The real-life Truman Show

Truman: [to an unseen Christof] Who are you?
Christof: [on a speaker] I am the Creator – of a television show that gives hope and joy and inspiration to millions.
Truman: Then who am I?
Christof: You’re the star.

                                                                                                                       The Truman Show, 1998

Today’s topic came to mind as a result of recent conversations with a friend as well as my mind’s inability to stop an already-started train of thought before it has made its transcontinental trek across my mind.  And this isn’t a directly Lyme-related post, but I wanted to share it here because stuff like this is still encouraging to me and helps me get through the days when I feel like this journey is just too much to handle.

Have you ever been doing something–even the most mundane, daily activity–and had the eerie feeling that someone was watching you?  Or even a step further, have you been performing/preparing to perform a particular task and experienced a nagging feeling that someone, somewhere must have cameras set up to monitor your movements 24/7 because no matter how hard you prepare, no matter how much care you take to ensure everything leading up to [action X], it seems like an unseen force is preventing you from completing your goal?  I’d venture to say we’ve all felt like that at some point, and if you haven’t, well, please introduce yourself to me because you’re an extraordinarily unique person and I like meeting extraordinarily unique people.

In any case, this is a quite common phenomenon, and unless you have a legitimate fear or paranoia that you’re always being watched (I’m not making light of that because there are people who are truly suffering from the phobia of being watched), you can probably shake off the feeling and rationally tell yourself that the notion of someone watching your every move is absurd.  After all, The Truman Show is a fun movie to watch–it is fun to watch Jim Carrey play the title character in the hilarious way only he can (I’m a big Jim Carrey fan), living his life on a glorified TV-set-disguised-world where everyone except him knows they’re on a TV show–and while it provides countless opportunities for laughter and enjoyment, it never breaches that gap where it seems like a situation that could really happen.  So we enjoy the film and its fictitious, impossible (okay, highly improbable–I don’t like the whole “impossible” word….it takes a lot of fun out of life) premise and don’t stop to consider the notion that we could be living in such a world.  Because even with our fleeting feelings of being watched from time to time, we can acknowledge the feelings as the products of our imaginations–which don’t fancy putting themselves into sleep mode.  Ever.

But what would you say if I told you you ARE being watched every second of every minute of every day?  Would you call me crazy (okay, crazier)?  Fair enough.  But I’m telling you right now, you are living a real-life Truman Show.  Who on earth is behind this real-life media spectacle?  Who is the mastermind behind the scenes, able to see everything you do and intervene as needed?  If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, these are questions you probably don’t need to ask, but I’ll answer anyway.  Your Executive Producer is God.  (Technically, your entire production crew is God, but proclaiming Him your Executive Producer just sounds cooler, probably because succinctness packs a more powerful punch)

Yeah, buddy!  Can’t you just picture that showing up on the credits as you were born?  Some cheesy intro song played for a montage of scenes of your first few days of life and the credits:

CREATOR PRODUCTIONS presents
a GOD THE FATHER production
a MIGHTY GOD film
“[YOUR NAME]“
Starring:
[YOU]
Casting Director:
GOD
Music Composer:
GOD
Costume Designer:
GOD
Set Designer:
GOD
Executive Producer:
GOD
Writer:
GOD
Director:
GOD (unseen but totally there. Heb. 11:1)

Seriously guys, I know that seems a little silly when you see it written like that, but just think about how cool that concept is!  It’s easy for us to get lost in the script–especially when we don’t see the next line or stage direction–but our Writer already has the script finished and can’t wait for us to discover what comes next.

Of course, since we don’t have the omniscient view of our life-script, we are required to ask our Director for help with our next line.  We have to trust our Set Designer to give us guidance on where we’re supposed to be.  We need to consult our Casting Director to make sure we make good decisions about who we let be a part of our movie.  And above all, we must believe wholeheartedly that our Executive Producer knows exactly what He’s doing with the production.  This means accepting everything we encounter as part of our overarching story…including heartbreak, sadness, failures, and yes, even a chronic illness that robs us of any quality of life we previously had.

Because guess what?  Our movies would be absolutely boring if they were only comprised of happy moments, successes, and overwhelming joy.  If those were the only things written in our script, they wouldn’t seem nearly as happy, successful, or joyous because we’d have nothing with which to contrast them, and consequently wouldn’t recognize how much appreciation they truly deserve.

And really, is anything sweeter than the times when you’ve been going through seemingly insurmountable trials, struggling to find any form of hope that life can be good, and you experience a day, or an hour, or even just a moment of true, heartwarming happiness brought on by even the smallest of things, and that moment of happiness restores a streak of hope somewhere deep in your soul, even if it seems only temporary?  I don’t think there’s anything better than that.  I truly don’t.

Next time you get one of those hope-restoring moments–before it passes and you’re face-to-face with the struggles you encounter daily–I urge you to look up and thank the Executive Producer for adding the good into your plot line.

Because He thinks you’re a star.

Much love,

Becca