All I’ve ever known is how to hold my ownHadestown
All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own
I DO NOT BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.
It’s ridiculous, it’s incredulous, it’s impossible, it’s not realistic, it’s just.. eugh.
Then, why, why, in this universe did I hyperfixate on Hadestown, which is legit an entire musical about two poor broken people falling in broken love and suffering from a broken ending? Why? Why? Why?
The meanest dog you’ll ever meetmore hadestown that’s it i’m a goner
It ain’t the hound dog in the street
He bares some teeth and tears some skin but brother,
That’s the worst of him
The dog you really got to dread is the one that howls inside your head
It’s him whose howling drives men mad
Like?? Why do I find wholeness in such brokenness? Why is there light in such darkness? Such hope in everything that’s the opposite of hope?
I’m a broken record, with all of these “i dunnos.” Because I don’t. I don’t. I don’t like love stories and yet- I do! What? isthisahormonethingyouhearaboutinhomeschoolratsishouldapaidmoreattentionwhymewhynowugh– Maybe, just maybe, it…reflects life yet paints a brighter picture? Of what we could be despite what we already are?
Yo, that was my insightful thought for the week. Send tweet.
Don’t point out the fact that I’ve been appreciating a musical about the Greek underworld and preparing for the Bible Bee Qualifying Test. Don’t. (is that self promo shoot) (did. not. mean. that.) Don’t point out the fact that I enjoy God’s word, absolutely but I also really appreciate stories that are decidedly secular. And please don’t point out that I can carry entire discourses about the Christian life, yet not feel a single emotion at some inspirational faith post somewhere. Don’t. Is this me being apostate? I sure hope not. It’s me being confused.
I admit it! I love Christ and yet I enjoy things that are! not! Christian!
So does this mean I’m a h y p o c r i t e?
Oh, Thor, I’m really confused.
I’ll get back to you on that later. Maybe next year.
But…what I DO know is that the whole “whatever is good, pure, godly,”– that whole bit? That doesn’t just go for Christian things? And what’s even weird?
Some of this not-Christian stuff reminds me of Christ.
Please don’t kill me.
They’re not reflections. They’re echoes, wistful, wishful, hopeful cries— broken people with broken hearts that want something to save them and give them hope. They want hope.
And I’m over here going “I! KNOW! SOMEONE! WHO! CAN! GiVE! YOU! HOPE! HI! pleasepleasecomeoverherehumanityyou’resosoclosepleaseican’tsaveyoubutiknowSomeonewhocan!!” see? Stories remind me of hope. And that we need it.
Look at me waxing poetic about something that sometimes I question. *sigh* But somehow, in some way, it’s a fact that’s proven over and over and over and over again: There! Is! Hope! See how I’m using exclamation marks because look there is a happy ending!
( I’ve been like this ever since I started studying for the TestTM. One test. I’m gonna die if I ever try to get a doctorate, aren’t I?)
It’s like the times I’ve been so tired I just pulled myself up on a counter and started laughing. Full on bellyaching laughter. Or shot hoops before the heat could roast me alive and mentally crossed my fingers that the ball would go in. Or, or, talking to people- and so many people- and they’re so different and unique and happy and sad and just so precious– and mourning, absolutely mourning that so many people are gone, people who wanted hope, people who needed hope, people whose stories will never be told and will be forgotten, just like every other time. The fact that we had a “last time” and we’re possibly going to have a “next time” terrifies me.
That’s the thing about stories– they bring this concept we all crave: hope. I will listen to “Wait For Me” and “Wait For It” over and over for hope. We’re crying, we’re fighting, we’re dying for hope. Hadestown, Hamilton, His Story– hope, in their own ways.
This is me, holding out that flower and begging the world to realize that hope already came and it’s waiting for them. It’s waiting.
Just come already.