The Name is Bond; James Baggage Bond

After watching Casino Royale, the prequel to the James Bond male fantasy escapades we know and love for spectacular action and ample eye candy, suddenly the decades-old movie franchise has a sadder, more bitter taste. Bond's precision as an agent and charisma as a lady's man actually boil down to a lot of pain and avoidance underneath.

I think about myself and the people around me, and it isn't long before I stumble across the baggage that drives so much of our decisions and chosen ways of life. Some go from relationship to relationship looking for anything that will keep them from facing their own fears of loneliness, while others refrain in fear of intimacy -- maybe they've been burned before. Some lose themselves in work or hobbies or social causes, anything to protect ourselves from how we are really doing.

As for me, coming out of a long weekend makes me think of some of the baggage that I'm still waiting on God to pick up and maybe moreso myself to invite him to sift through the pile with me: this crushed bag of a friendship I lost, that fragile parcel of former boyfriend's happiness, this appliance of my fears and insecurities, that pile of fantasies I never should have bought. And the list goes on.

I haven't lost hope yet though. There's always the mercy and goodness of God that's chasing me down. And the more I see in myself and around me, it is my only hope.


Self-protection much?