I am Mrs Nesbitt

There’s a great scene in the movie Toy Story: Buzz Lightyear, space ranger extraordinaire, has been captured and forced to face the reality that he is nothing but a toy: a child’s play thing. Upon this realization, he loses all hope, and doesn’t even fight a little girl forcing him into a pink apron and frilly hat for the upcoming tea party. When Woody, his friend the second rate cowboy, comes to rescue him, Buzz looks up at him in total despair and yells,

“Don’t you get it?? I AM MRS NESBITT.”

The space ranger who had formerly been preoccupied to the core with defeating Zurg and protecting the galaxy, who wasn’t afraid to fly and even less afraid to prove himself, this is the toy sitting at a tea party with a pair of headless dolls.

“One minute you’re defending the whole galaxy, and suddenly you find yourself sucking down Darjeeling with Marie Antoinette and her little sister.”

I think I identify with Buzz on most days… or, perhaps more accurately, Mrs Nesbitt. Sometimes, I am too content to sit at a tea party, asking if my hat looks good, knowing the whole time that something has gone horribly wrong.

Buzz was created to fight Zurg.

I was destined to fight Satan.

Buzz was faced with the reality that he was a toy.

I am daily confronted with my sinful flesh.

Buzz was kidnapped and dressed in pink.

I willingly turn to idolatry over my living Savior.

Buzz sat sipping tea while all of the toys that were counting on him were left defenseless.

How long have I been enjoying the American luxuries while the children I’ve been sent to rescue sit around with no one?

Luckily for Buzz, Woody came into the messy tea party, (literally) slapped Buzz in the face and reminded the space ranger who he was.

Who am I? Am I a space ranger, trained by years at an academy to fight Zurg? No. But neither am I reduced to sucking down Darjeeling with a pair of headless dolls.

Who is my Woody? Who is willing to step into the complete and utter mess that I feel my life has become most days, telling me to snap out of it and not letting me wander off in despair after the confrontation?

“I’m sorry. You’re right- I’m just a little depressed that’s all. I can get through this. I’m a sham. Look at me I can’t even fly out of the window. The hat looked good? Tell me the hat looked good. The apron was a little bit much…”

It’s not about the hat, Buzz.

It’s not about the location, Natalie.

It’s time to saddle up. Woody is waiting for Buzz, and my African babies are waiting for me.

No more wasting years of academy training for us.