David Eagle dot Net

There’s a movie, which I haven’t seen, based on a book, which I love.  You’ve probably either seen the movie, or read the book.  The premise of the story is that a boy, Max, is sent to his room for misbehaving one night.  In his room, Maurice Sendack writes, “A forest grew…and grew…and grew, until the ceiling hung with vines, and the walls became the world all around.”

In this new world, Max goes on a journey.  He sails off through weeks and months, and almost over a year.  He comes to a place “Where the wild things are”.  In the book, these Wild Things aren’t described, but any boy would understand them.  In appearance, like a beast.  In nature, untamed, uncontrollable.

Until several months ago, I had created for myself a stable environment.  Within it, I operated as one comfortable with his surroundings.  For years, I was sure of some things.  Sure of a hot dinner, sure of four walls and a roof, sure that my decisions were right, or at least, justifiable.

The houses that we occupy are a sign of stability, but they are nothing compared to our own sense of surety, derived from long routine and the continual satisfaction of every expectation.  Like Max, I found myself one day, some months ago, in a forest.  It seemed to grow, and grow, until I wasn’t sure of anything.  In that situation, any man would do what Max did.  Any man would walk.  Sometimes we choose a direction with purpose, more often we pray, or hope, at the outset of a journey.  We pray that we find what we’re looking for, we hope that we know where we’re going.  But even when we don’t, we walk.

The longer we walk without finding the comfort of the familiar, the longer we tarry in that forest, the longer we labor on the sea, the greater our chance of coming to the place where the wild things are.

After almost a year, Max came to the place where the wild things are.  Sendack writes, “When he came to the place where the wild things are, they roared their terrible roars, and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes, and showed their terrible claws.”

The forest is the beginning, and it’s meant to disconcert.  The sea is a long labor, and it may try strength and endurance and will.  Only after surviving (not, it must be said, overcoming, but only surviving) both of these trials, does Max face true fear.

The wild things aren’t external, like the forest or the sea.  The wild things come from within.

Shocking events…events that shake our foundations, are what give us opportunities to journey to the place where the wild things are.  Opportunities to face those things within us, of which we are the most afraid.  Often, people make the journey, they reach the shore, they see the wild things with their terrible teeth and their terrible eyes and their terrible claws, and they turn around.  It’s the safest answer, because facing the wild things requires a tremendous amount of courage.  In order to stand up to them, you have to accept what they are, and accepting them may change you.  It may make you look at your life and really see it for the first time in years.

When faced with their “terrible roars” and the gnashing of their “terrible teeth” and the rolling of their “terrible eyes” and the showing of their “terrible claws”, we see the boy master the beasts.  “BE STILL!” Max said.

When your foundation is shaken, be willing to go on the journey (you may not have a choice, after all.).  Walk through the forest.  If a private boat tumbles by, climb aboard.  And if you come to the place where the wild things are, if you come face to face with your hopes, and dreams, and fears, with self loathing and the knowledge of your own inadequacy, the realization that you’ve sold yourself short, and out, that you could’ve done better and that you aren’t good enough, if you come face to face with the wild things…tame them, with the magic trick of staring into all of their yellow eyes, without blinking once.