A deceptive svithe, one in which I will seem to be endeavoring to trick you into thinking I am a humble person, which I am not
Everyone who knows both me and this old song will tell me it must be my theme song. I don't know why.
You're all familiar with these new Chuck Norris jokes, yes? Are you as familiar with the even hipper Thmazing jokes?
You know---Thmazing jokes. But, as mentioned in the title, today I am endeavoring to be humble, so I'll wait till tomorrow to post all the Thmazing jokes I've collected. Today, the ego is to be reigned in.
Anyway, goodness knows (or, more specifically, Lady Steed knows) that I have plenty to be humble about. And Friday night I had something of a humilitifying epiphany. But before I get there, let's talk about Shakespeare.
You see, it's not just my fellow Fobs I can be envious of--I'm also jealous of Shakespeare. And rightly so, as no less a luminary than Daltongirl has stated she isn't sure whether or not I, Thmazing, am a better writer than Shakespeare. And if Daltongirl can't decide, then, at the very least, I'm not better enough to make a difference.
I remember my junior or senior year of high school when late one night I sat up alone and watched Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet. It about ruined my life. Never had I been so moved! Never had I experienced sure rapturously good writing! Shakespeare, I was forced to admit, was not only the greatest writer yet, he was the greatest writer possible.
I sat down in a funk at the kitchen table. I pulled out my journal and used the few remaining pages to praise Shakes and debase myself. I could see no reason to ever write again. With that entry, there was no room left in my journal--and no room left in my life--for another word from me.
Nowadays I think of R&J as a silly thing, while Hamlet's where the real money's at, but never mind all that. Let me tell you the primary reason Shakespeare's greatness bothered me:
I may have always been a religious kid, but I have also always felt that if I wanted to be immortal, it was up to me.
Not immortality, the gift of God. Immortality, freshman English forced reading.
The only method open to Theric to avoid being forgotten.
And Shakespeare was (and is) taking more than his share of the pages.
Anyway, on to my epiphany:
Intellectually, I have always known that this literature-based quest for immortality is irreligious. Or, more accurately, faithless.
But it's hard for me to keep this in mind. There is something in my hardware that makes me think that artistic creation is of greater value than other pursuits. I try very hard to control this notion because it is necessarily false. God doesn't love the media mogul more.
But the idea of all our telestial art falling into disregard in the eternities turns my stomach. All this beautiful stuff! Forgotten?!?! Forget the plumber, but not me!!!
I wonder though if The Grapes of Wrath will be as meaningful in 60,000 years as the play I wrote in fifth grade is now? Interesting, but childish, and ultimately of only polite interest.
Anyway, the epiphany:
My priorities are bad. The immortality offered by our Father is much more important than the immortality offered by the literati. It shouldn't matter to me if my words are forgotten over the aeons. What should matter is whether I and my loved ones are remembered.
This is an appropriate day for me to reconsider which relationships in my life are of the greatest importance. Which gift, given the choice of only one, would I prefer God give me: My family? or My words?
I hope, as time goes on, I grow wiser. I hope, as time goes on, I consistently make the correct choice.
This post is dedicated to
w i t h o u t w h o m
I would not be nearly so awesome.
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