Roxy Says Goodnight

For some reason as I was putting myself away for the evening, an old memory slipped in with the chill Boston breeze. I was thinking of saying my goodnights to the girls I'm chaperoning on our college tour, when the tiny little girl voice inside me quoted lines from one of my first plays, The Music Man. The Amaryllis in me asked my older, more mother-esque, sensible self, "But Miss Meredith, if I don't have a sweetheart, who am I supposed to say goodnight to on the evening star?"

"Well. I guess you can just say...goodnight my...my...someone. Goodnight my someone."

*Cue the music*

While I was looking around online to find out what exactly Amaryllis says to Miss Marian, the stuffy, single librarian-slash-piano teacher, I came across the song that comes just before "Goodnight my Someone," and it ends a little something like this...

Mrs. Paroo:
But, darlin'--when a woman has a husband
And you've got none,
Why should she take advice from you?
Even if you can quote Balzac and Shakespeare
And all them other highfalutin' Greeks.

Marian:
Momma, if you don't mind my sayin' so,
You have a bad habit of changin' ev'ry subject--

Mrs. Paroo:
Well, I haven't changed the subject!
I was talking about that stranger--

Marian:
What stranger?

Mrs. Paroo:
With the suitcase who may be your very last chance.

Marian:
Mama!
Do you think that I'd allow a common masher--
Now, really Mama!
I have my standards where men are concerned,
And I have no intention--

Mrs. Paroo:
I know all about your standards
And if you don't mind my sayin' so
There's not a man alive
Who could hope to measure up to that blend'a
Paul Bunyan, Saint Pat and Noah Webster
You've got concocted for yourself outta your Irish imagination,
Your Iowa stubbornness, and your liberry fulla' books!

It's interesting to look back at that play and see how politically incorrect (or socially out of date) it is--the women shun Marian because she is single. And Marian is clearly still single because she is a stubborn intellectual type. Her mother, Mrs. Paroo, tries to convince Marian that she ought to loosen up a little, get to know the new (attractive and suave) stranger in town. Hilarity ensues.

Funny how times have changed. Not only would a feminist interpretation have a HAY DAY with Mrs. Paroo's comments (not to mention the social implications of the storyline and its outcome), but most women would look at the small minded people of River City and say that Marian should definitely stay single, avoid getting duped by the faux-instrument salesman, and probably move out of her pathetic little town to a more accepting city. If anything, she's the only intelligent, admirable character in the sad lot, and it's unfortunate that Meredith Wilson chooses for her to look the silliest in the end--falling for the obviously manipulative wiles of the out-of-towner.

But mom makes a good point--maybe Marian does have some unrealistic expectations that she's harboring when it comes to finding a mate. So her situation is not ideal, but some of the blame still falls on her.

A couple of days ago I made a list of all the reasons I would be apprehensive to get into a relationship with someone right now. The list was fairly sized, but completely unsubstantial. A lot of it boils down to fears that "God's best" is somehow stale and rote--that the love I hear about a thousand times over in songs on the radio is ungodly, worldly, wrong. Something I shouldn't want, but something I know that I'm "missing out on" when I choose God.

In his sermon this week, Scott quoted C. S. Lewis:

"Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."

Somewhere in all of this analysis and soul searching, I know that the root of the problem relates back to Lewis's message--In wanting marriage, I am not desiring something greater than God can provide; I just don't realize the gravity of what He would give me if I actually asked for it. This means a few things:

1) I am not too young. No matter what older, single women tell me, I refuse to believe that I am "rushing into things" when I say I want to be married. For me, at 22, I am for all practical purposes ready to be married. I've finished school. My finances are in order. I am seeking Christ and involved in my church. Now, obviously, if God has other life experiences he'd like me (or the man I eventually marry) to go through before marriage works out for me, then that's fine. I'll wait. But I'm tired of being fed the lies that I need to "find myself," "grow up," or "take some time to be selfish." That sort of me-focused mentality is sin. Plain and simple.

That being said,
2) I need to go ahead and ask God for it. Not only does the Lord ask us to present our requests to Him, He also promises that He hears our prayers and will answer them. When praying for something like marriage, that the Bible says is good, I know I can ask boldly because it's a blessing that most people are called to.

Which reminds me,
3) I probably should be well aware of what I'm asking for. Marriage is a big deal, I know. It's more than just having a boy that is bound by law to listen to me complain and rub my feet after a long day at the office (ok, with the kids...whatever...) Marriage is a tool used to refine us. What better way to have our flaws brought to the surface than to share them with someone else in such an intimate way? It can be easy to hide our dark and dirty stuff from friends, even roommates, but in marriage, when you let someone in so deep, they are bound to come up for air with a whole lot of litter. A commitment to love is kind of a big deal.

If you ask me on an off day, I might still say things like, "I don't believe in love." or "The idea of 'the one' is a crock." I might still mean it. Someone asked me the other day if it boiled down to my spurning the idea of commitment. I said, "I don't know" because I wasn't ready to pinpoint the problem on myself--that I'm scared I'll mess it up. Odds are, I will. But I'm tired of hiding behind those excuses. It's starting to change the way I pray about dating. I know that I need to pray that God would keep my heart soft towards marriage, despite the constant barrage of negative messages I receive on a daily basis. I'm asking God to keep me tuned to what He created for me relationally and wise in discerning how to handle myself in different situations with men. But before all that, I have to ask God for the courage to ask Him for these things in the first place, and the courage to let others see me in this "weak" (actually, vulnerable and real) place.

A couple of weeks back, I wrote in my journal,

"On my way to church this morning I thought about...how I don't really believe in the kind of love that I heard all about in the songs last night. I expect for some godly man to one day realize that it is his calling to be married, look around, decide I'm the best option, and pursue me. It won't be romantic. It will be like buying socks. Warm, fuzzy, presentable design. I'm sure I'll be a very functional wife and I'll learn to love...but I won't fall into it. It won't be naturally passionate but something I develop like a dispensable stage character."

Coupled with my recent list of relational fears, my outlook on love seems pretty lame. But despite my emo-tendencies, I keep C. S. Lewis's words as a mantra running through my head: "I am far too easily pleased."

And along with the crisp New England air, a melody floats along beside me...

Lord you have my heart
And I will search for yours.
Let me be to you a sacrifice.

And tonight, I say goodnight on the evening star. To Someone.