A Faulkner & Bagehot & Chan Influence

I'm getting into the bad habit of only posting when I'm dying of boredom, which I think is a terrible system. It's also rather unjust, too, this fact of my listlessness, because it is only a matter of time before the course loads come crashing down on me, and it's very deceptive at the start, how professors ease you into the reading and the assignments. I hate having nothing to do! Which actually seems like a beneficial sentiment to be developing!

Anyway.

I watched The Lovely Bones last night, which seemed like a good idea at the time until Bryna goes, "Oh, I remember now, I hated this movie!" And things sort of went wonky from there. Cinematically it waffled between trippy and stunning and surreal and tacky. It's the kind of movie I would make my children watch in order to demonstrate to them the development of special effects in storytelling. So that part was great. What was not great was how disturbing it was. It was like listening to Sufjan's "John Wayne Gacy, Jr", except that it lasted two hours instead of two minutes and was a lot more graphic. And I thought this was a children's movie!

So that happened.

The computer I'm sitting at has a little sign that says "DON'T FORGET TO SAVE YOUR WORK TO A FLASH DRIVE!" And there's a little pen scrawl below it that says "yo, eff that ess man, I do what I want!" I'm a little bit amused.

When we were driving to class this morning, bright and early in the frigid cold, exactly a twelve minute drive, halfway there, my check engine light starts flashing. Flashing. Which is significantly worse than it merely glowing, like it had been last week before my daddy took it to the mechanic and got it fixed for a hefty fee. Shortly after my car starts to smell, not like burning oil, but a more medicinal kind of smell, and when I braked at a stoplight the car started to bounce. No smoke from the hood, though, so I kept driving and after a minute it stopped.

Though clearly something is wrong, I can hardly bear the thought of taking it back to the mechanic again, which would make the fifth time in sixth months. And the second time in one week! I don't have the cash for repairs; I nearly cried from gratefulness that my dad covered the last round of costly maintenance. It's not a terrible situation, just an unfortunate one, and I can't help but feel a little troubled as I think about driving it home tonight.

And this is where I remember: that my God is an all mighty, all powerful, all loving God. That He is sovereign, and not a thing happens without His allowance. Surely He has watched over me, and will continue to watch over me, and will replace my anxiety with peace. It's just a car. Even in this, He cares.

I love this, I love this! Being put in situations where I find what I really believe, not just what I thought I knew. I love rediscovering [or perhaps truly learning for the first time?] these basic truth, simple assurances. I love watching His promises become more real than I ever knew, right before my eyes.

I was thinking about that on the snowy walk to the library. Who wouldn't want to believe in God, honestly? If there was a being that promised to direct your steps, and gave you what was best for you, and protected you from evil, and loved you, loved you unendingly, to the point of death, at the sacrifice of heaven and earth . . . who wouldn't want that?

Not that it isn't hard. Not that it isn't one of the most impossible feats: dying to self, and loving one's enemies, and living a life that is not one's own. And yet in this He freely gives His grace and His strength, and we are guaranteed victory.

If one could only be convinced that God was real . . . who wouldn't believe that?