Sweet Hot Lobster Love

Picture a lobster. No, not in that slimy tank at Red Lobster, rubber-banded and sulking as they wait to be overcooked. Picture the boat and the sunburned fisherman and jumble of slick, speckled, scissor-clawed beasts lifted high above the water in a dripping net. Before they are boiled to turn the color of my skin after a day at the pool, those lobster ladies are one beautiful, fighting, swaggering piece of work.

But when it comes time to mate, they are even more impressive. First, the girl approaches a male's lair and sends in some pheromones (through, ahem, a liquid. Yup, she is peeing him to love. But let's focus here). The guy goes crazy, fanning his tail so the scent permeates his whole lair. He wants to be permeated by her. He pursues her, big and strong and splendid, and she decides – contemplates – mulls the choice. Because of the gravity of what she will have to do. Because if she decides to mate, she will need to shed her shell and be utterly defenseless. To leave would be far easier, so sometimes that is what she does. Shell-on, she takes off.

But. If she decides to take the plunge, she tells this to him by resting her mighty claws on his head. I could hurt you, but I won't, she says in her lobstery way. Don't hurt me. And she molts her final defense, that beautiful silvery speckled shell. He could eat her if he wanted – ruin the vulnerability of true HER, but he doesn't. He cradles her, protects her tearable flesh. In his crustacean way, he loves her. He completes her.

Now, I am going on a limb here, but I am seeing some striking parallels. I, too, am speckled, walk a little bandy-legged, and rely all too much on my prickly shell and on what I alone can do. And while this relates almost wholesale into how I see marriage and true love – real molted-shell love that involves standing so stripped down that the other could destroy you if they wanted, but they complete you instead – but that is not what made me think about lobster love today. It was the story of Abraham and Isaac.

We are on vacation, and Vacation Sundays are “Home Church Sundays” even though we are not at home at all. Sitting on camp chairs, smelling of wood smoke and sunscreen, me braiding Ellies's hair, Will retold the story of God asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. To recap – Isaac was born when Abraham and Sarah were one hundred and ninety, respectively. It was fairly evident in their decrepitude that Isaac was a gift directly from God. And when he had been celebrated, coddled, rocked to sleep and kissed for several years, God asked Abraham to sacrifice him. 

At this point, Luke says, “This story is about how much Abraham loves Isaac.” Mother-me thinks, yes, yes, yes. I could never do it. Don't ask me to do it. Why would you put him to such an awful test. 

Ellie shakes her head. “No, it isn't.” she says. “God is asking Abraham how much he trusts Him.” GodFollower-Me, Woman-me, Crustacean-me thinks, Wow.

Because God is leading Abraham through a fairly simple exercise:

God: What are you relying on? Where is your confidence?

A: My confidence is in my legacy – have you seen my son? He's gorgeous. So muscled, that curly hair. He's perfect.

God: Where did you get this son?

A: Um. You.

God: Do you trust me enough to give up what I've given you? Do you trust that when you've been stripped of what gives you courage, I will be enough for you? That I will complete you?

A: <deep breath> Yes.

God: Let's see.

God asked me to give up something recently. If I tell you, it will sound silly, so you can let your imagination run riot. Let me just say – my word, it was starting to DEFINE me. It was starting to put shapes around me that were different than the shape I usually am: pizza-baker, gardener, teacher, band-aid applier.

Things started going crooked, and God said: What are you relying on? Where is your confidence?

Lobster Girl: This THING! I love how it makes me feel! I love doing it!

God: Where did you get this thing?

Lobster Girl: Um.

God: Do you trust me enough to take off the shell of talent and connections and ideas and how you define yourself? Will you give yourself to me, stripped of how you define YOU? Will I be enough for you?

Lobster Girl: What about Abraham? You gave his dream back to him. Will you give my dream back to me?

God: That's was his story. Don't you want to see how your own story will turn out?

There are a lot of words for this act that look at it from different angles.

Surrender.

Sacrifice.

Submission.

Worship.

Right now I prefer molting. Because that is how I picture myself right now: shimmying out of my sculptural, glossy, hard-as-nails shell and standing vulnerable/waiting/open/loveable/open-handed/teachable before my Story Writer. And I finally reply:

Yes. I want to see how my story turns out. Show me.