I saw a movie tonight that was quirky as all get-out, but the central plot-line resonated with something deep inside of me. Carrie Anne and I saw "Rachel Getting Married." Interesting choice for a Friday night, I must say. I'll hold off on a synopsis for now, as I think it might be worth seeing instead of reading about.
There's a scene in the movie where the main character, Kym (played by Anne Hathaway), is sitting in an AA meeting of sorts. She tells a haunting story from when she was 16--already a junkie, she was left in charge of her young brother for the afternoon, and he drowned when she ran the car off a bridge on their way home from the park. By the end of the story, it's apparent that she has shared this with the group as a response to someone's statement about how God has forgiven him or her for whatever drug of choice was abused. She ends by saying that she's not sure if she even wants God to forgive her for what she did. I couldn't ignore the sharp pang in my chest when she said those words. Something inside me agreed with what she said. It surprised me because it was the most honest thing I've heard from my heart in two weeks, but not because I didn't know it was there.
By the end of the movie, I was reminded of something Dan Allender said in the Mars Hill recruitment video Erin sent me. Although there was great tragedy in Kym's story, the end of the movie is a picture of great beauty. Am I willing to believe that the same is true of my story? That my most painful tragedies, my deep heartaches, my contempt and shame, are accompanied by a beauty so great that I can't even begin to fathom it's depths?
I'm reminded also of a passage in "The Horse and His Boy" from the Chronicles of Narnia:
"Don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?" said Shasta.
"There was only one lion," said the Voice.
"What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and --"
"There was only one: but he was swift of foot."
"How do you know?"
"I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion to gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach Kind Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."
"Then it was you who wounded Aravis?"
"It was I."
"But what for?"
"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."
