But I Don't Think So

Family time a few nights ago included Horton Hears a Who - the movie, not the book - because the kiddos love it. Also because it was an I-Spied $4.95 quickie purchase at Target. Hey: expect more, pay less.

The first time we saw it, not long after its dvd release, I hit two peaks of giggles. The first was this scene. It's Grace's favorite. She erupts into full-fledged belly-laughs every time she sees it. I reckon it's the combination of ponies, rainbows, and pooping butterflies. I could be wrong. But I don't think so.

The second was this scene. From the second Horton sees the bridge, I get him. Nay, I become him. I can recall every step of how I've played this out. And I've learned a few things are true about me.

I've heard the "whoosh" of air as he grasps his - er, gaping - dilemma, and I've thought, "Oh, yes. I've seen this bridge before." I, too, have muttered, "This looks kind of...precarious" while tunneling mine eyes over an impossibly plummeting chasm. (Doubt)

I'm the thinker who has posited, "Of course I can do this. Obviously, others have done this...considered I'd be doing this, too...clearly, I can conquer this." (Hubris)

I have taken a first tentative step. Testing. Assessing. Measuring. Weighing. (Mistrust) When the ricketiest planks give way I, too, have quipped an "Eh! Looks like insert observation here." (Criticism) Rather than changing my method, though, I sensibly choose to get off the bridge altogether force my way ahead with a new, carefully pontificated plan of logical foolhardy attack. (Stubborn)

Because my learning curve is so shallow steep, I decide that I can still think my way out of my predicament. (Just plain dumb) I mean, after all, it's only a bridge! (Clueless) I deduce my best tactic is to simply push through, much  like the proverbial bull in a china shop, since if at first one doesn't succeed, one must (with great gusto, yes?) try, try again. (Myopic)

So, as my tipping toes leave a wake of devastation, I traipse cheerily along never lifting my eyes from the horizon of success. (Ridiculously obtuse).

And then - Hack my legs and call me stumpy! - I make it.
Only to fall.
Before I realize I haven't, in fact, fallen at all.
I've been saved.
By some unseen source?

I rather doubt it. No, I suspect that, regardless of my doubt, my hubris, my mistrust, and my criticism; in spite of being stubborn, cluless, myopic, ridiculously obtuse, and (let us not forget) just plain dumb...

   He saves me.
       Every time.
          Alllllll the time.

Which leaves me wiping my brow, acknowledging His grace, and admitting, "Phew! That could have been a disaster!"

Rather makes me feel like I'm living in a world where everyone's a pony, and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies.

I could be wrong.

But I don't think so.