Monday, June 04, 2007

Ever since I was a teenager--at times, but not always--I've enjoyed doing out-of-character things just to bug certain other people, usually relatives or stuffy church people. Or maybe it's not out-of-character stuff at all, but rather, doing the things from my heart and a breaking away from the good girl everybody expects me to be. "Perpetual Good Girl" can be a heavy title to wear sometimes.

Oh, I'm not talking about racing away and doing huge, sinful stuff. Nah, just tiny surprising acts to keep people from thinking they've got me all figured-out. And since many times I've been labeled Hard To Understand, well, I must be rather successful at keeping everybody guessing. I like that.

Anyway. Yesterday afternoon I went, with Tom's blessing, over to my zap-you-back-fifty-years theater to see the movie, The Invisible. My favorite reviewer didn't hate it, said there were some good lessons, so I thought it was probably a safe bet and besides, some teenage movies/tv shows still attract me for reasons only a psychotherapist would understand.

As usual in the theater, almost no one was there, and the few who were, sat at the back. Always, here in New York, Tom and I have been surprised at how many people sit in the last two rows of theaters here--and I'm not talking about teens or people with babies, either. But rather, people our age and older. Anyone have a clue as to why that is? I don't get it--when I go see a movie, I want to feel like I am up there on the screen, lost in the story, standing beside the characters. So I sit in the middle (but sometimes I wish I'd ventured even closer).

Anyway, I stepped past those backseat-sitters and walked straight into the deep darkness of the middle section (no modern little aisle lights in this old theater). It was like stepping through a dark wall, but I forged ahead through the blackness.

And I liked The Invisible--very much. Lots of suspense and lots of good lessons to take away with me and use in real-life. Always, I'm searching and listening for lessons, for morals to the story, mine and everyone else's, I guess, morals I can glean some wisdom from.

After the movie, I drove next door and shopped a little, bought some pillowcases, a pillow and a comfortable cushion for our wicker love seat on the porch where I loll away lots of hours. The radio over our heads played Amy Grant's, I Will Remember You and gracious.... as if it's not already a sentimental-enough-sounding song, it was like, suddenly, my shopping cart filled with old memories. We used to listen to that song back when Naomi was a teenager, back when we attended a church we've since left.

And it came to me as I pushed those memories down the aisle--when people walk away from you, it's good and kind to wish them well, wherever they may now be... and to recall only the happy times you shared with them and let the negative memories fall and drop outside of the memory sifter.

And as Amy slowly, sentimentally sang, "I will remember you," I recalled lovely times I shared with people I've lost contact with... and I wished them well... and I hoped each one was even more happy than I was at that moment...

...and I knew more than before that often we are parts of each other's lives only for a season and only for lessons which can be learned no other way or for our hearts to expand as God would have them...

...and I hoped those friends from my past seasons recalled me fondly as well, even the ones who always did consider me a mystery. Perhaps I stretched them as they stretched me.


Proverbs 27:17

"As iron sharpens iron,
so one man sharpens another."

Ecclesiastes 3:1

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven..."

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