Prayer and The Village

It may not be the most critically acclaimed M. Night Shyamalan film out there, but The Village has been my favorite of his since I first saw it. I was surprised by the fact that, while a thriller, it was more interested in addressing fear and love as part of the human experience. The Village contains numerous meaningful lines, but most are only striking in the context of a fairly complex story that can be difficult to relate to those who haven’t seen it.
Em and I watched The Village a few weeks ago, and after seeing it probably two dozen times I finally realized why I like it. I knew I felt great admiration for the movie’s protagonist, Ivy Walker, the precocious, determined, and blind daughter of one of the village elders. When her beloved falls victim to a heinous crime, she approaches her father for permission to do what is forbidden: leave the confines of their small community to seek help. The conversation containing her petition is as follows:

“I am in love.”
“I know.”
“He is in love with me.”
“I know.”
“If he dies... all that is life to me will die with him. I ask permission... to travel through Covington Woods... and go to the towns... to retrieve medicines... that may save... Lucius Hunt. You are my father. I listen to you in all things. I will trust your decision.”

My recent viewing of the movie revealed that my admiration of Ivy’s character is deeply rooted in her relationship with her father. These two have probably the closest relationship of any pair in the village; their trust for one another is steadfast. The three short statements that conclude her plea are so telling: You are my father. I listen to you in all things. I will trust your decision.
But Ivy doesn’t only shower her father with words of devotion; she’s not whimpering into the shadows as might be expected of a woman in her puritanical society. Her ask is heart-wrenching. She is clear on where her desire lies. But her request concludes with a reiteration of the truth that has guided her life. Her fate rests not in her own abilities, but her father’s will.
An imperfect metaphor, but I wish my prayers reflected the passion, honesty, and trust of Ivy’s petition. What if I was honest with God about myself and with myself about God's trustworthiness? Am I willing to put myself on the line like that? I pray I learn to be so vulnerable and trusting of the only One worthy of my faith.