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It’s true what they say, that a picture is worth a thousand words.

The penguin exhibit from whence I snapped the above photo immediately planted a seed of a story in my head. Notice the penguin on the left? The one facing the rock? That wasn’t just a serendipitous shot where he momentarily faced away from the rest of his penguin friends. He was standing like that for as long as I observed the exhibit and as far as I know, long after I walked away.

We’ll call him George.

Just below the surface of the water is another penguin.

That’s Daphne. Here she is again, swimming happily around. Entertaining us onlookers to their tiny little world.

Did you know that there are 17 different species of penguins? Yeah, me neither.

George is a Gentoo penguin, Daphne an Adelie. And while certain species can be found in places like New Zealand, Africa, South America and the Galapagos Islands, George and Daphne originally hail from right where you would expect them to: Antarctica. The South Pole.

Both George and Daphne were born in the wild and experienced all the freedom and danger a life in the wild entails. If given a choice, both would have escaped being captured and shipped off to what equates to a giant fish tank many thousands of miles away from their home. They are both victims of their circumstances, with no chance of life outside captivity.

Both are well fed and cared for. Both have the companionship of other penguins just like them.

It is how they view their circumstances that shapes their lives.

George is angry. With his whole life ahead of him–a mate chosen and dreams of raising a little penguin family–that life was stripped away forever. Where he once had miles of open ocean to swim in and the freedom to dine on fish or krill whenever he chose, he is now trapped in a comparatively small, man-made world and fed on someone else’s schedule. His life is now a paid attraction. Watched by strange creatures whose knuckles tap on the glass that separates their freedom from his captivity, he will not be a willing participant in this sideshow. They may have stripped him of a dignified life of freedom, but his dignity is the one thing they will not take from him. He will not choose a new mate. His mate has been chosen thousands of miles away in a life he’ll never know again. George’s dignity comes at a high price: loneliness.

Daphne is resigned to her life in captivity. It’s not her first preference, but she knows this is the only life she’ll ever know. She realizes there is no escape. She was as stubborn as George when she first arrived in this well appointed prison. But after some time, she’s come to understand that these strange creatures looking at her from the other side of the glass are mesmerized by her. Whereas life in the wild meant she was nothing special–just one of thousands of other penguins like her–here she has an audience. They delight at her as she swims by the glass. Her friendliness affords her special private opportunities where she is fed extra fish and receives gentle strokes by grateful onlookers. She has a mate. Perhaps not one she would have chosen for herself, but a mate nonetheless. Happiness is a relative term, really. She is making the best of this strange place she now calls home.

Which penguin is better off? George the rugged realist or Daphne the fun-loving, adaptable one? I can understand and sympathize with both. George may see Daphne as a fool looking at life through rose-colored glasses, whereas Daphne may view George as a bitter, stubborn grump. Not only does how we perceive our own circumstances affect our outlook on life, but so, too does how we view the perceptions others have.

Ah, but we’re not penguins living in captivity.

We may not always choose our circumstances, but we can choose to change them or make the best of them.

That’s not to say changing them is ever easy or that change doesn’t come without cost and consequence to ourselves and others.

But we do have a choice.

George finally takes a plunge.

I typically don’t have any trouble falling asleep. I suppose this stems from the fact that I get up early and go to bed late most evenings. I’m a strange combination of early bird and night owl. Perhaps I have some vampires in my family tree. But I digress.

Monday night was an exception to this rule. After I finished scheduling Monday’s post, I was not in the least bit tired. Instead of my typical go-to (reading a few chapters of whatever book I happen to be reading), I decided to watch a movie I had recorded earlier in the week.

The movie was The Box. The opening of the movie goes like this:
A package is placed on the front doorstep of a house. The wife brings the package to the kitchen table, where her husband opens it while wife and son look on. Inside the package is a box with a large, red button encased in a clear dome. There is a note inside the packaging which states that someone will be by at 5:00 pm the following day to explain the box. A man shows up at the door as promised, and explains to the wife that if she pushes the button, two things will happen—Someone they do not know will die, and the family will receive one million dollars in cash. Of course, the wife needs an expensive operation, the private school she is teaching at will soon discontinue the waiving of tuition for teacher’s children, and the husband’s dream job has fallen through. Oh, and it’s 1976, so a million dollars is actually quite a bit of money. Of course…

At first glance, this particular scenario does not seem like much of a moral dilemma. Accepting money, regardless of amount, in return for causing the death of another person is simply not acceptable in any scenario I could imagine.

But what if the man had said, “If you push the button…

…your mounting debt will be paid in full, but someone else would take on a crushing debt they could not afford to pay, or

…your book will be a critical and commercial success, but an equally talented (or more talented) author will never be published, or

…your struggling ministry will begin to grow and reach the lost, but another church will die, or

…your father’s Alzheimer’s will be cured, but someone else’s father would be stricken it, or

…your child’s disease will be gone, but another child would become sick in her place, or

…your unborn child will be born healthy, but at the expense of the life of another child unborn?

Do any of these scenarios tip the scales?

How about this one?

Your sins—past, present and future will be washed clean as snow, but at the cost of the perfect, unblemished sacrifice; at the cost of the Son of God—the only One without sin.

As we draw closer to the holiest of holidays, I pray we not only understand this sacrifice in our heads, but also in our hearts.