Holly Golightly was technically the first, the inspiration. The “Phony, but the real phony, you know?” The one who named her cat “cat” and they’re a couple of “no name nobody’s who don’t belong to anyone.”
But I do belong to someone. I belong to THE ONE. You know, THE ONE, the love that you yearn your whole life for, THE ONE that you destroy daisies over and pine for at night before going to bed. Except mine isn’t really so much a ONE as a THREE IN ONE.
That’s right, I’m an elegant hippie who believes in God the Father, God the Son and God the Spirit. When did I realize that I was an elegant hippie you ask? Well first of all let us establish that I own this, it does not own me. Like all elegant hippies I am subject to change. I discovered it this morning when I was “playing” on the indo board in a bath-robe that has my name stylishly stitched on it.
I would have made Holly Golightly proud, at least in my eclectic choices. I can relate with her, not feeling like you totally belong, wondering if those around you actually care, and just wanting security. She believed her security would be found in a rich husband to take care of her and her brother. I believed that my security was found in keeping everyone at arms length and “I can do it.”
Pride truly is a ridiculous thing. If we’re truly capable of doing everything on our own, then we’re breading a whole lot of social hermits. A contradiction in terms you say, I beg to differ, I say. A social hermit: Someone who goes out in public but refuses to believe that they need any social interaction or affirmation from others to live.
We very well might be becoming these anyways. Have you noticed bars and restaurants lately? Three people will be sitting around a table, in each other’s company, but instead will be engaged in faceless conversation with people who aren’t there. Ten years ago if you did that you would end up in a white jacket with tight arms in a room with padded walls. Don’t do it today and “you’re weird.”
The times they are a-changin’ again. Dear Bob Dylan, time to re-release that song. And yes, I believe in God. Not just any God, THE GOD, The God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, AND of Peter, James and John. Wild, huh? Well He is pretty wild, I mean look at the rain-forest, or the Alps, or a desert. He’s so wild He invented elegant hippies. Now that’s wild.
Thankfully, He is wild and doesn’t have the goal of taming the wild. In fact He loves the wild. My ONE, loves the wild and wants this elegant hippie to embrace His wild and take His wild everywhere she goes. His wild is crazier than any of Miss Golightly’s parties. Let me tell you. Last year at this time I was in Romania, now I’m in Georgia. It’s warmer here. With my security in Him, in His wild faithfulness, I’m safe no matter where I am in February. To be honest I’m safe with His wild the other even months out of year with Him too.
This elegant hippie has found something that she never thought she would find. Home. It’s not in the arms of a man, a capricious decision, a new hobby, or even in noted recognition. It’s in the acceptance of the one who made it all anyway, including me. Home is in the arms and heart of the one who loves me so dearly that He thought about me long before I was even born, thought up a plan for my life, and yet doesn’t force me to do it. He even died for me before I was born! He also came back from the dead for me. I mean honestly, does love get truer than that?
Yeah, that guy in the movie says, “I would die for you.” Great, so then who’ll be around to live with me? My true love did die for me AND THEN He had the tenacity to come back! His love couldn’t be contained by the grave, He came back to shower me with grace, mercy and love. Sigh. What’s more? He loves EVERYONE this way. That guy in the movie, he can only love one person that way. This true love is extended to EVERYONE, EVERYWHERE. It’s not exclusive.
I told you, He’s wild. And as I established, I know wild, I’m an elegant hippie.
Reference: Breakfast At Tiffany’s (Paramount, 1961)
