A Causal Universe

I've come the conclusion that I'm far more likely to write humorous, satirical posts in the morning and contemplative, introspective ones at night. Since it is now 8:45 in the evening, you can probably guess which kind this particular entry is going to be. My apologies if you're disappointed.

I'm addicted to movies. I admit it freely. I'm not even sure just what it is about film that entrances me so -- possibly because film has many of the same draws as books do for me. I like the idea of disappearing into another person's mind, or into another world or time for awhile. What does it say about life that we're all so eager to escape it? Rather, what does it say about us human folk? Are we wimps, to be so desperate to be free of our own troubles that we willingly watch the hardships of another individual? I don't know. I do know that I enjoy watching for visual clues of the greater meanings of a story. Finding a synechdoke in flashes of film rather than in words in fascinating to me. 

All this to say, yes, I've found yet another television show that I enjoy. I've tried to make my addiction sound noble and intellectual, but it really just boils down to the fact that I'm a nerd. Which is something I can easily live with, because if being a nerd means that I'm not willing to waste my time on shallow, jerky people so I fill my time with reading and writing and crocheting and watching television, then I don't think I'm that bad a person. 

Today I started watching the first season of Joan of Arcadia while waiting for my computer to finish scanning itself for issues. (Which begs the obvious question of, "what if my computer has become self aware, and it won't tell me that it has problems because that would kill off its carefully evolved brain cells? Should I really trust my computer to be honest with me?" Okay, I'll stop personifying everything now. It's my natural, writer instinct...my apologies.) It's truly an amazing show -- I don't understand why all the good shows never last and the bad ones do. In any case, the show focuses mainly on its sixteen year old heroine (Joan, duh) and on the inner workings of her family as God (yes, the Head Honcho himself) routinely shows Himself to her and asks her to do things. One of the main dilemmas of Joan's family is the recent paralysis of her older brother, Kevin. 

One day Joan is literally in tears before God (in the guise of a little girl this time...kinda creepy, to be honest, since the little girl is the kid that played the genius killer Hannah in CSI). Joan asks Him to please, please heal Kevin, because it would be easy for Him to do. God informs Joan that He can't show preferential treatment. In subsequent episodes, He tells Joan that this is a cause and effect universe. He doesn't punish, but we can't expect our actions to not have consequences. When Joan asks Him why He is talking to her, God says that He is using Joan as a catalyst for Him. The seemingly random things He tells her to do all ultimately has some sort of good involved, if not for Joan, but for someone else.

This show has left me with several musings. The first and foremost is... WHY DOES GOD TALK TO JOAN? WHY CAN'T HE TALK TO ME LIKE THAT? 

Let's forget that this a TV show for second, and pretend that God actually would talk to me specifically. We already know that He could, but would He?

To a certain degree, I recognize the fact that I would probably be scared stiff if God all of a sudden did show up and start telling me things to do. We ask for burning bushes or still, small voices or whatever, but honestly, folks! If you had a still, small voice suddenly telling you to quit your job or some such thing, wouldn't you automatically check yourself in for psychiatric observation? We're too pragmatic as a race for Old Testament procedures to work anymore. So I imagine that God continues to work, just not in such obvious ways. I want to be a catalyst for Him, but how in the world am I supposed to recognize the tiny things I might do that will save the world or just make somebody happy? 

There are days when I really would like for God to materialize in my room and talk bluntly to me and tell me what I'm supposed to do. When I'm sad, I do wish that God was there to sit with me, and hold me, and tell me that everything will be all right and that He really does have it all under control. The simple fact is that I want Him to be human. But if that really did happen, would He be God? It's hard to say this, but no. To ask God to be human would be to put Him in a box, and if He's in a box, He can't work in those bold, Old Testament-esque ways that I sometimes wish He would. It would be a lot easier (for me, anyway) if God were to lean casually against the wall and look at me and say, "Seriously, Katie, chill out. Is the sun in the sky? Yeah, that's me. Is there still air for you to breathe? I've got that part down pat. Have the stars come unstuck in the thousands of years since I super glued 'em up there? No. So what makes you think that I can't take care of one human woman like you? Trust me, sweetheart. I'm everywhere. I know what you're thinking and I know the desires of your heart. I'm never going to forget you, because the word 'awesome' was invented for Me alone. Go to sleep and stop worrying, or you'll give yourself premature wrinkles. Trust me on this, it ain't pretty. Might want to avoid it."

But He won't do any of that, because, darn it, He believes in me. I have faith in Him, and I'd like to think that God has faith in me. He isn't going to come down here and hold my hand and treat me like a baby because He's taught me better than that. He's never let me fall yet. He's taught me how to walk. Now it's up to me to stop wanting to crawl back into my walker and get on with business. If only He didn't trust me! But He does, and I can't underestimate that, because He doesn't underestimate me.

I guess that's cause and effect in action.