I was going to win an Oscar. It was inevitable. I'd wanted to be a filmmaker my whole life, all I had to do was go to California, have a bit of faith and pixie dust, and I would be the next Steven Spielberg.
So, here I was, a senior in high school with my entire future planned out. Ever since I can remember, the idea of movie making has entranced me. The lure of Hollywood seduced me, and it wasn't long before I was conjuring up stories, screenplays, homemade films - anything to catch just a glimpse of the glamour and glitz I always associated with Hollywood. There was just something about storytelling, about having the ability to transport people into another world, if even for a few hours, that was absolutely magical to me.
And don't get me wrong - I still love weaving stories together. I love having to use my imagination to create different worlds, creative plots, and vivid characters with their flaws, dreams, quirks and regrets. But this dream of mine had been ingrained in my system for so long, it had become like a mechanical heart, pumping robotic blood and oxygen to every part of my being. I was never really aware of it, I just knew it was there, knew in the back of my mind that I would always be a filmmaker. There was no need to pray about it or even ponder any different options. This had always been who I was. God would never take that away from me.
But everything mechanical will break down over time. About two years ago, I was given the opportunity to film the wedding of two of my very dear friends. This was it! My big break! Spielberg was going to catch just a clip of my handiwork and I'd be in! Into the big leagues. Just. Like. That.
Turns out, I really didn't enjoy filming it at all. It felt like nothing but a heavy burden, and I remained in this stressed out, tense mood the entire time. Looking back, I can tell you why that was. But back then, I would've just brushed it off and said that I didn't know. It definitely wasn't because this whole filmmaking business just wasn't meant to be. Cue to one year later. Two more of my friends are getting married and alas! They want me to film the whole ordeal. Completely forgetting about the stress of the last wedding, I excitedly obliged, knowing that this time Spielberg would have to get me into Hollywood.
And once again, the whole time was nothing but one huge stress-fest, and I just felt this continual load of pressure that I couldn't shake off, and I was dreading having to go back home and edit the footage, and I was freaking out that the camera angles weren't good enough and... yep. It was definite deja vu. But again, I would never have accredited this to God slowly, yet surely chipping away at my mechanical heart, trying to get me to see beyond this safe little vantage point I had had since the age of three.
Needless to say, the point of this story is that God rarely ever keeps us in our tidy, pre-packaged cardboard boxes that seek to push him out of the picture. Because once that happens, we're left with nothing but a pile of scattered dreams and far-fetched goals that won't fit together, no matter how hard we push and twist their frayed jigsaw puzzle ends. I thought I was safe. I thought that I knew myself better than God knew me, which eventually led to the shocking conclusion that I really don't know anything about life. I had this whole future for myself built and ready to go. All I had to do was press start. Unfortunately, it was a life completely void of God's plans, of God's goals for me. I think I knew this all along, I just refused to listen to God's tiny little nudges here and there. I was mad, because a part of me knew that God was starting to pull away the bricks of my little boxed house, and I didn't like the vulnerability. I didn't like the prospect of having to venture out into the unknown depths of God and his craziness. But that's what we're called to do. Nothing about trusting God is safe or easy or comfortable. It forces us to face our own brokenness, and amidst all of that rubble and failure, we can catch a glimpse of real trust.
to be continued.
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