For the Love of Life and All Things Amiss

“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”

John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Confession, I want to see the Barbie movie. Slightly embarrassing to write. Worse, there is a part of me at almost 50 years old, that expects a happily ever after. Not just a standard, let’s look back and be grateful happily ever after, but a shiny, sparkly, everyone matches and smiles with their very straight teeth kind of happily ever after. Maybe I spent too much time as a kid styling my Barbies. Or maybe there is a place in the deepest part of me that has tasted and seen what will one day come and the familiarity of it, although faint, draws me forward and increases my longing to fully know this satisfying goodness. I can neither name the delight I have experienced nor the longing it creates, just that it is.

I have thought what it must be like to believe there is no god, no sovereign plan, no heaven. What it must be like to live in the belief that this is what is. Would I live differently if the beginning and end were wrapped in a single lifetime? What would I do with such a finite amount of time? And what would I do with all the stuff littering the landscape of my happily ever after? You know, all the messy, painful, routine, un-shiny kinds of things. What even would I do with all of the good things, the things that are beautiful, exhilarating, novel, and soon to run their course? I can tell you even the most delightful of things after repeated exposure, eventually cease to trigger that fleeting sensation that anything is possible, all things probable and maybe just maybe this feeling can last long enough to adequately articulate it.

Instead of a Barbie life, I am here in this place with ever revolving dirty dishes, laundry, and an anxious dog who seems to believe the bird’s nest on the front porch will overtake us if she fails to stand watch. Here I am in this messy, painful, routine, non-shiny life of a world, braving to smile with my crooked teeth, and somehow it’s all kinds of beautiful. Not shiny beautiful, but sometimes in my alone moments, silent tear rolling from gratitude kind of beautiful. The best part, I know with all of my heart that this is not the end. Instead, this is the very tiny tip of the beginning. The best-est part, I know with all of my heart that all messy, painful, routine and non-shiny things will one day be redeemed in the fullest bringing me sustained delight that is not fleeting but eternal. Because the One who draws me in and leaves me longing for more will show His face, and I will see as I am fully seen. His face, somehow His face may be what it is we are all unknowingly longing for.

David, identified by God as the man after God’s own heart, gives us permission as Christ followers to live authentic lives before God. Permission to feel all the feels from what life gives us, with whom life gives us, and for what life gives us. Afraid? Anxious? Tired? Overwhelmed? Wanting the teeth of your enemies to be knocked straight out? Well, so was David. Brave? Patient? Adventurous? Confident? Wanting to build a temple to honor your God? Well, so was David. David’s life was full, some might say an example of the fullest kind of life. But David’s full life was not all easy, peasy, shiny, or comfortable. Much in fact about David’s life was just the opposite. What David did with all of his life was bring it to his God in open dialog, riddled with angst, fear, sadness, praise, worship, joy, gratitude, and wonder (and everything in between). What David did was to live his life with God, and was therefore able to live his life for God.

All the feels, and all the things bring a richness to life that no amount of Barbie living can bring. Barbie at her best is, well she’s plastic. And our lives, and our people, they are not. Our sweet young adult children who land like helicopters, staying long enough to leave behind a sink of dirty dishes and a laundry tub full of wet clothes, are real-life messy people. We’ll take them for what they are just to have them for a minute. We’ll feel the hopeful ache when they leave. Hope not only that they’ll soon return, but hope they’ll go out into the world and be who they are. We’ll love and be left, hope and be disappointed, laugh and then weep, eat to clean up. We’ll kill the flies that wander in while the dog stands guard at the half-opened door. Repeat. We’ll live our life to the fullest knowing sometimes it isn’t comfortable and rarely is it shiny. But if we watch closely and dialog openly with our God we’ll see it blooming beautifully, leaving an impression of the delight that is surely waiting at the end of our big mess.

It is a gracious place, to live engaged in the present irregardless of what or who is filling the space. A belief in a sovereign, good, attentive God is nothing less than a gift from the same grace. Here we can feel the ebb and flow of joy and sorrow, rhythms and patterns. We are held in the present, yet we look forward in hope that all things are purposed, knowing all things will bring glory to the One whose face is to be revealed.

Oh Barbie, you and your world, originating from and encouraging imaginations for generations, what is your happily ever after anyway? All your tiny clothes and fine synthetic hair, once a delight held by tape in a pink cardboard box, now stored away in a plastic tub, crowded by plastic green army men and broken metal cars. You’ll be landfilled, pretty plastic girl with teeny tiny teeth. You’ll live in our imaginations, but you’ll never really live. Your hands will never wrinkle from being too long in the dishwater, nor will you know the joy of laughing your way through dinner. Your story with Ken will never end, but you’ll never really have a story. Your heart will never break nor will it ever love. Oh Barbie girl, I’ll keep my messy world.