Decisions

Innocence is, in a sense

The first thing that you lose

Once your mind begins to think

And then

Begins to choose.

Scene from a western show: three strong cowboy-hero types hit a sprawling, brawling boomtown with their wide-eyed son / nephew / hero-wanna-be, who quickly runs afoul of a formidable gunfighter. The gunfighter dares the young man to meet him out in the street and settle their growing differences in the time-honored western way.

To his elders’ horror, the young man decides to answer the challenge, though doing so means certain death. “Can’t run away from it” / “no one respects a coward” / “a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do” / etc.

The three older men each determine to talk the young man out of his suicide-by-pride, and each formulates a different wisdom to carry his argument. The father points out the sheer folly of his son’s intention; “You don’t have to prove your manhood to me.”

“But I have to prove it to myself,” his son replies.

One uncle reminds the youth of all those who love him, of the caring souls who will be shattered forever to learn that he’s gone, that’s he’s lost his life so needlessly.

“At least they’ll know I died with courage,” the youth says.

The other uncle speaks of the wonders and beauty of life, of what a precious gift it is, how much of it the young man still has to embrace and enjoy and look forward to. Nothing is worth throwing all of that away.

This thought actually gives the youth pause. “You’re right,” he says. “And I’ll ride away right now and forget the whole thing – if you can look me in the eye and tell me that’s what you would do, in the same situation.”

A terrible quiet. And with that, the young man walks out into the street to his destiny.

How much more peaceful – how almost effortless – life would be, if we could make decisions for other people.

If I could order for the lady taking forever at the counter in front of me. If I could persuade the guy driving in the next lane to speed up, or slow down, or pull over. If I could induce the toddler wailing behind me on the airplane to be quiet.

If we could will our daughters to date the sweet, shy boy, not the preening thug … convince our aging parents that they’re too old to speed and swerve and parallel park … impress upon our spouse the need to ask someone for directions. On and on and on.

Surely this must be the most painful aspect of parenthood … recognizing all the decisions our growing children must make for themselves.

If only we could choose their choices, inspire them with our words, persuade them with our wisdom. What is the point of living, adventuring, surviving, learning – if not to pass on the lessons? To light the path a little. To spare them some of our own accumulated scars, humiliations, and heartaches?

On the other hand … what is the point of a soul of our own, if not to work these things out for ourselves?

Sat once with a young man toying with a decision that could cripple his life and his future forever. He asked what I thought, and I told him. He sighed.

“Talked to my wife. Talked to my dad. Talked to my mom,” he said. “Funny how each of you has told me exactly the same thing.” He shook his head, sadly.

“Just wish God would give me some kind of nudge. Show me the right thing to do.”

That conversation left me musing on a quote from another western. “A long time ago, I made me a rule,” the fellow says. “I let people do what they want to do.”

‘m not quite that laissez-faire about it, but ‘m trying to come to terms with the idea. It’s not easy. And yet … God does it every day.

Seeing what He sees, knowing what He knows, He generally makes His opinion pretty clear, for those willing to look and listen … and then steps back, knowing better than I ever will what this choice will mean – for me, for those around me, for countless others I can’t imagine. And for eternity.

Since Eve first reached for the fruit of the garden, He’s been watching. How many, like that rich young ruler, has He looked on with love, and watched walk away?

Sometimes, I leave others to their decisions with a sigh of resignation; sometimes as a sign of respect. With the latter, it’s usually an extension of the Golden Rule: a courtesy … a presumption of maturity and responsibility … a grace that I’d like to receive in kind.

It’s a grace more and more denied to me and my fellow citizens by our own government, which increasingly presumes to tell us when we have to take a shot, what we have to wear on our faces, where we can pray, what sins our taxes must underwrite, what communications we can and can’t read, what candidates we can and can’t vote for.

It's a deeply unAmerican intrusion. Worse, an ungodly one, for those governing a people “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.”

That kind of tyranny has been known to provoke people to rebellion, and even revolt. Nobody wants to see our nation come to that – again.

But some people may leave us no choice.