Toy Story Theory

I guess my problem with science has just been that I am an alleged hopeless romantic. We just don't get along. Our relationship isn't hostile. We are merely two different sorts of people. I like looking at the world in one way and they like looking at it in another. There are ways of reconciling the two, but I as long as I like scientists I don't have a real need to like science. Some of it is fascinating, but I just don't like how much it explains. Water isn't as beautiful if you think of it as two hydrogens and one oxygen. I don't want to know what things are made of. I like to think that things have essence and aren't entirely material. I like to think that humans have souls. If you tell me that a rock is sedimentary I usually want to bust your chops. I am annoyed sometimes that we can see the bottom of the ocean and the inner works of the body and that we can logically go into space. All the wonder has been explained away hasn't it?

It's not all bad. I could talk on the other side if I were a scientist, but since I am on the philosophizing, romantic end (ironic I would call this post a theory) I am going to contest the scientific explanations of all time.

I suppose it is only fair I explain the title. If you have seen Toy Story, you know that the toys are very much animate and all living out these intense dramas in their own miniature world. That is until the humans come around. Then they drop whatever they are doing and become ordinary pieces of plastic only brought to life by the imaginations of children.

Now, let's take an example from science. The human eye will do just fine. Science tells us that eyes are organs that detect light and convert it to electro-chemical impulses in neurons. It is a pupil, a cornea, an iris, and a lens and an optic nerver among other tiny structures. If you take the eye out of the skull you will find a blood shot orb with a little flagellate tail that once sent signals to the brain. If you look what was behind that it is just a big compression of cerebral mush. There isn't anything inside that eye. You can disect it and you won't find other worlds. It's no portal. No Shakespeare, or Da Vinci or whoever said that it was the window the soul. No it's not because you see when we tear open a head we can look and see that there is nothing back their but organs and blood. So there you have it. That would seem to explain it.

But you can't ever be sure.

Because maybe, maybe, there are some things we humans aren't meant to see. Maybe it is only when we leave the room that the toys come to life. Maybe the moon's face turns to craters when we put a telescope to its lunar lips. Maybe the sea lays out a carpet of sand to hide the fact that it is bottomless as the divers get nosy. Maybe our eyes turn to limp lumps of light-lapping lenses when we try to pull back the curtains on the windows to the soul. I think eyes go much much deeper than that. I know when I look in someone's eyes that what we see behind the drapes cannot be what is actually going on inside there. Fire is not a chemical reaction, it is more of a miracle. It is an element. Trees are wise, photosynthesis is not how they dine. They are classier than that. The universe is a work of art. You can't explain these things. It's alive. I bet you really could journey to the center of the earth.

I think that the world has a heart of its own and the real stories are going on behind our back. Those that don't believe don't get an inside scoop. Much closer to the actual action is not the textbooks and dissertations or anything that you can see under a microscope. Much closer are the fairy tales and the madness of poetry. Much closer are the philosophers and the supernaturally inclined. Something is going on in another context, but we don't know it. We are like the children who can only make up the stories with our imagination. We play with the toys but never see them at play without us. They are in hiding. They don't want to be discovered.

Then where would the mystery be?

Bravery

The road takes you a lot of places. There isn't much of a science to it. You just get on it and get to moving. The destination, more often than not, has nothing to do with where it takes you and what it shows you and teaches you. Roads are escape artists and navigators and smugglers and homes and journeys. That's why bards still borrow from its books and young people will attend its lectures.

Deification is what I call the above paragraph. A derivative of personification, it involves giving qualities of God to other things. It is probably a nifty resource for atheists everywhere. But it is also appropriate for allegory. What I mean to say is that it wasn't the road that took me somewhere with certain people, it was God.

As fate would have it, I was riding down the freeway one day to attend an outdoor Christian rock concert with three of my brothers (not by blood) Daniel, Samuel, and Wesley. When we arrived at the extra small town we saw a classic cameraman and pretty young newscaster duo. We all got sorta happy as we slowed down and lowered the windows thinking it had something to do with the concert.

"Put us on the news?"

"You don't want to be in this story."

Curiosity thus piqued we drove on ahead postulating amongst ourselves about what happened. Postulating so much that, in the unfamiliarity of the town, I passed the filling station that my friends wanted to stop at, seeing it as a justifiable place to use a restroom as opposed to the portable lavatories available concert-wise. They yelled at me to turn around so I pulled into a dirt driveway (apparently the only kind of driveway in style around these parts ) in order to back out and continue on in the opposite direction.

Upon pulling in, that sound we so often shrug off as background noise peeled the soundpaper of our scene back to where it could command our full attention. By gosh I tasted, felt, smelled, and saw that siren before I realized I was only hearing it. There were at least three emergency vehicles wasting no time getting where ever they were going.

Completing our vehicular 180 we found the engines to already be out of sight if not sound. We carried on our way only find a freeway fricasseed with frenzy. The epicity seemed operatic. Determined not to get caught in the turbulent metal black reflectionary snake of cars I pulled off at the median.

Action.

We surveyed what we now obvioused to be a wreck. Significant was a little purse of people all squatting in the grass. We agreed that they were huddled around a victim. What degree of victim that person was we did not yet know. Daniel announced that he was going to pray for them and unfastened his safety belt.

I cannot explain to you what happened in my spirit except that I didn't want him too. Maybe because I knew he was doing what was right and I knew that I didn't want to step up and do what was right.

Heroes do what's right.

"I don't think we are supposed to do that. I don't think they'll let you"

"They'll just turn me back then."

"Do something!" went the conscience's coax And still I sat. I watched him walk over slowly. I wondered if he had hesitation and a tinge of fear in his heart. If he did I couldn't have admired him more or been angrier (as a scapegoat for my own cowardice).

I saw other officials approaching so I pulled to the other side and parked flipping the hazards on. I watched Daniel from afar.

My pocket buzzed. I pulled out my phone and who but Daniel was on the caller I.D. I picked answered.

"Yeah"

"Give Samuel the phone"

I did just that. Samuel threw the phone down and started running towards the scene. I deduced that they needed a Spanish speaker. I finally emerged from the vehicle taking hurried steps frustrated for my inactivity up until now.

I guess it was about a tenth of a mile away and when I got there Samuel was bent down holding a large woman's hand. Her eyes were shut tight and perspiration pickled her dark skin. Her foot was immediately noticable with blood and she complained about it most (in Spanish). She and her husband had been ejected from the car. Her husband had a white sheet over his face. Dead. I didn't find out that was her husband until later.

Sam was talking to her and I tried to pick up on what he was saying. I know he asked her how old her kids were. She said they were both twenty. Two men. Twins I suppose. I prayed and at length paramedics arrived with a stretcher. They asked questions through Samuel and we finally rolled her on to a sort of towel and lifted her onto a stretcher. Samuel kissed her brow and walked over to the ambulance with her talking to her all the way.

The four of us carried on back to the SUV. We were all sobered by the grit of the scene. It is hard to see. Samuel was sobered most. Across the highway I noticed the news reporter and cameraman we saw earlier. Samuel approached them and said a few things and we all went back to the car. We were quiet.

I could see Samuel was still upset. I told him he did good. I told him you could tell a difference between people who do good just to get a pat on the back and people who do good because they love people. Then it was quiet again and I prayed aloud.

Later at the concert as three of us sat under a tree, Samuel finally spoke on the matter.

"I lied to that woman"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I told her that everything was going to be okay and that her husband was going to be okay when I knew he was over there dead. I feel really bad about that."

...

"What did you tell those news people?"

"That is something you won't ever know Mitch" he smiled a little as he said this.

I think people like Daniel and Samuel are heroes because they take action and they get out of their comfort zone and they love people. I love people but I don't act on that. I know the two are destined for greatness in their own ways. They both have their own ambitions.

But I still feel guilty. For a little while now I have been shooting my mouth off about being brave and how Christianity requires it. It demands it. I am a critic of the hypo variety. I always say that I want to do ministry and I want to be involved in it. Several times I have said that I wanted to be a pastor. But I should know that pastors don't just stand in a pulpit and make good theological speeches. People in ministry are supposed to be brave. They are supposed to show love to the world. If they aren't doing that, they aren't doing their job.

I am not fully aware of the future plans of my friends. If they plan to be doctors or architects or movie producers or bankers they are still more of ministers than I. If they plan to be ministers then they have the right idea.

I need to be a Christian. I need to be brave.