Somewhere in Time (1980) may be a story of regression, past lives, and self-hypnotic time travel (somewhat unbelievably of course). While weaving together a believable story, though, I was eventually struck by the enduring love of Christopher Reeve (left), as a playwright, and Jane Seymour (as a theatre actor) who at a place in time or timelessness are still there for one another, rather reflective of the ideal love relationship, of faithfulness and devotion, which from a Christian perspective, can happen within marriage. However, from a Christian perspective again, there are a few, just a few, profanities. Still, I was deeply moved by this ideal love story.
Is there a Jesus style? No. Just look at how he died on the bloody cross. Jesus: crucified, dead, buried, then resurrected is not a style.
He held the card and read it,
“Not her again” and threw it in the neighbour’s garden patch.
She was Deborah.
Who loved him,
And sent him a Christmas card, hoping to be his girl.
They were young.
He was fine, she was lovely,
Yet his silence. Yes, his silence was ripping her apart.
And the hurt went deep down inside.
She had a choice, in how she would reply,
To react or respond.
The way she goes could shape her entire life.
Wondering how she would be later on.
And if the same thoughts would still be there.
And if she would be free?
But Deborah stopped by the pavement
And her eyes brightened up.
Singers were there.
A bit of beauty.
The crisp, fresh, silent night spoke to her senses,
The song on their lips filled her soul,
The people who listened with an ear for hope.
This she knew, would stay, with her, inside her heart.
And the rhymes and rhythms of the night would remind her:
Life goes on.
She clung tightly to the thought that everything is all right.
How can they offer the world hope if their houses are filled with lonely people?
I lift my heart to skies and give it to God and see what was meant to be.
Caring to see rightly, tenderness holding tightly.
But just another club sandwich at the café.
The walk of life grinds on stuff, somehow, it affirms the very life in me.
“I find it hard to adjust to you,” he said.
“But I want to be this way,” she said.
“I don’t want to change,” he replied. She said, “But I only like you a certain way.”
He said, “Perhaps I should turn that side on and turn off the other stuff you don’t like.”
“Would that be too hard, dear? Do it for me and you’ll become a better man for it.”
“But I’ve been doing that for years,” he said.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice, but recently I’ve noticed a…”
He was thinking, I better not tell her about all the other stuff that was going on in my bachelor days. He yearned for the comforts of his long lost remote control where he felt accepted where life would go back to normal and this little conversation a relic of a bad moment.
But they accepted one another, essentially.