Headwaters Wordsmithing

Writing for the actor, singer, and reader.

Birthed in the Northwoods of Wisconsin,  Headwaters Wordsmithing creates screenplays, lyrics, and books with an emphasis on faith in God...and a minor emphasis on coffee.  Make yourself at home.

Star Wars Theology: 1st Leia 4:47-53

The passing of Carrie Fisher has made me a bit nostalgic.  And New Year's Eve lends itself to views in the rear-view mirror.  So it was a given that I would revisit "a galaxy far, far away".

I remember the first time our happy band of idiots saw "Star Wars: A New Hope", the first one that was the fourth one but we didn't know that because, well, there was only one.

It was an experience.  The theatre seats rocked (and they weren't even broken!), the screen was actually curved (supposed to be that way), and the theatre sound system had a bass speaker the size of a Buick. 

We boldly went where none of us had gone before (yeah, I know...wrong show).  We walked out, got in line, and boldly went again.  Loved it.

And we were all, of course, infatuated with Princess Leia.  Cute, feisty, and wearing two cinnamon rolls on her head.  (I always thought Cinnabon missed a great marketing opportunity there...)

And now, Princess Leia is gone.  For auld lang syne, I'm watching it again and...

Huh.  Never thought of that.

At 57 minutes, our heroine is a captive on the Death Star, her bravado in full estrogen bloom, unaware she is seconds away from a skybox view of her planet's demise. 

The Commander verbally fences with her, smiling that cadaverous crocodile grin.    Suddenly she parries with something that hits me right in my life.

"The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers."

Whoa.   Now why does that bug me?

I take a pull of the lukewarm Elixir of Knowledge.  Even at room temperature, the potent dark liquid begins jolting synapses.

Why would...oh...well...

Closed fists, tightly closed fists, are as full as they're ever gonna be.  The only way to increase a fist's capacity is to change it into an open, cupped hand.

I make a fist with one hand and a cup with the other.  Huh.  OK. 

My mind flashes a GIF showing a four-year old with a death-grip on a small, stale piece of Bazooka bubble gum.  An adult pours a two-pound bag of M&Ms over it.  Then a two-pound bag of Peanut M&Ms.  Colors bouncing off a tight, little fist turning white from the effort, holding on to that single piece of bubble gum so it doesn't get away.

If the little tyke would've just cupped his hand  he coulda had his gum AND enough chocolate to give him a sugar buzz well into next week. 

So why would a kid be that pigheaded and stu.........oh......

I look closer with my mind's eye.  The pigheaded kid with the cramping fist...is me.

Yeah, I won't get much with a closed fist - but I won't lose much either.  I hafta keep my stuff in a closed fist or...

The Elixir pushes up a thought I don't particularly like.

- or someone else could take it.   HE could take it. 

And I don't like the question my mind just asked - Do I trust Him enough to hold all my important, treasured things in an open hand - to make everything available to Him?

Sure, I want Him to add to my stuff...but would I want Him, or let Him, take stuff away?

Hey, I'm all for Jabez but I'm not too keen on Job.

Do I trust Him to give me what I need?  To give me the best, whatever that is?

Yeah.  Me and Tarkin.  We both need to loosen our grip.

And I had better obey quicker than The Commander did...just in case there's a neighborhood kid that can bullseye a womp rat in a T-16.

All content copyrighted by Dennis R. Doud. Website designed by Isaac Doud.