than to do things like that, so I just…didn’t. 

   I grew up without friends, often discouraged, feeling lost and adrift.  I felt existential dread about time slipping away from me, and relentless guilt for not knowing what I was supposed to do with my life.  Since I was so used to smothering my dreams and desires, I had no vision or goals for my future.  And I couldn’t tell anyone about it, because I was supposed to have it figured out already!  It felt like asking for help once the deadline had already passed. 

   All through my childhood and teenage years I had recurring nightmares where killers relentlessly chased me and I could barely run.  I would try to scream, but my voice was gone.  I couldn’t fight, either; my limbs were too heavy.  Eventually my strength would give out, and just as they got me, my body would give a jolt that woke me up.  I’m convinced I had those dreams because I felt helpless and scared all the time.  Every waking moment I was plagued by an oversensitive conscience that wouldn't stop showing me my sin in every little word and action.  I couldn’t fight against that. Nor was there any rest, any comfort, or any rescue. 

   What about us church kids who grew up with everyone assuming we were fine?  We can't tell our stories without seeming ungrateful for all the blessings we were given.

   Don’t misunderstand me; I am deeply grateful for the legacy I have been given, and I desire to give back to those who invested in me. I did not try to do the right things to earn some kind of gold status with God. Neither did I obey to keep up appearances. I chose the Way of Wisdom because I loved God and wanted to obey Him. 

   I did not make wise decisions for an easy life or for rewards. I obeyed out of love…and out of fear that God found me as tiresome as I found myself. I just wanted to obey God and forsake my sins, of which I saw in great number every day. I was terrified that I would prove myself unfaithful to His love. 

   There is no escaping the tragedy of life. Even within the very path of Wisdom, protected in church, called to true repentance as a small child, you can still grow up frightened and starving for comfort. Everyone assumes you’re fine. Authorities rely on you to be a good example to others, and you don’t want to let them down. You don’t obey for praise and rewards, and yet you can’t quite squelch the desire to be praised by the authorities that you’re trying so hard to please. You see others being praised for repenting, and even as you rejoice with them, in the back of your mind you wish somebody would remember that you also work hard to do the right thing. 

   That may sound like the prodigal son’s older brother, but it isn’t. When you desperately desire to please your parents, your teachers, and your God, it is right to hope for displays of their approval. Say a child makes a handmade craft for his mom. We wouldn’t call him prideful if he’s hoping she’ll be surprised and delighted by it, would we? 

   The trouble is, most people don’t notice when things go right. They are usually distracted by preparing for the next thing to go wrong. Even the most well-intentioned Christian lets blessings go unthanked sometimes. It is our nature. 

   Now, if I had asked for approval in any way, that would have been prideful; “fishing for a compliment,” was what it was called in my home.  Even if they had praised me (after looking at me askance for calling attention to my virtue), the praise wouldn’t mean anything. Praise means little when it has to be prompted. 

   I don’t have children of my own, but I would warn every parent that you must praise children and reward them in ways that they will understand. I don’t mean bribery.  I mean telling them that you saw and that you were delighted by their choice. I mean enthusiastic words with no qualifiers attached, or hugs, or making time just for them.  Give comfort when they are discouraged, don’t just tell them to cheer up or toughen up.  Show some grace when they try at all, not just when they do it exactly the way you do it.  Whatever their love language is, learn how to speak it to them. Don’t just assume that your top love language will communicate it to them. 

   As it so happens, to this day I find it hard to ask for approval or even comfort.  My default setting is to look for what others need me to be, and try to be that for them.  After all, how do you ask for help when you know most people have it worse? How can you ask for comfort from the very ones who are always stretched to the limit  giving intense counsel to wayward folks in the church? 

   It turns out that I’m exceptionally good at hiding my weaknesses, burdens, and griefs from everyone around me. And I admit, I’m scared about what would happen if people knew that about me. What if they find out how broken and needy I am on the inside? 

   That’s why I’m incensed when boys are surprised when they discover that a girl is broken. 

   Of course she’s broken.

   Of course I’m broken. 

   How could I not be? 

~Cadenza

A Lament for Eternal Summer

   Traditionally Summer is the season of fulfillment, maturity, the height of the earth’s glory. But I have not found it so. 

   Summer is traditionally the season of romance. It was certainly designed to be so. The balmy evenings, the crickets’ serenade, the gleanings of the fireflies within the shadows of the trees. It’s the backdrop for romance. Just never for me. 

   They say Spring is new birth, Summer is fullness, Autumn is the melancholy of letting go, and Winter is Death…but I have not found it to be so. 

   The Year is backward, inside-out, and reversed for me. 

   Spring is the heartbreak of the year. Even as it promises new beginnings it usually takes something precious from me.

   Every spring, while the earth gives birth and rejoices, I am barren and alone. Each animal finds its mate, and the lads run after the lasses. But every year without fail, I am left out of the revels. 

   Each summer reigns in its pomp, scattering its promises of eternity and fulfillment, throwing open the gates to invite every eligible maiden to the ball, but no one asks me to dance. 

   Spring brings pain. Summers are lonely. 

   Autumn has always seemed to be a joyous deliverance. Its particular flavor of magic, its childlike mystery and wonder all seemed to be whispering to me that anything could happen. Change was in the wind, strange stirrings afoot. 

   Autumn is not melancholy. Autumn is joy and abundance. 

   It seems to me that I’ve been stuck in Summer for a long, long time. Weeding and tending my garden; keeping the soil loose and watered. I watch the fruit ripening on the vines, flushed with color. I guard them, I nurture them as they grow. But somehow, the fruit never comes off the vine. I never get to enjoy the fruit of my labors. 

   My heart is not barren. There is a harvest to be gathered in. I have aging wine laid away in reserves. 

   Every Autumn I prepare a feast. I set the table, I load it with all sorts of delicacies, and I set lighted candles at the windows. And every year only a stray guest or two trickles in, takes a few bites, and wanders off again. 

   When the Autumn comes, I yearn to be a part of it. It never seems to come inside of me, somehow. 

   I see now that I have always equated romantic love with fulfillment. Why wouldn’t I? Life is about family, is it not? And as an adult, it is only natural to want to start your own. 

   Even with all that is wrong in our culture, holidays are still built around the family. And the other holidays our culture has “made a thing,” are centered around romantic love. As the Wheel turns, each season and almost every month is propelled forward by the comings and goings of the Family.  What are you to do, then, when you are no longer a child in your family, and unable to start your own? 

   To be a single person is to be continually on the outside looking in. Everyone seems so happy, and you desperately want to be happy…so you try or pretend, or both at once. It’s exhausting and heartbreaking work. You give and give of yourself to keep the fruit from rotting on the vine, and yet you are never allowed to enjoy it yourself. 

   Every year I want to move forward, but I can’t. Love is never mutual. As much as I yearn to love and be loved, no one can awaken love in me. Or if it is offered, I cannot return it. Which is a riddle that baffles my mind as it maddens my senses and enrages my sore heart. 

   “Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” (Proverbs 13:12) 

   I am doomed every year, even every month, to watch people around me passing milestones; having their desires fulfilled. I’m always left behind, sweltering in my labors, imprisoned in this eternal state of summer. 

   Summer is not supposed to last forever. 

“Once you drop an anchor, a boat gets stuck.

And it would stay forever

Just floating on top. 

Watching life pass it by

Just floating on top.

Show me how to climb back on that wheel

I’ll be there, slick as a slingshot

Prepared to get off at the end

And share with someone my spot. 

You can’t have living without dying, 

So you can’t call this living what we’ve got. 

We just are

We just be 

No before 

No beyond

A rowboat anchored in the middle of a pond.” 

(“The Wheel,” from “Tuck Everlasting.”) 

~Cadenza

Nocturne

    Nocturne.  

   There's something uniquely beautiful about that word.  Nocturne.  It rolls off the tongue and leaves a mysterious fragrance in the air.  

   Nocturne (music): "A short composition of a romantic or dreamy character suggestive of night, typically for piano." 

   Have you ever listened to a nocturne by the composer Frederic Chopin?  There's something special about their lilting rhythm that depicts moonlight on water, or of trees sighing in a soft night breeze.  Usually they're in minor keys, which I suspect is what gives them that suggestion of night-time.  They're haunting melodies, but calming and gentle.  

   I intended to make this post about lullabies.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my idea of lullabies was not what they strictly are.  I don't love too many of the lullabies I grew up with, just to be honest with you.  I never liked "Rock-a-Bye Baby," or "Hush Little Baby," all that much.  The lyrics are...weird.  And a little disturbing.  I have some good memories associated with them, but when I think of lullabies, very different sorts of things come to mind.  

   Lullabies are meant to have memorable, easy-to-sing melodies that stick in your mind.  They're written to be familiar.  Not too many crazy intervals; doesn't go too high or too low.  It's meant to be something that you hum slowly while holding a child.  Something you can rock back and forth or sway side-to-side in time with it.  My theory is that humming it can actually be more effective than singing it.  If you're holding a baby, they'll feel the vibrations of your humming through your body, and it helps soothe them. 

   Which of course are not the kinds of lullabies I like best.  I love choral lullabies, for instance, ones composed by Eric Whittacre.  The complex, changing chords, the almost indiscernible melody hidden within layers upon layers of harmony.  I find that more than soothing, I find it soul-expanding.  

   Eric Whittacre's "Seal Lullaby," is a sweet little lullaby, but it doesn't work too well with babies.  Believe me, I've tried.  But I like to listen to it when I'm in bed at night.  

   Another I love is "Sleep," also arranged by Eric Whittacre.  Or his haunting, "Water Night."  Recently I discovered a song called, "Earth Song," sung by a group called "Seraphic Fire."  All these work best with lots of voices singing harmonies, and a tired mama just doesn't have that available at 2:17 am with a fussy little one!  Hymns usually work better for that situation.  Or maybe Enya songs.  I once took care of a little one who liked me to sing "Into the West," from "The Return of the King," when I tucked her into bed each night.

   The only real reason I'm writing this post is simply to say that all the lullabies I like, instrumental or lyrical, classical, folk, or modern; they all have one thing in common.  They were all written primarily for beauty.

   In most kinds of music written today, there are many factors the composers are keeping in mind.  "Is it catchy?" is a big one.  On the radio, new songs catch our ear with an engaging "hook," that is, "a musical idea, or a short riff, passage, or phrase designed to catch the ear of the listener." 
 

   Take "Bad Romance," by Lady Gaga.  What you first hear on the radio is usually the part where the beat first drops: 

   "Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!  Rom-a-ro-mama!  Ga-ga-ooh-la-laa!  Want your bad romance!" 

    I can't believe I just typed that out.  But you're hearing it right now in your head, aren't you?  That's because it's the hook.  It's designed to catch your attention and be memorable.  And now that I've got that stuck in your head, I'm going to go back to my subject of lullabies, haha! 

   A choral lullaby, a rippling nocturne, or a dreamy movement in the middle of a symphony...the entire goal of the piece is to be beautiful.  It doesn't demand your attention, like a pop song does.  It just--lives.  It breathes, it sings.  It lifts you out of your troubles and sends you sailing out into calm waters.  There's something so refreshing, no, so healing to the human heart to be immersed in pure, unmitigated beauty.

   I can't help but feel that that is how the Night ought to be experienced.  Most children are afraid of the dark, or at least have a stretch of time when they are.  I know I certainly was.  In my mind, Darkness equaled Fear.  I had a vivid imagination, and whenever I had to walk in the dark, I kept expecting to see the glowing eyes of some demonic monster that would pounce on me and eat me.  

   I remember one night when I was about nine or ten, I got up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water.  I wasn't scared to go down the hall anymore, since my parents kept a night-light plugged in that let me see my way.  Also the picture of a strong guardian angel watching over a little boy in bed always made me feel a little better.  

   But this particular night, I saw a light on the stairs.  Usually I never looked down the stairs, but for some reason, this night I did.  I side-stepped to my left to glance down.  

   An icy chill made my body temperature drop two degrees.  I saw a white gleam of light near the bottom of the stairs, standing perfectly still.  I thought I could see a vague shape of a girl in a long nightgown looking off into the distance.  I was terrified that she'd turn around and look at me.  

   As with all my greatest terrors, I found myself frozen, voiceless, unable to move a finger.  I was old enough to think, "I cannot be seeing what I think I'm seeing.  This cannot be real.  I'm too old to think this is what I think it is."  But I didn't know what I was seeing, and that was just too uncanny.  

   I don't know how long I stood there before I realized what I was seeing.  It was the white light of streetlamp outside coming through our living room window and falling on the last three stairs to just about the right height to be mistaken for a shape.  

   A wave of relief swept over me, unfreezing me.  I blinked once or twice and wondered how I could have seen a form in it.  There were the lines from the windowpane in it.  Of course, the longer I looked at it, knowing what it was, the less it looked like anything else.  I shook myself with a shuddering sigh and went back to bed.  

   The next morning I tried to convey the horror I'd felt from the night before.  Maybe I was hoping for praise for figuring it out myself?  But in the light of common day it was a pitiful and unconvincing story.  My mother asked me blankly, "Do you believe in ghosts?"  and I felt so stupid that I never brought it up again.  

   I wish the little girl me could have experienced the Night the way I do now.  I love the glamorous trickery of moonlight, and the glinting stars in heaven are my friends.  Even when I can't see them on cloudy, windy nights, I don't mind.  It makes me want to run into it, letting the winds sweep me away.  Then the stormy ones!  The thunder that sounds like the voice of the Almighty, and the dangerous lashes of lightning across the skies, the pouring rain and the smell it releases from the earth.  And in the winter, who doesn't love a snowy night?  But, oh, the misty ones!  When the whole world is wrapped in a mysterious mantle, and all of Nature is transformed into the land of the Fae.  

   Psalm 88 is called the "Black Psalm," because of its particular bleakness.  Instead of ending in hopeful trust in the God of Israel, it ends with, "The darkness has become my intimate companion."  I think you have to walk through grief before you can make friends with the night.

   I just love Keith and Kristyn Getty's newest album, "Evensong."  It's a whole album of lullabies.  It's my go-to thing to listen to when my soul is in turmoil within me.  It just calms the storm in my heart and helps me be still.  They describe their work as an attempt to "sanctify the night."  I love that.  The idea that the Night can be washed clean of its fears, or at least looking forward to the day when it will be forevermore.  

 

~Cadenza          

Psalm 65

   This is the first balmy evening of summer.  The air is warm and heavy, occasionally stirred by a delicious, soundless breeze.  

    We all used bug spray tonight; its tangy smell permeated our Bible Study as we sat in our circle on the patio.  

   I drove home to the tune of a rippling piano and a joyous voice.  Whenever the voice went quiet I heard silvery cricket song coming from every direction.  Technically I was driving, but actually I was running on the air, running on the music...and I saw blurs of firefly lights across the darkness, like tiny shooting stars.  

   Well, hello Summer.  Nice to have you back. 

   We were studying Psalm 65 tonight, which I've read before.  But I've never seen it as an individual Psalm, if you know what I mean.  I'm familiar with the Psalms' terminology, and its refrains and themes.  But before tonight if you asked me what Psalm 65 was about, I wouldn't have had the foggiest idea.

   Psalm 65 is a sweet psalm of praise, one that is mostly about extolling God's abundant favor to men.  The first four verses establish that He is the God who hears us when we pray; that He is both willing and able to answer us.  We spent a good deal of time talking over these first verses, but I'm not going to attempt to retell all our discussion.

   No, what struck me tonight was in verses 8-13.  It's a poetic, glowing description of the world He has made and orders by His hand:

   "...You make the dawn and the sunset shout for joy.  

   You visit the earth and cause it to overflow; You greatly enrich it; the stream of God is full of water; You prepare their grain, for thus You provide the earth.

   You water its furrows abundantly, You settle its ridges, You soften it with showers, You bless its growth.

   You have crowned the year with Your bounty, and Your paths drip with fatness,

   The pastures of the wilderness drip, and the hills gird themselves with rejoicing,

   The meadows are clothed with flocks, and the valleys are covered with grain; They shout for joy, yes, they sing."  

 

   One of the personal ways my Father speaks to my heart is through His Creation.  Yet I was aware of a strange disconnect between myself and the friends around me.  I said nothing because their discussion was beautiful and useful; it was focused on God and His deeds, and why He Himself is far better to seek than the mere blessings from His hands.  

   I couldn't believe I'd never paid attention to those poetic verses before.  I could see each as a vibrant picture in my mind.  Just picturing the rain-washed fields, the golden waves of grain before the wind, the miracle of tiny green shoots pushing through the loose, rich soil--I could feel my heart swelling with admiration, and brimming over in delight.  

   Oh, it is a metaphor for God's spiritual blessings, no doubt.  But...God makes things grow, and that provides the food for our table.  It's more than a metaphor, it is part of our everyday life!

   I wanted to speak up, but what could I say?  Go off into a poetic rhapsody of my own about the marvel and mystery of nature?  That would hardly be helpful.  It might sound unhinged, or worse, that I was too preoccupied with nature to give God glory.  I just wanted to give God glory by showing them a new perspective on how He provides for us in His earth! 

   I started wondering why we are so disenchanted with this sort of imagery.  Why is it so very easy to dwell on the metaphor, or rather, one-half of the metaphor?  Surely something is lost when we can only dwell on one side of a metaphor. 

   The original audience would have been delighted at this imagery.  Grain meant life and food, and hope for next year.  They were tied to the land, they worked the land.  How do we experience food?  Well, we go to the store.  Maybe we are delighted by the piles of produce in their crates.  We see bread and cheese and milk and eggs sealed in plastic or styrofoam.  And we see these in displays of plastic and glass, in an indoor, air-conditioned, man-built building.  Ah...now it begins to make sense.  

   We experience the delight of hot water from our taps and shower heads.  We experience the delightful plunge of cold water in man-made swimming holes of tile and concrete, filled with clean (or at least clear) water.  

   We buy our clothes already made; flocks and shearing, spinning and weaving mean nothing to us.  When we experience the outdoors, it is the brief walk between our air-conditioned building, over concrete and asphalt to our air-conditioned cars.  Then we weave through traffic and dust on more asphalt roads past our decaying buildings and gaudy shops until we get to our own box.  Then we go inside and stare at our glowing screens.  

   We are cut off from the earth, from nature.  Of course I'm glad to have the comforts, sanitation, and mass production that people have worked to build...but all the same, it comes at a cost.  We may not think it in so many words, but we sort of take for granted that "the world," is only what we experience.  The creature comforts, the man-made pleasures.  Nature itself becomes only a jarring note in the familiar melody.  

   Ugh, it's too hot, it's too sticky, it's too *dirty!*  It's too cold, it's too wet, it's too windy, it's too bright, it's too dark.  It's too dangerous, it's too uncomfortable, it's too fill-in-the-blank.  Sound familiar?  

   The loss is great when we retreat from God's nature.  We lose touch with our bodies.  Our sense of adventure languishes within us; suppressed, but never gone.  In our increasingly digital age, we are losing interest in real skills, real tangible things that we can touch, taste, and smell, not just see and hear. 

   What's perhaps even worse is that we lose our hunger for beauty.  Nothing we humans invent can come close to a breathtaking sunset.  Let me tell you something: God is beautiful, and He only creates beautiful things.  God's creation is not primarily functional, it is primarily beautiful!  It's dangerous, to be sure; but so is God until you get to know Him. 

   As odd as it may sound--put down the phone for a bit.  Go walk in nature.  Breathe in the smell of the trees, the grass.  Listen to the creek and the songbirds.  Watch the clouds for a while and just think.  Close your eyes and quiet your heart.  Notice the beauty around you and let yourself be delighted by it.  It will be good for your soul, I promise.  Talk to God and ask Him to meet with you, to speak to your soul as you walk.  Who knows?  He loves to answer, and He wants to hear.  Anything could happen.

   I don't know exactly what my mission in life is, but I do know that wherever I go, part of it will always be re-enchanting people to the beauty and wonders all around us.                  

 

 ~Cadenza

2020 In Hindsight

   So...this year's been rough for everybody.  I think we can all agree there.  To me, it was like three years' worth of events got crammed into one.  I want to take a quick look back just before 2021 begins.  

   Remember how in the Old Testament God's people balked at going into the Promised Land because of the giants?  You know the story, the whole assembly of the people wept in despair and whined that they should never have left Egypt because God "had brought them out there to die."  God rejected that entire generation; and because of Moses' disobedience, even he wasn't allowed into the Promised Land.  However, when it was time for Joshua to lead them into the Promised Land, the Lord says something very interesting.  He reminds them that He took care of them in the wilderness; their shoes did not wear out, and they didn't go hungry.  

   They were wandering in the wilderness as punishment, yes, but God has a different perspective.  He was taking care of every little detail, even when they weren't seeking after Him.  Earlier this year, as I came across that story in the Bible, it stuck out to me.  I want to notice all the ways God takes care of me, even when I don't think I'm where I need to be.

  So let's begin in January.  A new year is always scary for me.  Other people see it as a time of a fresh start or a new beginning.  I can't fool myself into thinking that.  It's just daunting.  I have no delusions about becoming perfect in the coming year.  I know I'm just going to mess up and bungle things, just like the year before.  Yeah, I'm going to learn new things and grow, and that's all well and good, but...it's not gonna be pretty.

   Right.  Maybe I'm a bit of a freak for feeling that way every new year, but it is true.  So.

   Ahem, January.  2020, here we go.  

   In February, we started hearing that COVID-19 had reached the U.S.  I wasn't worried.  I wash my hands all the time, all year round.  I don't go to work if I'm sick, and I stay home until I've been fever-free for 24 hours.  Whatever.  A little common sense, and we'll all be fine.  

   But people panicked and started impulse buying.  I am exceedingly grateful that my roomies and I bought toilet paper in bulk from Sam's just before the shortage!  Thank goodness we were able to hold out until people were more reasonable.

   Halfway through February, something else happened.  My grandmother who lived with my parents had a stroke.  She was hospitalized two days later.  

   My Grandmommy, who has always been a spunky lady with a sunny disposition suddenly was unable to speak.  She tried, but it was like she couldn't remember how to form the words, or else her mouth wouldn't move the right way to make them.  It was heartbreaking.  

  But she's one tough lady.  She's had a long life, and it wasn't a very easy one.  She was 99 years old.  With some speech therapy she regained her speech again, but it was clear she needed constant care.  We entrusted her to a very nice facility, and we went to visit her as she recovered. 

   Meanwhile in February, one of my back teeth started acting crazily.  I have had sensitive teeth for years, but this was different.  All at once it couldn't handle heat or cold...or any amount of pressure.  I couldn't chew on it without horrifying pain.  Every doctor's office was closed, along with pretty much everything else as our economy came to a grinding halt. The pain steadily worsened, unlike anything I've ever felt.  Tooth pain has to be in the top five worst possible pains.  There are so many nerve endings in your mouth, and you can't use massage to ease it.  Whether I was using that tooth or not made no difference; the pain constantly radiated into my other muscles.  There was referred pain down my arm and into my back and neck.  I took pain medicine with absolute punctuality.  I called my dentist.  He told me it sounded like I needed an emergency root canal.  I had to wait for the day of my appointment.

   I couldn't eat or sleep through the excruciating pain.  All the pain medicine it was safe to take could only dull the pain enough for me to function at low capacity.  Which is to say, the two hours where the medicine was at its full strength barely touched it.  Then for the next two hours before I could take anything else, I was in constant debilitating pain.  

   The pain and lack of sleep pushed me to the limits of my sanity.  I couldn't think clearly, I couldn't do anything.  I just laid in bed and wept helplessly.

   That night when everything was at its worst, my brother came to my house in the wee hours of the morning and took care of me.  (My mother couldn't come because she was quarantined, or else she'd have been there!)  My brother rubbed my back, held my hand, and kept ice on my jaw until I finally fell asleep.  He made himself a pallet on my floor, and he set himself alarms to make sure I got my medicine on time.  He was there like an anchor in a storm, holding me steady, comforting me, tethering me to reality.

   I had that emergency root canal, and never was there a more willing patient!  They numbed me down so that at last I felt no more pain.  Then they dug up all the nerve tissue that had died.  A few months later I had a crown installed.  Thank the Lord above for good dentists!!  

   In March and April, even our church shut down temporarily.  I was still able to go to work every day, but without church, a huge part of my spiritual and social life was missing.  I and my roommates were restless and uneasy.  Everything to do with Easter was cancelled, which was unheard of.  But thankfully, one of the young single men in our church set up a virtual Bible Study on Zoom, and all of us pounced upon it eagerly.  It was an enormous blessing in the months to come.  

   My mental timeline gets pretty scrambled at this point, so the rest of this may be way out of order.  But that's okay.  

   I actually got to go to the beach with my two roommates before one of them moved out.  It was a lovely time, and now I get why people love the beach so much.  It was delightful, but in my heart I'm still a mountains girl.  The beach is marvelous, but I'll always love the majesty and privacy and wild beauty of forests on the mountainsides best.  

   A new friend of ours moved in, and it's been great getting to know her.  I highly recommend living with roommates if you have ones as mature and as generous as mine! 

   The first week of July I got a dreadful surprise.  My bladder was refusing to work properly.

   I'll be as discreet as possible.  I just woke up one day and my bladder refused to void.  I've had this happen off and on for the past two years, without any sort of pattern.  Eventually it would function again, and things would go back to normal.  Not this time.  My bladder swelled and swelled, but nothing could make it empty.  

  I tried everything.  Absolutely nothing could give me relief.  I was in horrifying, miserable discomfort before I finally agreed to go to the emergency room.  I had to wait all alone in that cold waiting room for hours before I could be seen.  I just remember praying and praying, rocking back and forth, doing my utmost to be patient.  I had brought a blanket with me from home, and I clutched it to my chest, letting its softness and warmth comfort me.

   It's difficult to explain, but I felt at peace, deep inside.  I was scared and writhing in pain, but I could feel the Lord's presence with me in a special way.  It really was a peace that went beyond understanding.  I just felt assurance that He was right there with me, that I wasn't alone.  

   They had to put a catheter in to drain my bladder.  They told me I had 900 milliliters of fluid in my bladder!  I didn't even know a bladder could hold that much! 

   The incident repeated a few days later, and I had to go back to the ER.  They sent me home with a catheter in, which was awful, but still not as bad as a constantly full bladder.  It was also my time of month, and I had to get tested for COVID-19 because the three of us had been exposed.  I felt a little bit like poor Job.  

   We had to tell everyone what was up with us.  We told our small group in church and the young adults group, and immediately, I'm talking seconds later, folks were replying asking us what we needed, offering to get us groceries and organizing meals for us.  We felt so loved, so seen.  I hate to say it, but sometimes we single folks get a raw deal in church.  There aren't usually ministries for our needs, and we're expected to help in every other ministry and service opportunity, "because we have so much time."  To see our church body stepping in to take care of us three single gals meant the world to us. 

   Usually I can look to my family for things like this, but this year that wasn't possible.  One of my sisters has a suppressed immune system, and since she lives with my parents, they've been quarantined for most of the year.  Still, all of us have united every time we could, and I believe we've grown stronger this year because of it.  

   Anyway, I had to start seeing a urologist and a gynecologist to try to figure out what was causing all this in my bladder.  (Also I was having to self cath every time it happened!  Jesus, take the wheel!!)  We eventually found out that a massive cyst had been growing inside me, and it was so heavy that it sometimes would...block off the flow.  There was a very tense day or two while we waited to find out if it was cancerous or benign, but thank the Lord it was benign!

   It was too big to remove laparoscopically, so we had to schedule a full-on surgery with a month recovery time.  Welp...okay.  October 5th, here we go. 

   At some point during the summer I was exposed again to COVID-19, so there were two more weeks of quarantine.  Thankfully my work compensated me since I was exposed while I was there!

   Also during the summer, one of the Young Adults started up a "Quarantine Caroling."  He made a list of folks that hadn't been able to be in church, and a group of us would go to visit them on summer evenings to stand in their yard and sing hymns with them.  It was a fun time, and I think we were as blessed as the folks were!

   Meanwhile, my Grandmommy's nursing home had to be closed to all visitors shortly after COVID reached our state.  We couldn't go inside at all.  We had to mask up, call to have her wheeled to a window, and then try to talk with her through the window screen.  Eventually they refused to open the window for us.  They had us on speakerphone and gave her the phone, but she didn't know how to hold it properly.  We did our best to communicate.  There were good days and bad days.  I was always glad that we'd visited her, but it just broke my heart that things had come to this.  She got confused a lot, and she wanted to go home.  Sometimes she was sad, and we couldn't even hold her hand to comfort her.  It was clear to us that she was declining fast.

   Then, on the second of September, the Lord called her home.  She had made it to her one hundredth birthday that May.  She was a tough little lady, but she was ready to meet her Savior.  She went peacefully in her sleep.

   My Grandmommy left quite a legacy behind her.  She always faced life bravely and steadily, no matter what it threw at her.  She loved her son, my father, devotedly.  For as far back as I can remember, Grandmommy was always there for every family event.  Every Christmas, every Easter, every recital, performance, concert, graduation, every celebration, every birthday, every holiday, you name it, she was there.  She loved each of us, and she was beloved by all.  She lived well; she had so much spunk and vivacity that she kept us all in stitches when she told stories.  And she loved Jesus Christ with a simple, childlike faith that never wavered in all her long years.  

   "A good name is better than riches, and favor rather than silver or gold," Proverbs tells us.  My Grandmommy had a good name.  She left a righteous heritage behind her.  It was sad when she left us, but deep inside I felt joy throbbing in my heart all the rest of that day.  I knew she was with Jesus, and that all her suffering was over forever.  She'll never be lonely, or weak, or in pain again.  She had fought the good fight, she'd finished the course, she'd kept the faith.  I'll see her again someday.  I know I'll hear that laugh of hers once more, when the Lord calls me home.

   When September drew to a close, I needed to be quarantined once more to be ready for my surgery.  My parents let me move in with them until I got better.  My surgery went well, and there were no complications.  Recovery was slow, but steady.  

   Well, I did have a staph infection flare-up just before my surgery.  I had a hellish experience with staph two years ago, so I was calling my doctor's office for antibiotics the day after I realized that it wasn't an innocent whitehead on my chin.  Staph before surgery!  I just looked in my mirror and thought, "Really?  This too?"  Thank the Lord the first round of antibiotics worked!  And that it didn't cause the surgery to be postponed!    

  Looking back, I see how God has taken care of me this year, and how much I've grown through this.  I trust the Lord more, and I am closer to Him than I was the year before.  When you're in that much pain, He is the only thing to fall back on.  

   One thing that's become increasingly clear to me over this year is that I'm still very insecure about Christ's love for me.  Oh, I know He does...I do believe the promises He makes.  Well, technically, anyway.  It's too big an issue to get into at the end of a blog post, but it's an insecurity that I want to face going into 2021.  I've known for a while that it ran deep in me, but I can see now that it affects everything about me.  The way I pray, how I pray, my bent toward cynicism, my procrastination, and how prone I am to despair and lethargy.  All of it stems from this twisted view of God that has lodged within me since childhood.  I know that at the root, it's only plain, ugly unbelief.  It's high time I started fighting those battles.  

   Well, thanks for reading!  Don't forget to count your blessings in 2020 before you toss it away in disgust.  You might find that what you thought was wandering pointlessly in the wilderness was God's kind provision after all.  

   Happy New Year!

 

~Cadenza         

Show Yourself (part 2)

   I solemnly promise up front not to retell the entire plot of Frozen 2.  That is not the purpose of this post, so I will keep exposition to a minimum.  

   **Spoilers ahead**  

   Frozen 2 delighted me.  The aesthetic or "atmosphere" of the setting is one I find incredibly appealing.  Just the words, "the Enchanted Forest," make my heart thrill with excitement.  The tall, slim trees of the mountains, all bedecked in their Autumn splendor, the Celtic influence of the patterns and runes, and, of course, the wild call of the unknown speaks to me in my hearts' native tongue.  

   The song, "Show Yourself," is the song Elsa sings as she travels across the Dark Sea alone, toward the mysterious island of Ahtohallan.  Her mother once told her that there was a mysterious entity within its river that held the source of all magic, wisdom, and memory.  Her parents had died on their voyage to Ahtohallan; they had been seeking answers about their daughter's magical abilities.  Now that Elsa was Queen of Arendelle, and had learned to use her magic without fear, a strange Voice has been calling her incessantly, irresistibly.  And now, at last she is able to land upon the shore to answer the summons.  She sings: 

   "Every inch of me is trembling, but not from the cold.

   Something is familiar, like a dream I can reach but not quite hold.

   I can sense you there, like a friend I've always known.

   I'm arriving, and it feels like I am home.

   I have always been a fortress, cold secrets deep inside.  

   You have secrets too, but you don't have to hide.

   Show yourself, I'm dying to meet you.

   Show yourself, it's your turn.

   Are you the one I've been looking for all of my life?

   Show yourself, I'm ready to learn."  

 

   Oh, there's so much going on in this scene.  Where do I even begin?  

    It's not necessarily Christian imagery, mind.  But there are all kinds of archetypal themes going on here.

   I love the image of an island at the end of the world.  You see this kind of thing in fantasy and fiction.  There's a place, however remote, that feels like home, and you can, conceivably, reach it, through great difficulties.  Sometimes in the stories it's portrayed as a tropical, paradisaical sort of place.  The idea of South.  Or perhaps it's to the East, toward the Sunrise, journeying toward the end of the world.  Or maybe it's an island far, far to the West, a far green country with white shores.  In this story, the island is a Northern Island.  A glacier, a frozen place, pure and undefiled.  

   I love the whole concept of the hero's Journey.  Everyone does.  The stories all tell us that to find answers we must seek them out.  We must ask questions and follow where the trail leads us.  So many plots of stories center around this idea.  Sometimes the search is for redemption and regaining of honor.  (Think superhero movies such as Iron-man and Thor.)  Sometimes it's the pursuit of the truth.  (Think thrillers and crime movies: "What really happened that night?"  "What's actually going on amid all these secrets?") 

   In Fantasy stories, abstract or metaphysical concepts are displayed as physical things.  People's characters and personalities are displayed on the outside, usually portrayed in their physical appearance; race, voice, etc.  Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, Faeries, Goblins, Animals, and so on.  It is common in fantasy to have a physical place in a world that you can go for answers, and usually a dangerous, winding road is the only way to it.  Most of the inhabitants of the world are too afraid to brave it; they're content to stay unquestioningly in their little homes and communities for the rest of their lives.  But when someone is in great need, or has a question that must be answered, or when someone is simply restless with curiosity, they take to the Road to search for truth, willing to risk any danger to find it.  Not every fantasy is meant to be allegorical, that is, every aspect having a concrete and specific meaning.  Still, certain patterns are generally followed.  The best archetypal themes are the ones that can be found from Scripture, and the Christian tradition.  

   That was not the intention of the creators of Frozen 2, I'm sure.  Nor is it usually the intention of many story-tellers in today's culture (more's the pity.)           

   I love the concept of a Voice that sends out a ringing call, an invitation to follow.  A sweet voice, pure and otherworldly, inviting all who hear it to come.  I recognize that concept; it is already familiar and dear to me. 

   I love the idea of the Truth being a Person.  There is someone to ask the questions to, and to receive real answers from!  Further, it's the Person or Entity of Truth that is the one doing the calling...now isn't that a lovely, fantastical idea?

   In this story, the Entity of Truth is also the Source of all power, magic, and knowledge.  It's a powerful Person.  I am drawn by the idea that once the summons is obeyed, real help can be found there.  Not just a man working pumps and levers behind a curtain.

   There is this idea that one must make sense of and make peace with the past in order to be a complete, mature person.  Perhaps even to be Healed.  Elsa realizes that there is a unique purpose for her life, some task that it is her destiny to do, something for which she was given magic to perform.  But she can't know what that is until she finds out the truth about her past.  If something needs to be undone, she must understand how things went wrong at the beginning.  And that's why she's here, journeying tirelessly into the unknown, answering the summons, obedient to the call; she's looking for the answers, or rather, the One who holds the answers.  

   Hmm.  I like that concept, too.  

   She enters into an ice structure within the mountain.  Steps of ice lead to the entrance.  Inside she finds passageways that are lit with the colors of the Elements who have been guiding her throughout her journey.  They race along the inside of the ice, beckoning her on.  And always that Voice, calling out, responding to her, inviting her further in.

   "I've never felt so certain!  All my life I've been torn

   But I'm here for a reason!  Could it be the reason I was born?

   I have always been so different, normal rules did not apply.

   Is this the day?  Are you the way I finally find out why?

   Show yourself!  I'm no longer trembling!  

   Here I am, I've come so far! 

   You are the answer I've waited for all of my life!

   Oh, show yourself!  Let me see who you are..!"  

   As she runs delightedly on, she finds fallen pillars of ice obstructing her way.  With her magic, she lifts them and places them upright with ease.  

   And...they place themselves like pillars lining the sides of a massive cavern.  It's reminiscent of a temple, or, better, a cathedral...the ice glows with light from within. 

   Then, at the far end there is another doorway, obstructed by a veil of mist.  The same mist from the borders of the Enchanted Forest, which yielded to none but her.  Without hesitation she reaches into it, and the curtain instantly disintegrates under her touch.  

   We almost get the sense of entering into the Holy of Holies.  

   "Come to me now," she sings

   "Open your door.

   Don't make me wait one moment more!"  

 

   The symbols of the Elements arrange themselves on the floor, with an empty space in the center.  That's when Elsa understands.  She is the Fifth spirit that the Northuldra told her of.  A Spirit who would serve as the bridge to unite the countries of the Northuldra and Arendelle.

   When she steps into that space, scenes from her mother's past appear on the walls of the cavern all around her.  

   "Come my darling, homeward bound," we hear the voice of Elsa's mother sing.

   And, through tears, Elsa's jubilant cry, "I am found!"  

 

   And then.  

   Then, in the middle of all this rich symbolism, at the very climax of the song, at the critical reveal and the very heart of Elsa's character development...the key changes, and Elsa and the Voice sing: 

   "Show yourself, step into your power

   Grow yourself into something new!

   You are the one you've been waiting for

   All of your/my life

   Show yourself!"  

 

   What a shabby trick.  What a cheap bait-and-switch.  After drawing me in with such beautiful promises of meeting the One who holds the answers, the Voice of Truth...does not show itself!  What we find in this Holy of Holies is...self-actualization.  "The answer has been within you all the time!  You are all you need!  Don't ask for the Voice to show Itself...You must show yourself for who you truly are and have been this whole time!" 

   To be sure, they portray it gorgeously.  Her transformation is riveting, the music stunning, the colors and lights mesmerizing.  Elsa is, for all intents and purposes, a goddess who is finally at peace with who she is.  Perfected and mature and healed...by simply allowing herself to be the magical creature she always was...

   You can show this kind of thing in a fantasy story, but it doesn't work in real life.  Self-actualization cannot fulfill the way it claims it can.

   But it's just a story, right?  Just part of the make-believe that doesn't matter?  No.  This is a powerful, thematic scene and the heart of the entire plot!  It is shown to be important, desirable.  And it's a message that goes directly against what is true.  

   It makes me want to weep.  So much beauty, so much potential...and they knew how to make you believe it!  Did you notice that?  They knew exactly the kinds of things to say at the beginning of the song to draw you in and stir your longings.  But then they switched it out for the worship of Self.

   Such a subtle lie mixed in with the idea of the Journey.  The idea that you can Heal yourself, grow yourself into perfection...in fact, the promise of salvation, fulfillment, peace.  This...alas!  This is what is portrayed for our young children, particularly girls, to seek after! 

   If I was a poet, I would write a lament over this.  Oh, how seldom do we Christians ever get to see the full Truth portrayed with such beauty and skill!  We have to content ourselves with half-glimpses here and there...and even those mostly accidental, because it is never the creators' intention to show us Christ in His majesty.  

   There is something inherently true about how the Journey is supposed to transform you.  This is what happened to me in my twenty-second year.  I had been a Christian since I was six years old.  I had been growing and learning for many years.  But I read this book titled, "Captivating," by John and Staci Eldredge, and it changed my perspective on many, many things.  

   It's a book about Biblical Womanhood, and easily the most helpful, enlightening book I have yet found on the subject.  I would recommend it to any and every woman.  Never fear, it's Gospel-centered.  

   The book is all about God's design for Woman.  Her nature, her soul, her Role in this world.  A life-giver, a life-sustainer, a nurturer.  And then it turns to how hated she is by Satan and his hosts.  How they and other sinners in this world always assault her soul and wound her, answering her questions with accusations and shame.  And how each of us embrace those messages in our fallen, sinful nature, and how we set about to control or hide ourselves from further hurt by shutting God out of our lives.  

   And of course, the answer is to run to Christ.  To take our brokenness, our wounds, our insecurities, and all the mess we've made of our lives, and throw ourselves on Christ and His mercy.  To surrender to Him; to be found by Him.  To let Him undo the harm that we and others have done, to let Him heal us and make sense of our past and answer our questions with His Word.  

   I read this book, and I wept.  Both in grief and joy.  And, even though I have been His child for a very long time, I started asking Him to reveal to me what He saw when He looked at me, and not the lies I had been believing.  

   When you let God into the messy parts of your soul, you find that He heals and answers your questions.  And I can personally attest, it is a radiant transformation.  The healing of my deep wounds had begun, the emotional maturity I had been so stunted in had begun.  Now that I was starting to see myself through God's perspective, I was indeed transformed with an understanding of and delight in my femininity.  And there came a deep peace...the kind of peace the world and the worship of self promises, but never fulfills.

   I am reminded of that in both of Elsa's transformations; in Frozen 1 and 2.  When you find the Truth and embrace it, there no longer remains any shame or fear.  It is the end of slavery, the beginning of the end of the Reign of Fear.

   I suppose that's why I take it so personally in the song "Show Yourself."  I know the truth, and I have experienced it...and this ain't it!  It's palming off a cheap forgery as the way to freedom, when it is nothing more than the same old bondage.  I can never quite enjoy the song when it comes to that key change, and I never will.  

   I long for the day when the One who is called Faithful and True comes revealed with all the hosts of heaven with power and great glory.  My Savior, my Healer, my Friend.  My Advocate, my Redeemer, my Captain, my Father, and King.

   The best stories all have one thing in common:  Good always wins in the end.

   And because Jesus' blood has paid my ransom...that's a happy ending if ever there was one.            

~Cadenza 

Show Yourself (part 1)

   This post has been burning on my heart for a year; ever since I saw "Frozen 2".  I've been hesitant to write it because I know that people have been over the "Frozen" craze since "Let It Go," smashed its way into everyone's lives in 2014.  One half of the population was instigating it, and the other half was sick of it after the opening week.  The same applies for the song, "Into The Unknown." 

   I sympathize, I truly do.  But I have to write about this.  This is one of those times where the beauty that I see compels me to share it with others.  However, before I begin, this will require some explanation to insure that I am not misunderstood.  I will have to wait for the next post to share what I see.  This post will be devoted to an unfortunate, but necessary bit of demolition around Disney movies such as "Frozen."  

   I'm sure you've noticed that the very word "Disney," has become so overloaded with different meanings that a certain cynical disdain for them and for the people who enjoy them has become popular.  For example, you've probably heard things like:    

   "That's not real life!  I don't want my kids growing up expecting their lives to be like a Disney movie!"

    "Aren't you just SICK of a woman getting saved by a MAN?  It's insulting to women!"  

   "I hate how they show marriage as being the answer to all their problems!"

   Or perhaps the more subtle, but very real embarrassment people display when they accidentally own up to still being familiar with a character of an animated movie they grew up with.  I'm sure you've seen that.  The reason is that "animation" is inextricably linked in their minds with "childhood."  Thus the idea that any familiarity with a "cartoon" shows that they must still be lacking mental maturity. 

   As the comedian John Mulaney might say, "Now, we don't have time to unpack ALL of that--!"  But, if I intend to be taken seriously, I think I should at least briefly lay out a few rebuttals to such sentiments.  

   First of all, I've never understood why grownups compelled themselves to be ashamed of feeling a fondness for, or at the very least a sense of nostalgia over animated movies or cartoons they grew up watching.  I mean, Pixar creates movies that are stunners; movies that are truly impressive and compelling art, and they are animated.  Nobody throws shame on anyone for having an emotional response to the opening scene of Pixar's movie, "Up."  

   The whole point of any story--told in any medium you please--is to create something beautiful that people can learn from.  Wisdom for life, ideals to strive for, and earnest warnings by showing the consequences of bad choices.  If a story has these qualities, then it is worth watching, reading, or experiencing.  

   "No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally--and often far more--worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond," C.S. Lewis once observed.

   "[Children]...must be trained to feel pleasure, liking, disgust, and hatred at those things which really are pleasant, likeable, disgusting, and hateful," C.S. Lewis also tells us.  "All this before he is of an age to reason; so that when Reason at length comes to him, then, bred as he has been, he will hold out his hands in welcome and recognize her because of the affinity he bears to her."  (C.S. Lewis, "The Abolition of Man.") 

   People claiming that animated movies are only for young children betray a lack of understanding about the nature of stories.  Movies that are attempting to be (or posing as) good stories deserve to be considered on their merits alone.  If they have redeeming qualities, such as valuable messages, compelling characters, or even aesthetic beauty, they should be evaluated without the baggage that comes with the word "Disney."

   Which brings me to my second point, which is yes, Disney animation romanticizes life.  Disney movies usually depict a character who wants something, and they have to go on a journey and/or overcome great difficulties to get it.  I see no problem with that.  Further, I see no problem with romanticizing the journey a little, or dramatizing the villains a bit, or making other characters charming or compelling.  You know why?  Because you can choose to see life that way! 

    Bear with me here.  I believe that each of us is a story being written.  It is right to see ourselves that way, to be excited at all the glorious possibilities and potential each of us has in the choices we make.  Now what's wrong with training yourself to appreciate the "small," or "simple," pleasures of life?  

   Allow me to give a few examples.  

   Pocahontas, and the dazzling animation of the wilderness of America.  

   Brave, and its depiction of the woods, the river, and the rugged beauty of the Scottish mountains.  

   Tangled, and Rapunzel's picturesque tower, where she bakes cookies and paints and crafts before she even sets foot out in the world.  

   The romanticized scenes of Prince Eric's kingdom as he drives Ariel around.  

   All of these things were drawn specifically to appeal to us, and they do.  Why?  Because they want to show you common things in the world as beautiful. 

   Watching Pocahontas makes something within each of us yearn for days before Creation was spoiled and faded.  In Brave, it awakens that yearning in all of us for adventure.  In Tangled, we see creativity and arts and cooking depicted as charming...when those are things we could easily do today if we were inclined.  In "The Little Mermaid," we're rushed here and there, seeing a hum-drum marketplace through Ariel's eyes, as if we too were seeing it all for the first time.  

   The animators know their game.  So do the story-writers (hopefully), and the people who write and perform the musical score.  The whole intention of a movie, (as with any art form) is to make you feel a certain way.  What they make us feel, think, or want to do gives us a clue to whether the story is good or bad, or mere propaganda.  Our job is to be discerning of the art forms we take in.  Relish the good, throw away the bad, and be vigilant about the propaganda.

   When I watch old Disney movies, I don't think they deserve all the contempt that is heaped upon them.  True, many of the stories are dated, and several characters are not as developed or believable as our modern sensibilities would prefer.  But the things they hold up as good and admirable are still good today.  All the evil portrayed by the selfish or scary characters is still just as evil as it ever was.  

   As for the complaints about the older Disney princesses; mainly the contempt they receive for the unforgivable crime of needing to be saved from the unassailable forces set against them...I would suggest that they are not thinking of the story in its entirety.  

   Bear with me for one more example.  

   Cinderella, in the old Disney classic, is an unfortunate girl mistreated by her own family.  She has no ability to fight back or escape.  She chooses to remain kind-hearted and to face her hardships every day with dignity.  People who pour contempt on this fictional character for not being able to save herself are not taking into consideration the setting of the story.  To our modern ears, it may seem offensive that a woman would not be able to escape a bad home-life, but in the time this movie depicts, that was an all too common reality.  If she left her bad situation, she would be a beggar on the street and utterly destitute.  She wouldn't have had the options that we have today.

   When she went to the ball, she wasn't attempting to seduce the prince as an attempt to change her fortunes.  (Which is more than can be said for some of the other Disney Princesses!  Looking at you, Ariel.)  She just wanted to look nice at a formal party--something she attempted to do herself, before her family destroyed her dress and left her behind.  

   The Cinderella story is often maligned by today's modern girls, who sneer at the very idea of poise or grace.  This is a misunderstanding of all that the story was trying to convey in the first place.  It seems to me that the character qualities that Cinderella displays are good ones to appreciate, instead of blaming the victim for the abuses she suffered. 

   And by the way, is it so very demeaning to depict a woman set in difficulties that she has no way out of?  Is that not a sad reality for many women today?  And what's wrong with depicting a man stepping in to fight for her as a noble thing?  I mean, isn't that what we should be teaching little boys to want to do?  Inspiring them to defend the helpless and oppressed?  Does that not reflect the very heart of our God?  Why does this concept offend so many Christian women today? 

   "A real woman can handle anything life throws at her by herself," a wise old adage says, "but a real man won't let her."  

   And now to the criticism that Disney portrays marriage as the ultimate problem-solver.  Of course marriage does not solve all problems.  Nor, I would argue, do any of the Disney movies actually claim that.  A "happy ending," for most of the Disney heroes, is the idea that two people who love each other can get married and start a life together, having overcome all the obstacles that were keeping them apart.  A new beginning, though of course a movie has to end somewhere.  

   I know it's popular these days to speak disparagingly and cynically of marriage.  But we must keep in mind, marriage was invented and instigated by God Himself, before the Fall.  It is taught throughout the Bible as a good, worthy, and honorable thing--and yes, a thing intended to bring about lasting good, happiness, and yes, pleasure!  Of course it isn't always sparkles and flowers and rapturous kisses.  But that is where marriage should begin, at least.  I like the glorification of marriage in the old Disney classics.  

   So you might be wondering why I'm devoting a whole blog post to defending Disney movies.  Why does it matter?  They're movies.  Either you like them or you don't, right?

   Well...I needed to write this defense not so much because the movies themselves are so important, but rather because I find the attitudes behind the above criticisms concerning.  They are the symptoms of deeper, skewed perspectives.

   It doesn't so much matter to me if you let your kids watch "Cinderella," or not.  But I do find the cynicism about life in general and marriage in particular to be concerning. 

    The stories we take in as children are far more influential than we give them credit for.  Children don't care much for "moralizing," or even Scriptural lessons on being kind or patient.  But children pay attention to a story that depicts kindness and patience as being beautiful things.  Those subtle messages that animators and storytellers create for us are meant to inspire us to feel and to want certain things.  It would be wise, therefore, to let children feast their hunger for stories on good ones that promote things that you want promoted!  Just like C.S. Lewis said, children imitate what they see long before they can reason for themselves.  It would be good for children to see simple pleasures and good character qualities glamorized and romanticized; it might inspire them to emulate them.  Because, rest assured, if you don't take the trouble to promote good things for children's minds to feed on, this world will indoctrinate them with its own propaganda.   

   I'm shocked and grieved at how carelessly this generation hands over their children to the influence of the evil one.  Even if they do teach a lot of the right things in their homes and even take their children to church, they don't always bother to concern themselves with what Media their children are taking in; both Social media and the Art mediums, such as books, movies, and music.  Unless you capture the imagination of a child at an early age, you will lose any hope you have of influencing their minds.  How many young souls have been ensnared by the bait of false beauty because they were starving for real beauty? 

   Disney movies are important to me because I was the kind of child who was captivated by magic and beauty and song.  Stories were very important to me because that was my main way to go on adventures.  The musical scores with all their sweeping majesty, charming whimsy, and wistful themes were powerful tools that God used to awaken my soul to yearning.  Even as a child I was staggered by the desires that I felt within me; often they manifested as physical pain.  I was too young to understand why; all I knew was that there had to be more of that beauty out there somewhere, beyond me, beyond my life, beyond this world...and that I wanted it.  My whole life has been haunted by that inconsolable yearning.  C.S. Lewis describes this feeling in his books as "Joy."  It is, of course, the desire for God Himself; one of the ways that He has "set eternity in the hearts of men."  

  I realize, of course, that not all children are like I was.  So whatever inspires them, it is our job to guide them along it until they reach God...for He is behind all the goodness and beauty and pleasures in this life.  

   I suspect that too many children these days do not feel a love of beauty and goodness because their imaginations have not been allowed to develop.  The grownups with their cynical attitudes about life and marriage teach children that fairy-tales and everything about them are silly lies.  What happens, in fact, is that the children are being indoctrinated with that very cynicism, before they are even able to choose for themselves.  And if their mom or dad scoffs at any whimsical or magical scene, that tells them they shouldn't enjoy it; that it's all nonsense.  Not only is that not fair, it's incredibly damaging to a child's imagination and innocence.      

   If you want children to value innocence, beauty, kindness, justice, and doing what is right no matter how scary it is, why not let them think on stories where those things are promoted?  A child may feel disappointed when he finds the world to be shabbier than Disney animation.  But what if he has the idea that he ought to be brave and good no matter what because he saw it in a movie he loves? Because that is applicable to real life, no matter where or how they learn it.       

   So, bearing all this in mind, I want to share in the next post my own personal thoughts on Frozen 2's scene and song called, "Show Yourself."            

      

~Cadenza