I Don’t Want to Live On The Moon

That was a song that I used to listen to all the time when I was very young. It was on a cassette tape of “The Best Of Ernie”, and my sisters and I would turn it on at night to help us sleep. On the other side of the tape was another beautiful song about imagination. More than any of the others, those two stayed with me for years. I thought it was just because they’re both very beautiful, melodic, and calming. Recently while sharing them with my son, I discovered some deeper reasons why they may have resonated with me so strongly.

Being Epic

When we were both still very young, my sister gave me a beautiful miniature paper kite with a lined space on the front and a dry-erase marker attached. In fancy script above the writing space, it said, “Dreams.” I wrote some wild daydreams on that kite over the years. One of the first was this: “Really good astronaut. First to go to Mars. Live on the moon. (Cool!)” So, in contradiction to the song, I actually did want to live on the moon. Why? Because I thought it would be “cool.” And that was a running theme throughout the dreams I wrote on that kite: whatever I became, I would be a “really good” one and do really “cool” things. I would be famous, I would influence people, and I would do things that had never been done before. Those wild fantasies weren’t quite a waste of time; the astronaut one, for instance, motivated me to study math, which I found a natural affinity for. This later led me to accounting and to one of the best jobs I ever had. But as a stay-at-home mom with an associate’s degree, I don’t think I will ever live on the moon.

All of this desire to be “really good” or “cool” was only one part of a larger atmosphere that I grew up in. It was an atmosphere of heroes. As far back as I can remember, I wanted to be like David and Daniel and the other heroes of the Bible. I devoured exciting biographies of the “heroes of the faith,” the martyrs and missionaries who did amazing things to change the world for God and in His power. And my church, a huge influence on my homeschooled Baptist self, encouraged and promoted that mindset. The paradigmatic stories were of miracles and dramatic conversions. Indeed, every Sunday night on the radio, we heard the story of someone whose “heart and mind and life were Unshackled.” (Cue dramatic organ music.) This is how God works, was the implication: through the miraculous. Through the heroic. Through the dramatic, the epic, the big and important. And I wanted so badly to be a part of that. I wanted to prove that I really did believe in God, I really did love Him with everything I had. At one point, I even convinced myself that God was calling me to be a medical missionary in Peru. Another time, I thought He wanted me to give all my savings to mission work. Because that was what really mattered, I thought; to do great things, change the world, and boldly go where no one had gone before with the gospel. And yes, that matters. It is important. But I was missing everything else.

The God of Little Things

Then, when I was about 15, my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer. This was the first time I had to confront the death of someone close to me. It was a matter of months, perhaps a year with treatment. God graciously granted us a few more years with him. But did you notice what I just said? God did that. In fact, in all my grief, questioning, and suffering, I had my first experience of the God who is there every day. Not just in the big, epic, can’t-miss stuff. This is the God who goes through trials with His people; who comforts and strengthens them for the daily or hourly battle. God actually cares that I miss the way Grandpa used to snore, or his beautiful singing voice and quirky sense of humor. He enters into every detail of my life, no matter how small or unimportant, and He fills it with meaning.

Moreover, God comes into “the middle of imagination,” just like the other song I mentioned. As I learned to see Him in the ordinary matter of life, the way I read and wrote stories began to change, too. Where before, I had been a huge fan of “Christian literature,” all about the miracles and dramatic conversions, now I began to appreciate stories of the slow and subtle working of God. Stories could even reveal His glory without directly mentioning Him, or being direct allegories of the Bible. (The Lord of the Rings was, of course, my favorite example.) And as those stories worked their way into me, I saw so much more meaning connected with my own circumstances and actions. Yes, I was a spiritual warrior, fighting back the forces of darkness. I did it by controlling my anger. Yes, I was a beautiful princess, because the King of the universe called me daughter. “The most remarkable thoughts I think have a way of being true.”

Conclusion

Why did I really want to live on the moon? I was longing for a meaning bigger than myself. I was looking for God. Would I have found Him in space? Yuri Gagarin didn’t. Some astronauts did. I didn’t have to. He found me, right in the middle of my mind. Right in the ordinary world. And now, I want to help other people find Him there, too. I want to share the stories of His faithfulness. I want to live out His everyday grace.

I don’t want to live on the moon.