Of Melting Faces and Divine Potential

I'm constantly struck by the singularity of individuals. I mean, there are certain people who use the words "awkward" and "random" to excess; or who say "amazing" to describe everything until the word no longer has meaning. Some people are all about mustaches of the handlebar variety (can we stop with that already?); some get crazy with the emoticons (on the interweb computer system [Please read in George Costanza's mother's voice]).

Where was I going with this before I started making fun of hipsters?

Oh, yeah-- individuality.

***SPOILER ALERT***

Though, to be fair, the movies discussed have been available for private use for some time. Also, if you've never seen them THIS LATE IN THE GAME, you can't have had any semblance of a decent childhood/young adulthood, depending, of course, on how old you are.

Last weekend my nieces came over. They wanted to watch a movie. The Bug had picked out Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. As I wondered why we even own this movie (I guess to complete our set...), I steered her towards the much more quintessential-- and much more palatable-- Raiders of the Lost Ark. She asked me if there were any scary parts.

We had previously viewed The Temple of Doom and I think she was worried about a similar experience.

During that movie, the Bug had an episode: squealing and writhing, almost as if in pain, and-- at one point-- leaving the room for the safe haven of Grandma's bedroom.

Lest you think I'm a horrible person and even worse aunt, none of this happened during the part you're thinking; the scene pictured above.

Remember the part where Short Round and Indy find the secret passage in Willie's room and follow the tunnel deep under the palace to the catacombs, until they accidentally get trapped in the room with the collapsing ceiling studded with spikes?

You may or may not remember that the tunnel was no ordinary tunnel; no sir. It was a tunnel filled with large, crawly bugs.

It is these bugs that Willie has to slog through in order to pull the lever-- the chamber of which is likewise full of many-legged insects-- in order to open the door to the room and rescue Indy and his side-kick.

This whole two minute sequence was WAY too much for the Bug to handle (she's six). I didn't think she would have a problem with it. She watches Shark Week and River Monsters with genuine excitement and glee. Glee, I say!

All of this notwithstanding, I think her trust in me was so shaken that when the part I was initially concerned about her watching came on (the heart-ripping, sacrifice to Kali scene), she immediately booked it into Grandma's room. She could just tell it was coming and she ran.

There was also a moment of panic when she witnessed the child slavery. ("WHAT ARE THEY DOING??!!!"; but she had a comparable experience while watching Joe Pesci pull a gun on Macaulay Culkin in Central Park in Home Alone II, so I really should have seen that one coming.)

Her four-year-old sister, the Bean, on the other hand, watched the entire movie, start to finish, from the same spot on the couch, her face impassive.

"Are you okay, baby?" I kept asking her. She barely moved her field of vision from the screen to nod her head and grunt, "Mmhmm."

So when the time came to watch Raiders, I knew I needed to think a little harder about what the Bug might possibly consider "scary".

After giving it due consideration, I answered, "There's one part at the end that you might think is scary. Just close your eyes when he tells Marion to close her eyes."

"Who's Marion?"

"Just his girlfriend in this movie."

Satisfied, she skipped to the Blu-ray player and started the movie.

They kept asking me about "Mary"-- "When is Mary gonna be on?"; "What is Mary doing?"

I reminded them that her name is "Marion", and told them to "Just keep watching; you'll see later."

The whole thing went off without a hitch and, finally, we were at the end of the movie.

When the time came, Bug clapped her hands over the top half of her face and said, "COVER YOUR EYES, SISSY!"

Bean remained as she was, eyes fixed on the screen. The Bug kept urging her every few seconds to cover her eyes as she peeked through her own fingers.

The only change in the Bean was that she uttered a "HA HA!" as Arnold Toht's face melted off. The sort of mean, teasing "ha ha" that has the same cadence and modulation as "Na na nuh boo boo" (a taunt that the Bug insisted was, "Na na nuh goo goo" until fairly recently; but that's a story for another day). I didn't have a problem with that. The guy was a Nazi.

It hit me then, and a few times since, how very unique and individual we all are-- in our circumstances, experiences, and reactions. And it starts so young. The girls' eight month old sister, Baby V, is already starting to exhibit her own preferences, characteristics, and mannerisms-- mostly sassy (why is it we only get the sassy ones in our family?). Eight months isn't a long time in which to develop all of those things.

That's how I know that there's more to us than just this life. We were definitely around before; and if that's the case (which it is), we will definitely be around when our life here is over. We are eternal beings, with the opportunity to progress eternally. There is so much more to us than here and now. While our circumstances and experiences here contribute to our whole selves, I know that this life is not the beginning of who we are, nor is it the end.

As we learn to recognize, and be more cognizant of this fact on a regular basis, the less frustrating this mortal experience will be and the more we'll be able to gain from it.

Specific Ridiculousness

Perhaps if I write this down I'll remember it more readily.

Something I've realized about myself (and re-realized--over and over again) is that I'm ridiculous. In more ways than one-- but this specific rant is about this specific ridiculousness that I suffer from, which is: I am constantly and consistently whining about wanting to be treated as an individual. That is, until something I don't like happens to me-- and then I instantly think of someone else who's circumstances I would rather have.

Why? I'm not someone else; I'm me. My circumstances and experiences and everything else about my life are custom-made for my growth; my development; my progression towards becoming the person I was created to become. Why on earth would I trade any of those perfectly tailored experiences for an ill-fitting one that was meant to help someone else on their way? Why would I want what was meant to form someone else's character perfectly? If it did anything for me, it wouldn't do half as much for me as it would for the person it was meant for; nor would a hundred similar experiences straight from someone else's refiner's fire shape and effect me in the way that one of my perfectly fitting experiences does--if I allow it to.

And I guess that's the trick. All things work together for our good if we allow them to. Our own willingness to submit to God's will, to learn what He would have us to learn, to change, drastically effects our ability to do so. Which is why the scriptures are replete with exhortations to be humble; be teachable; why we're almost constantly being counseled to be obedient by choice. It is infinitely easier to accomplish something if we enter into the work portion of the accomplishing of our own free will and volition. Anyone who has ever tried to get a toddler to do something knows this: if you can get the kid to want to do it-- whatever it is-- it's a snap. Otherwise you end up wanting to claw out your own eyes.

So, as unpleasant as some circumstances and experiences are to have, they are perfectly framed by an omniscient and loving Father who only wants for us to become as He is. And that can only happen if we grow and develop in the ways that we need to. Thankfully, He knows us well enough to know exactly what circumstances we need to experience in order to make that happen. And this whole process only works if we actively decide to let it.

The Atonement works in our lives as fully and as quickly as we want it to.