Blowing Soap Bubbles

Movie nights are rare in my household, but everyone enjoys the experience. Usually we argue over which film we're going to watch--this takes at least an hour--and then we make popcorn and settle in for the evening. Several weeks ago the family camped out on the couch and popped in Hero, one of my favorite films.

Everything went smashingly well, and by the end of the night I experienced a sense of transcendence; not only had my movie suggestion been well-received, but the impact of the story had once again filled me with sorrow, joy, and hope.

That is, until my mother asked what I thought was a stupid question.

She asked me what significance the story's conclusion held. A fair question, to be sure. But I exploded in anger, wondering why she couldn't just enjoy the experience for what it was; far better to experience than to understand, right? I felt as though the ephemeral, delicate feelings produced by this stunning work of art had been dashed to the ground; I was lost in the wonder of the billowing, undulating soap bubble of emotional experience and she had just thrust her finger right through the middle. She was so typically modernist and mechanical!

But as the stupid, petty argument escalated, I felt the quiet disapproval of my Father. He spoke directly to my heart, asking me what was more important: soap bubbles, or loving and respecting my mother?

Just as Jeremiah admitted earlier this week that he struggles often with loving the writing ideal more than with loving Christ--and by extension loving others--I have to admit that I often love the art ideal or the emotional ideal. But this is a tragedy: If I continue on my current tack then when I one day stand before Christ I will be able to offer nothing but soap bubbles and empty excuses. May the love of Christ compel me to strive for something greater; namely, loving my brother--and mother--as Christ loves me.


- Andrew