The books I read growing up were written anywhere from 30 to 200 years before I was born, so the writing was usually excellent, the content impeccable, the storyline linear, the characters quirky, creative, inspiring, and honest, and the endings happy-or at least hopeful.
The first time I realized this writing style was no longer en vogue was when a girl in my 8th grade won a national writing contest. Her story was published in a book along with other award-winning stories, and the book was available in our school bookstore, so I decided to check it out.
By the time I finished the last sentence in the story, my bewilderment had unraveled into utter confusion. The storyline was not linear, there wasn’t much of a plot (or perhaps I thought this because I didn’t understand the non-linear storyline), the characters were not inspiring or honest, and the ending was hopeless-but packaged meticulously in pretty language that attempted to make the hopeless seem beautiful. Unfortunately, I was not the only one confused; the characters seemed totally confused themselves about everything-morality, their emotions, each other, their purpose in life.
I discovered later on that this was exactly the type of story that today’s post-modern writers adore. In 2008, The New York Times asked college students to submit an essay that described what true love was like for them. I assumed the winning essay would have less to do with “true love” and more to do with various sexual encounters and the confusion that ensues. I was disappointed to find I was right. The winning essay, “Want to Be My Boyfriend?” was exactly the type of nebulous, morally-ambiguous, hopeless story the New York Times (and many celebrated modern writers) appreciates. The main character, a junior in college, dated and/or slept around with lots of guys, hoping that one of them would love her back-or at least show some type of commitment. The last guy whom she’d really started to like told her that making another date after three dates and an adult sleepover was going “too fast, too soon” and implied that what they had-whatever it was-was over. She consoled herself with the thought that “in the end it’s our collected experiences that add up to a rich and fulfilling life.” I was so depressed after reading it, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The poor girl was trying to believe so many lies-that it was okay for a guy to treat her like that; that all she was worth was three dates and a one night stand; that monogamy is a thing of the past, and irrelevant to modern life; that her desire for commitment from a guy is a fantasy, etc. -that she literally had to concoct a new theory on the meaning of life.
That was four years ago. Today, I find myself more comfortable with confusion-especially if it means I get what I think I want.
“My sheep hear My voice.”
Life with Jesus can be difficult in one sense. You have to be honest with Him, yourself, and others; you have to say what you mean and mean what you say, and then you have to follow through with what you say and mean. Those can be very difficult since many of us enjoy living in various states and degrees of denial. But those are also the very things that make life with Jesus so easy, beautiful, and free. You don’t have to juggle lies or pretend anymore. You can listen to Him, follow Him, and when you disagree or have a difficult time swallowing what He says, you can tell Him exactly how you feel. He’s so willing and open to listen and talk with you, and will help you see the truth.
But I’m finding that on some occasions, I quite enjoy my lies. They dishonestly make me feel like I can have my cake-and yours, too.
Jesus, help me love truth and love hearing and following Your voice.
