43 Minutes

For whatever reason, I love trashy teen soap operas. I am not sure what the exact draw is. The unrealistic story lines, the reminder that no matter what is going on in my life, it is not as bad as the pretend people on TV. (Some of that is because vampires don't exist, but we will discuss that another day.) Maybe it started helping my mom fold clothes on her bed when I was five, watching Guiding Light. I love getting caught up in the stories, the lives, the dramatic failures and celebrations of these fictional people. Every episode, every story line involves some dramatic twist that leaves me hanging in the balance at the end of that 43 minutes. (Plus the shows have really good music. I have discovered some great bands watching those shows.)


Why? Maybe its an escape. I love to read and just genuinely love stories. To get lost in someone else's world for a bit is refreshing. I get joy out of discovering other people's lives and the road that got them there.


Yet along with that comes the thief of all joy—comparison. Our lives are not written by Hollywood script writers (and honestly, sometimes I think I could do a better job; end of Dawson's Creek anyone?). Our lives are not going to have a soundtrack playing in the background with perfect lighting. Our love story is not going to be made into a movie or have a song written about it.


We have to be careful not to get so caught up in the emotional porn of the fictional stories of these "people" that our actual lives are disappointing. The Creator of all things is writing every moment so give Him the pen. Give Him the pen and don't try and read the last chapter or watch the season finale.

Now excuse me, I have some One Tree Hill to catch up on.