Into The Woods (Part 1)

Let me catch my breath . . . I've been running for days in these woods . . . I think I have a side-stitch or a carbuncle or maybe something more serious and life-threatening . . . I'm not sure. But all this running isn't helping. The deeper I go into these woods, the deeper I go into myself . . . searching for 'after' . . . running away from 'this' . . . I know, I know . . . another allegory . . . more metaphors . . . let's hear a collective groan all the way around the room . . . ahhhhhh . . . now don't you feel better?

When Lauren (my eldest daughter who is now 21-years-old) went to a preschool screening at the age of four, I was too young and stupid to realize there were right and wrong answers in life. She was too. She impressed the educational gurus with her knowledge of colors, numbers and letters. Pleased with my bright child, one of the teachers leaned in close to Lauren and asked what her favorite television program was. Without hesitation, Lauren answered, "Into the Woods."  The teacher stepped back, observing us both with a tented brow.

"You know, the Stephen Sondheim Musical . . . Into the Woods . . . ." I was hoping to jar her memory. No such luck. She simply directed us to the pre-registration table. At the time, I was too young and ignorant to realize that my four-year-old was probably more musically well-rounded than this teacher who had never heard of Sondheim.

Into the Woods is a Broadway musical from the late 80's that deals with the concept of 'after' happily ever after. Weaving together many different fairy tales along with an original story of a childless baker and his wife, Sondheim explores the ideas of consequences for actions and the necessity of interdependence in community. I'm quite sure this is why little Lauren loved to watch the video over and over and over again. Even then she was charmingly intuitive.

Running around in these woods this last week has made me think about Sondheim's play and the way the fairytale characters scurried in and out of moments searching for meaning after they thought they had their lives all figured out. In the play Jack, from Jack and the Beanstalk, asked himself what do I do with a dead, thousand-pound giant decomposing in the backyard?

Here in these woods, stewing in the middle of my own personal 'after', I've had to ask myself the same question, "What do I do with this decomposing carcass?" 

Let me tell you, it's easier to keep running through the woods than to face that question. It's easier to curl up in a ball and let the huge, complicated beast catch up to me and eat me. Sounds like a good 'after' to my happily ever after, don't you think? Shhhh . . . listen . . . what was that? Did you hear something behind that tree . . . hold on, I'm going to check it out.

It was a skunk . . . she was NOT happy to see me . . . ran off, I think I scared her. . . . shhhh, there it is again. Did you hear that? It sounds like the echoing footsteps that tingle and crunch in your nightmares leaving you feeling less than-a-coward when you wake up . . . there it is again . . . what is that?

"Yes, it's okay to cry here too." The words entered my atmosphere like a slow knife being thrown from across the room. I felt my body lurch.

"What do you do that for . . . sneaking up on people like that? I asked you that question a week ago and you're just now answering me?"

"It took me a while to catch up to you. I brought you this."

He handed me a slip of paper, my cowardly eyes read, "For I know that this shall turn to my salvation through your prayer, and the supply of the Spirit of Jesus Christ."

"What is this?"

"It's Philippians 1:19. Paul was in prison when he wrote that about his 'this' turning toward . . ."

"I know what it is. What I mean is . . . this . . . why did you come all this way in your black dress shoes to give me this?"

He looked down at his shoes, the new shine was obliterated with mud and scruffy scrapes. A loud prattle sprang from a nearby tree, making me jump and throw my hand over my heart.

"I thought it would help you find your 'this'. That's why you're in the woods, right?"

I crumpled the paper and threw it toward his damaged shoes. "Thanks but I really don't want to find my 'this'. I just want to get through these woods and out the other side before the huge, complicated beast catches up to me and . . ."

"I think it's too late." He pointed through the trees. My gaze followed his finger as a mist of terror coated my soul. A few trees away from me the huge, complicated beast was crouched, gnawing on his own arm for lunch. My stomach bolted into my throat as he looked up at me, a stringy red clot dripping from his mouth. Just beyond him were two more monsters . . . one coated in black from head to toe, standing faceless and silent, coiling his tail through his fingers. The other a one-eyed fiend thrashing around on the bronzed forest floor moaning lightly and pulling at his ears.

"Who are . . . ?"

"You may have hurt fear's feelings back in the tunnel . . . looks like he brought his friends with him. Yup, you're going to need this." He picked up the crumpled paper, smoothing the wrinkles and handing it to me again.

"Why? What did I do? Why is he after me?" I took the paper, smoothing out the last of the wrinkles myself.

"It's starting to rain. You may want to get  your computer out of the wet." He said.

I glanced back at the miserable devils fogging the corners of my woods. Their posture seemed poisonous and they smelled of a deep, filthy redness, the kind that refuses to wash off the skin. It seemed as if their presence was soothing me and pulling me apart all at the same time. I pulled my eyes away tucking the paper in my pocket and gathering my things.

"You're going after your 'this', then?" He asked.

"I have to find a safe place to spend the night." I announced.

"But if you find your 'this' first, it'll . . ."

"How can I worry about my 'this' when I'm in the middle of the woods with creatures like that stalking me?" I pointed toward the freaks, hoping my raised voice hadn't startled them.

As usual, he didn't respond when I insisted on doing things my way. I think I detected a faint nodding of his head, then again maybe he was just bending to polish his shoes.

"You don't understand. I'm sorry for snapping, but . . ."

He straightened; he hadn't gotten far cleaning his shoes. "But what?"

"Do you think the complex will ever be removed from my life?"

The rain was rushing past us in earnest now. I wondered if it had drowned out my question.

"Over there," I yelled through the downpour, pointing toward a ridge.

The pelting rain had forced a portion of rich, dark dirt to dissolve into the headland nearby, leaving an entrance. I ran toward it, stumbling inside. The walls were thick with rock, muck and grime. Wisps of smoke blew in circuits around my head and out the opening. It felt familiar, like I had been here before. But that was impossible. I saw the opening materialize only moments ago. Didn't matter if it was the black hole of doubt itself, I was out of the rain and away from the demons. That's all that mattered.

"You coming?" I called after him, straining my neck to see out the hole and through the wet backwoods. But there was no answer.

Julie

Comments

[julie]

Susan--thank you for reading. i am honored that God is using my words to touch the lives of others. thank you so much for your prayers and your hug at church last night. it was great seeing you!! julie

[Susan Bell]

Julie, I will admit to you that I put off reading this. I knew that by reading your vivid descriptive words I would be forced to "feel" and understand at least a portion of your struggle. I had to stop several times while reading to regain my composure. I too, run for the cave and only come out kicking and cluching the walls of my coma. I am not a writer. I cannot put it into words just how deeply your words touch my heart and soul. Just know that those God given words reach to places that others may not want but need to feel.
Unceasing prayers,
Susan