Stand

            It’s amazing the difference one movie can make. I must confess I’m tired, no, more, worn to the fraying thread that still wraps itself around and around and around its duties, taking strength from the circles habit creates. Apathetic, carrying on for no more reason than that I had too, I decided to put in a movie while doing dishes (I was so tired I didn’t enjoy that-those who know me will understand how tired—not physically—I was, that I did not enjoy that!). I had a movie from Netflix, in the customary red paper sleeve, sitting on my sewing table downstairs, and I must send it back soon so that Dad can get his disk (War and Remembrance….or Winds of War, I forget which one, a documentary on WWI).  It wasMr. Smith Goes to Washington.

             I had never seen it before. I confess, as emotionally tired as I was, I wanted no surprises, and had heard the basic storyline before, so I looked up a short plot summary (from the curse of the English teacher’s life, Wikipedia); I debated, then put it in. I bleached the counters, loaded the dishwasher while the opening played on, the first few black-and-white scenes took place on the screen of my silver Mac sitting on the counter. But when it came time to turn the faucet, and I could not hear, I paused the movie. Those done, I turned it back on while I straightened up. Dad came in (wearing his navy blue work sweatshirt with the WaterWorks Logo), paused by the tortilla chips on the counter, and watched it with me. Soon I was caught; we moved to the living room couch. We paused; my mother and a sister came in, sat down and ate their supper; my dad and I watched on. My youngest sister got back; the viewers paused while my dad went to unload the new carpet from the Mini Cooper. Mom had to practice the piano for church; we moved the movie to the actual TV. I watched as the idealist was framed, defeated, gave up, grew cynical. My mother joined my dad and me.

               And then I watched the climax. I watched as he fought, virtually alone; I watched as he stood for twenty-three hours (so we’re told) and sixteen minutes, reading of freedom and equality, idealism and justice and the way they play out; I heard as freedom of speech grew ridiculous and yet saved innocence and started to crack a greedy Taylor-made machine; I watched idealism refuse to give up. I cheered and begged and waited for Jeff to win, wound up in a story. I danced inside as he did, as wrong was made right (when Aslan comes in sight—sorry, couldn’t resist putting that in), as freedom and truth triumphed! And then I waited for reality to sink in again, but even as it did, I realized a fire had been lit again, and apathy had vanished. For I had watched him stand, alone (save for a person who could only signal help), stand, and stand, and stand, and stand, and speak, for so long. I watched him refuse and refuse and refuse to give up. I had seen perseverance, and it made my soul dance; I had seen why he stood—for impossible causes and people who couldn’t stand for themselves; I saw him stand whether others stood with him or not. I would make a horrible Jefferson Smith, I admit—I would do better as his helper in the stands—but, somehow, seeing perseverance, even without it’s triumph, reminded me what it was. Twenty-three hours? Can I not stand for twenty-three hours? More, can I not do my best for thirteen months, without giving up, without focusing on the odds, for no other reason that it is good to do so? (For My Lord loves my best work, not less). And can I do so without fixing on the end in sight, but focusing instead with delight in the challenge, in meeting the challenge by his strength, in standing and standing and standing without giving up, no matter the task or the odds? For standing means no giving up, it embodies perseverance and commitment and decision and conviction.

             “I’ll stand, with arms high and heart abandoned, in awe of the one who gave it all”—I will stand with perseverance, and with the delight gifted to me in challenge and impossibilities and in the daily, daily, unending daily tasks, standing as one in the kingdom, challenged with the impossible task of living like Christ—and I will stand with a fire burning inside that grants me a smile of pure joy in this task. For the task is beautiful, and My Lord grants the strength, day by day, to stand!