Life is a Fantasy: The Supernatural

For a long time, I've been thinking about how life, properly understood, is similar to fantasy. By "properly understood," I mean understood from the perspective of the Bible, that truth is knowable, God exists, and His Son Jesus is the only one who can save us from the evil in ourselves and in our world. When you understand the world from this perspective, it throws a whole new light on fantasy stories as reflections of the deepest realities. This "Life is a Fantasy" series is an expression of my musings on the subject. For this post, I'll discuss what I think is the most important factor of fantasy as it relates to real life: the supernatural factor.

Think of your favorite fantasy, if you have one. (I always think of The Lord of the Rings.)
Now, think of the beginning of the story. The hero is a perfectly normal person; at least, normal for their world. True, there may be aspects of the hero's character that are "abnormal", like a stutter or an unusual attraction to adventure, but the hero in general is trying to live a normal life. (Frodo Baggins is just a hobbit of the Shire, who likes to have fun with his friends and cousins.)
Then, all of a sudden, someone comes to the hero and reveals that there is a lot more to this "normal" world than the hero thought. There are powerful forces of both good and evil. These forces have been watching the hero for a long time, waiting for the opportune moment to catch him or her for their side, because the hero has some gift, something special, that will help either side to win. Usually, the good guys get to our hero first. (Gandalf tells Frodo the truth about his Ring and counsels him what to do.)
After a struggle, in which the hero may beg to be excused from the fight or simply refuse to believe what the good guys say, the hero eventually joins the good side. (After trying to avoid the task and the danger for some time, Frodo accepts the duty to take the Ring to Mordor.)
Immediately, the bad guys ramp up their efforts, trying to either convert our hero or destroy him or her. (The Black Riders pursue Frodo to the very gates of Rivendell, and every evil creature on the quest seizes on him first out of all the company.)
However, the hero has the help of every good and wise creature in the world, as well as the supernatural forces of good and the power of his or her own gift. (The Fellowship of the Ring helps Frodo reach his destination. So do two great kingdoms of Men and two very powerful Elves. Unfortunately, Frodo's Ring can't be used without great danger, but it comes in handy occasionally.)
The struggles are great, but in the end, the good guys triumph, our hero among them. (Sauron is destroyed, the king returns to his throne, and Frodo sails away into the West to a land of healing and rest.)


Now, think about your own life.
Most people live pretty normal lives. Of course, there is something about every person that is "abnormal," but most of us try to fit in as much as possible. You have certain talents and abilities, that you practice every day, but you may think there's nothing really special about you. Then, one day, someone reveals to you that there is more to this "normal" world than you thought. There is a Creator who is ultimate good, that is, God; and there is also an Enemy of our souls, that is, Satan. If no one has told you yet, very well, I'm telling you now. Unfortunately, in this world, the bad guys have gotten to us first. We're already enslaved to them, using our gifts and talents for their purposes, though we think we're using them for ourselves. (How many times today did you and I hurt someone for our own personal gain? Too many.) The "good guys," though, never give up. They--that is, He--is engaged in a rescue mission of gigantic proportions. He's here to save us, and to give us a chance to use our talents to help Him save the world, if we choose His side. Some of us struggle more than others, but if you are a Christian, if you've trusted Jesus to save you from your sins, then you've accepted the quest and you're on the good side. You're on an adventure. It is this adventure, this journey, that will be the topic of my next "life is a fantasy" post.

"Success"

I just saw something that really upset me. It was a full-page ad for a Christian college in a magazine. The college claimed to be a road to "success". To represent "success", it showed a picture of a well-dressed businesswoman holding a fancy portfolio. That may seem normal to most people. I don't know, maybe as a business student in my own college, I've seen too much of it. But I immediately thought, "Why does everyone picture success as a well-dressed businesswoman with a fancy portfolio? Is that the only definition of success?" I, for one, don't believe it is. As I read the other articles in that same magazine, I saw stories about how Christians were rebuilding hurting communities, planting churches, and growing in Christ. There was joy, hope, and confidence there, and I felt an excitement that maybe, someday, I could be like those people. Only after I had flipped through a lot of the magazine did I find that ad, and it seemed to me incongruous.

What is the definition of "success"? The articles in that magazine would seem to say that loving and serving God and our fellow man would constitute success. That view seems to match up with what God tells us in the Bible. The advertisement, on the other hand, seemed to take for granted that "success" means making a lot of money (at least, enough to wear nice clothes and carry a fancy portfolio) and having status in some business (she looked really important). These things, money and status, are what the world values. Everywhere at school, I hear tips on how to get a "good job", which include dressing for the part like the woman in the ad. Only in the meetings of the Christian college organization do I hear tips on how to grow closer to God and love other people as He does.

I don't mean to criticize the Christian college that placed that ad, or the magazine that printed it. That's why I have deliberately withheld their names. I know that that image, the well-dressed businesswoman or -man, is the image that most people have when they think of "success". I just think that image needs to be rethought.

What about you? What is "success" for you?

Life is a Fantasy: The Great Story

Some of us who read fantasy feel guilty about it. Ridiculous as that may sound, it is true. I don't mean the kind of guilt that arises from spending too much time reading fantasy and not enough time doing homework or building relationships. That can stem from reading too much of any kind of book, and is a healthy guilt that should be encouraged. What I want to talk about is another kind of guilt, a guilt for one's taste for fantasy. It was more prevalent in C. S. Lewis's time, I think, than our own; people didn't dare to admit that they read "fairy stories". Such stories were seen as childish and escapist, and Mr. Lewis wrote several essays defending them against such charges. Even now, some people feel a little uncomfortable with themselves, or their friends, for "escaping" into the fantasy world instead of reading hard, realistic books or books of information.

To those people, and to any who read fantasy, I say, go to it! Sure, realistic books are good, too, and books of information are incredibly useful, but there is something in fantasy that you can't get in almost any other way. (Why I say "almost," you'll find out in a minute.) The thrill of fantasy consists in being caught up in something bigger than yourself, bigger even than the world. It's becoming part of the great plan of history, or the "Great Story," as Sam Gamgee calls it in The Two Towers. Every fantasy character experiences this, for good or for evil. Luke Skywalker in Star Wars is caught up in the rebellion and The Force. The hobbits in The Lord of the Rings are caught up in the powerful magic of the Ring and of Wizards. In The Dark is Rising, Will Stanton gets caught up in the power of Dark and the power of Light. Their readers get caught up in all of this for a little while. They feel the power and the danger right along with their heroes, with the difference that the readers have to come back to the humdrum reality of life. This is what makes fantasy readers guilty. They feel, or have been schooled to feel, that they have no right to "escape" life by hiding in a fantasy world. I, however, would put it the other way around. Burying oneself in "real" life is an attempt to escape the Great Story.
For there really is a Great Story. God is its Author. If you are His child, and if you have surrendered yourself completely to Him, then you have been caught up in His Great Story. He wrote a part especially for you.

Thus, the thrill and wonder of fantasy can be experienced in real life, with God. He created that sense of longing to be part of the Great Story, which motivates fantasy readers like me, in order that we may seek Him and find Him. Like every good author, He does nothing by accident. Everything that happens to you is to bring you into and through your part of God's Great Story.

Men--this is how I think of you!

This morning, I rushed to the bus stop, late for class. A man was standing there, smoking a cigarette. He smiled and waved at me as I crossed the street, and I wished him a breathless "good morning". When I sat down, I covered my nose and mouth with my hands to breathe without breathing in the cigarette smoke. I looked up, and the man was looking at me, looking concerned. "The smoke," I explained. "I have athsma." Instantly, the man threw away his cigarette. He came into the bus shelter and sat down, saying, "I don't smoke, either. I quit...about two seconds ago." That gave me pause. I thanked him, but I was suddenly cautioius. What he had said was my first clue that he was after me. The second clue was not long in following. "Are you married?" the man asked.
I was completely discombobulated. (If you don't know what that word means, look it up.) I had heard of things like this happening, but had never thought it would happen to me. Unsure what to say, I finally said, "Is that really important?" I pulled out my Bible and opened it to read, hoping that he would take the hint and leave me alone.
He stammered, "Uh...no...I mean...uh...I just meant to say...well, I don't know what to say," he finally finished. I felt like saying, "Don't say anything, then." Instead, I just started reading my current chapter of the book of Hebrews and tried to ignore him.
No such luck. "The truth is," the stranger said, "I think you're a beautiful woman."
Surprised, and maybe a little flattered, and definitely a lot uncomfortable, I thanked him again and tried to return to my reading. "So are you single?" the stranger asked.
"Um..." I stumbled, trying desperately to think of something to say. I didn't want to tell him I was single and raise false hopes, but I didn't know how to tell him I wasn't interested in any type of romantic relationship. My thoughts whirled frantically through my head, unable to form any coherent idea but discomfort and fear...and just then, to my unspeakable relief, the bus showed up. I made sure not to sit near the stranger.

Later this afternoon, a guy friend of mine greeted me in the hallway and paused to talk to me. We made simple small talk, asking each other how our lives were going. He asked what I was up to, and I told him I had just gotten out of class. He smiled and asked jokingly if I was going to relax the rest of the day. I told him about my few responsibilities, but said I would relax as much as I could. He said, "Have fun with that, kiddo!" and took his leave, grinning. We had both been smiling through the whole conversation, enjoying each other's company. There was nothing awkward, nothing embarrassing, nothing to frighten me or disconnect my thoughts. I wished the conversation could have continued.


As I left the building, and while I stood at the homeward bus stop, I pondered my conversations with and reactions to these two men. On the surface, my reactions seemed unreasonable. One man told me that I was beautiful and that he would give up smoking for me, and I couldn't wait to get away from him. The other just asked me how my life was going and made small talk, and I was disappointed when he left. Why was that, I wondered? Then I had the answer. The first man was a stranger; the second was my friend.


The stranger made it clear by his words, attitude, and actions that he wanted me, that he only cared about me because I was beautiful. What would he care what I was doing this afternoon, except as far as it included him? What would he care if I joined a choir, or went to Irishfest, or had family in Iowa? What would he care if I were a college student, a fast-rising career woman, or a waitress at Country Kitchen? What he said and what he did was sweet, but it was superficial. He was only concerned with my body. He liked it, and he wanted it, and was willing to give up smoking to get it. That's what scared me.

On the other hand, my friend wasn't chasing after me. He made it clear by his words, attitude, and actions that he wanted to know what was going on in my life, that he cared about what I did because he cared about my well-being. What would he care whether or not I was married, except as far as marriage or singleness brought me happiness? What would he care that my hair was blonde and messy (which it was)? What would he care about the color of my eyes, or the shape of my legs? What he said and what he did was insignificant, but it was good. He was concerned with my friendship, not my body. He liked me, myself, and was glad to take a few minutes of his day to spend some time with me. That's what I like about him.


Men, take note!!!

Cold and Windy Bus Stops

(I dare you to find the words "cold," "wind," or any normal synonym thereof [e.g., "chill breeze"] in the following paragraphs!)

6:00 a.m.--from home to work

In the dark, all I could see were headlights and vague shapes. As they passed my little island of light, they flashed into existence and were gone before I could notice what they were. All I knew was that they were not the bus. I stood alone, trembling, seemingly the only live creature in the world besides those lights coming down the viaduct. The bus shelter did not provide much shelter. My ankles were bitten as severely as they had been when I was walking out in the wild beast's lair; that wild beast that "stings the toes and bites the nose" in the old folk song. Still, it was enough shelter for some comfort. I didn't have to pinch my hood shut anymore to keep my throat safe. I pulled my watch out of my pocket and checked the time. I wasn't late. The bus would come. My thawing hands fluttered into my purse and pulled out my Bible. Today was a day to read out loud.

9:00 a.m.--from work to school

The cars were definitely cars now; and the trucks were definitely trucks. Mormon Coulee Road was no easy street to cross, but I made it, panting, into the bus shelter. I made some remark about the weather and then was silent. My companions, a classmate and a stranger, were as silent as I was; even more silent, for their teeth were not chattering. The warm green that shone from almost every branch of every tree was belied by the savage air. Only a few astute maple trees had unpacked their autumn clothes. I shivered in my thin jacket and slacks. The maples were smarter than I was. I mentally resolved to break out my sweaters and such as soon as I got home.

3:45 p.m.--from school to home

The long, thick, gray clouds slid through the sky like sluggish railway trains, showing a stark contrast to the solid and stationary steeple of the nearby church. The young trees planted by the roadside waved like frantic hitchhikers. My hair became nearly as animated as Medusa's, whenever it managed to escape the confines of my hood. My thin, baggy pant legs decided that they were flags, and my goose-bumpy legs the flagpoles. Meanwhile, real flags on real flagpoles tugged at their strings and reached longingly into the free air. But the air was not free. It was under the command of a powerful force: the steam in the cloudy engines, the life-force in the trees and in my thin snakes of hair, and the delusion in my pant legs. I was reassured to see the bus come around the corner and to remember that not everything was under the influence of that force. It was not unstoppable. Gratefully I boarded the bus and sat down in the warmth and the calm.

Guantanamo Bay: To Close or Not to Close? That’s Not the Question.

President Barack Obama wants to close Guantanamo, stop torture, and review the trials of the prisoners therein, all within one year (BBC)[1]. I applaud Mr. Obama’s decision since, as Jennifer Vanklausen says, the Constitution guarantees the right of due process of law (which most of the Guantanamo detainees have been denied). However, I think the suddenness of the decision is ill-advised. CNN points out that “About 250 prisoners, many of them suspected terrorists, remain in the prison.”[2] So, then, in one year, president Obama wants to review 250 trials and release 250 suspected terrorists upon the American public. A lot of the prisoners, about two-thirds, are already pleading for release and charging the government with wrongful imprisonment, according to CNN. I want justice for the prisoners, but I don’t trust them to be safely released into the U. S. A lot of people agree with me. In fact, 46% of voters polled oppose the closing, while only 36% approve. As for releasing the inmates into the United States, 75% are against that notion (Rasmussen Reports).[3] Other countries are also reluctant to accept terror suspects into their societies (Delahunt and Willett)[4]. So I think that President Obama’s decision to close Guantanamo prison was a good and just one, but a rash one. He didn’t understand how much would be involved.
[1] BBC. “Obama Orders Guantanamo Closure.” NEWS. 22 January 2009. 8 April 2009. <http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7845585.stm>
[2] Bill Mears. “Chinese Muslim detainees take case to Supreme Court.” CNN.com/US. 6 April 2009. 8 April 2009. <http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/04/06/scotus.gitmo/>
[3] Rasmussen Reports. “75% Oppose Release of Guantanamo Inmates in the United States.” Rasmussen Reports. 2009. 8 April 2009. <http://www.rasmussenreports.com/public_content/politics/general_politics2/75_oppose_release_of_guantanamo_inmates_in_the_united_states>
[4] Delahunt, Bill and Sabin Willett. “Innocent Detainees Need A Home.” Boston Globe, Lexis Nexis. 2 April 2009. 8 April 2009.

The Bald Frog With A Wig

In the profile section of Blogger, there's a part where you can answer a random question. One question that really caught my attention was: "The children are waiting! Tell them the story about the bald frog with a wig..." I wrote a story that I really liked, but it was too long for the word limit on the random question. Here it is...

The bald frog, Titus, never came out of his mud house. All he knew of the outside world was what he saw on television. One television program in particular was about animated frogs with hair. Titus would watch that show, then look at himself in the mirror and sigh, "Not a single strand of hair! I'm different. I'm weird. I'd better stay inside, so no one will see me and laugh at me." Titus moped around his house all night, every night, longing to go outside and see the world, but terrified of the ridicule that would surely result. He often lay awake during the day (since his type of frog was nocturnal), worrying about what might happen to him if he stayed inside his whole life, eating pond plant roots that grew through his walls, and what might happen to him if he went outside. He shuddered at both outcomes: a life of boredom and an eventual unknown death, or shame, mocking, and humiliation for the rest of his life.

One day, Titus was considering his fate again when he heard a strange noise coming from outside. It was a very faint scratching sound. Titus got up and checked his walls and door. The scratching sound wasn't directly outside his house, but farther away. Titus trembled with curiosity. There seemed to be two parts of his mind: one that wanted to go out, and one that wanted to stay in. His frightened self whimpered, as it had so many times before, "I can't go out there! They'll see me! They'll laugh me out of the pond!" But the adventurous side of him replied, "They're all in bed sleeping. No one will see me. I can sneak out quietly, see what that noise is, and come back, without anyone knowing I'm even there." Titus nodded excitedly. With a pounding heart, he opened his front door.

The water was bright. It took a little time for Titus' eyes to adjust to the brilliant light of the sun. He peered around cautiously, showing only his head outside the door. No other frogs were in evidence. They must have all been asleep. Titus slipped out his front door and into the water. He heard the scratching noise again, but it was louder out here. It seemed to be coming from the bank. Titus silently swam, trembling inside, to the source of the noise. He cautiously poked his head out of the water so that only his eyes showed above the surface. His eyes widened at the sight of the scratcher. It was a fox. Titus knew what it was, since there had been foxes on the same television show as the frogs with hair. Those foxes, though, were not nearly as big as this fox! He was huge! He was beautiful, too; more beautiful than the animated ones. The golden light of the sun rippled through the orange fur of his back and gleamed on his white belly. Even the black fur of his paws shone like polished stones. The fox didn't notice Titus, hidden in the shadows of a clump of reeds. He was busily scratching himself with one hind leg. Tufts of hair flew from his energetic strokes and landed in the tall grass near the edge of the pond. Titus watched, and was suddenly inspired. The fox didn't need that hair anymore. Titus could take it! He could make a wig for himself. Then he wouldn't look weird anymore, and he could go out all the time without being afraid. The more Titus considered the idea, the more he liked it. He waited with bated breath until the fox finished scratching, drank from the pond, and slunk away into the forest.

Titus sprang out of the pond and looked frantically around for hair. The sun was sinking, and Titus needed to get that hair before the other frogs woke up. He saw several huge tufts of hair stuck to the top of the tall grass, too high for him to reach. Finally, Titus found a bundle of matted fox fur that had caught on the grass closer to the ground. He gathered it up and looked hurriedly for something to fix it to his head. An old, abandoned spiderweb caught his eye. He untwisted a few of the unsticky strands and used them to tie the hair together. Another strand looped around the hair and under his chin. Titus quivered with delight. He finally had hair! He couldn't wait to show the other frogs. With a splash, he dove back into the pond. His wig almost came off, and he quickly went back to the bank for more spider webbing. At last, he was ready. He swam down to the bottom and waited excitedly for the other frogs to come out of their mud houses for the evensong. They sang it every sunset, and it had often greeted Titus after a long and sleepless day.

As the sun slowly sank, the bottom of the pond began to open with hundreds of little doors. Frogs' heads began to pop out everywhere. Titus watched and was shocked. None of them had hair! He was mortified. After all the effort he had taken to fit in, he was different. He was weird. He tried to take off his wig before anyone saw him, but the spiderweb strands had stuck to his head when they were soaked in water. Titus groaned and turned to go back inside. It looked like he would be stuck there after all, unless he came out only when the other frogs were asleep again. Then suddenly he felt a tug at his elbow, and a small voice said, "Mister?" Titus looked down and saw a small frog, not much more than a tadpole. He still had a stubby tail left over. His wide eyes looked up trustingly at Titus, with no mocking or ridicule in them. Titus liked this little frog. He smiled down at him and said, "Yes, son?"
"I'm not your son," the small frog said matter-of-factly. "I'm Jimmy. My father is Sam Williams." He held out his hand for a handshake.
Titus smiled again and shook Jimmy's hand gladly. Then his smile faded as he realized that Jimmy's eyes were fixed on Titus' wig. Jimmy pointed at it and said in an awed voice, "What is that, sir?"
Titus gulped down rising terror. "It's hair," he managed to squeak.
Jimmy, though, didn't seem to find the hair funny. He stared at it in wonder. "Where'd you get it, sir?" he asked.
"My name's not 'sir,' it's Titus," Titus replied, getting rather annoyed with Jimmy's probing questions that threatened to expose him to the rest of the frogs. "And I got this hair from a fox."
Jimmy's eyes grew still wider, if that were possible. "Wow!" he exclaimed, too loudly for Titus' comfort. "A fox? How in the world did you get hair from a fox, Mr. Titus?" Before Titus could say anything, Jimmy rattled on, "Foxes are ferocious animals with sharp teeth! They eat frogs! You must be an incredibly brave frog, Mr. Titus!" Jimmy grabbed Titus' hand and pulled him toward a crowd of frogs, chattering, "Come on, Mr. Titus, I wanna introduce you to my friends. They've gotta see you. A frog who has hair from a fox! You're amazing, Mr. Titus!" Titus was dizzy with wonderment. He wasn't strange? He wasn't weird? He was brave and amazing? Before they could get to the other frogs, though, the other frogs had risen to the surface and were beginning the evensong. Jimmy looked disappointed. "We're late," he said. "I guess I'll have to introduce you after the evensong, Mr. Titus. The director hates to have the song interrupted."
Titus smiled at his new friend. "That's all right, Jimmy," he said reassuringly. "I don't need to meet them right away. Why don't you go sing with your friends, and I'll wait over here until the evensong is over?" Jimmy nodded happily and swam over to his friends. Titus sat on the bank and watched. He had never seen the evensong, or the sunset, before. How much beauty he had missed while he was hiding in his house! The frogs were all so different, with different looks and different voices, but they all sang together in perfect harmony, praising the Creator of the world. The sunset was more colorful than anything Titus had ever seen, even on television. The sun itself was hidden by the trees of the forest, but above them were numerous clouds of pink, orange, and yellow. The sky itself turned from gold in the west to purple in the east by soft gradations of color, going through green to blue to indigo. Titus sighed with rapture.

After a little while, Titus noticed that the evensong was changing. Only the older frogs were singing now, and the little frogs, like Jimmy, were slipping out of the chorus to play. They went off a little distance from the others and splashed and laughed in the shallows. Jimmy seemed to have forgotten about Titus. At any rate, he wasn't introducing him to his friends. Titus sighed with loneliness. He'd found a friend, but it seemed that he'd lost him again. He cast his eyes around the pond and was surprised to see how dark it had become while he was watching the sunset. Then he caught a glimpse of a sudden movement in the grass. A flash of orange fur was revealed by the waving blades of grass. Titus jumped up and looked closer. He could vaguely see the dim outline of a fox. It was pressed low to the ground, and staring directly at Jimmy and his friends. With a stab of horror, Titus remembered Jimmy's words: "Foxes are ferocious animals with sharp teeth! They eat frogs!" Titus was frozen in place for a split second. Then he knew what he had to do. He leaped into the air and yelled, "Swim away! Fox! There's a fox coming!" The evensong abruptly ended as the frogs scattered, rushing to the deeper reaches of the pond. Jimmy, though, seemed paralyzed by fear. He was standing in the shallows, staring with glazed eyes at the huge orange creature that appeared out of the tall grass. The fox raised a paw, and Titus saw one of the adult frogs cover her eyes and weep. Titus leapt forward toward his young friend. He landed between Jimmy and the fox, waving his arms and yelling, "Don't you dare eat my friend Jimmy! Eat me, if you dare! I'm Titus the fox-haired frog! I took the fur from a fox's own back to wear as a wig! You won't touch my friend!"
The fox sat back, surprised. He looked quizzically at Titus. He leaned forward and sniffed at the wig. Some of the hairs slipped out from under the spider webbing and went up the fox's nose. The fox sneezed three times and looked distastefully at Titus. He turned around with disdain and sashayed into the forest. That weird frog could be someone else's breakfast!

Titus went limp with relief. The water exploded behind him as the other frogs rushed forward to cheer and congratulate him. Jimmy and his family were first by his side, hugging him and thanking him with glad tears. The director of the choir declared that he had never been so glad for the evensong to be interrupted. Jimmy didn't need to introduce Titus to his friends. Everyone wanted to introduce themselves to the brave, fox-haired frog who had saved their friend's life. Titus felt his heart swelling with pride and joy. Jimmy's hand was firmly clasped in his, and Mr. and Mrs. Williams were affirming that they couldn't do enough for him. The choir director was asking Titus what part he sang. "Tenor," Titus said confidently. He had overheard the rehearsals and performances for his whole life, and had often sung along with the tenors in the choir. The director promptly called the frogs into chorus formation, assigned Titus a place in the tenor section, and began the evensong again. Titus, the bald frog with a wig, joyfully lifted his voice in praise to the Creator, free from fear and surrounded by friends.