The “Wow” Factor

In 1984 (the actual year, not the novel) my parents took my brother and me to Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Perhaps because we took a day off from our Disney trip to do it, or perhaps because people in 1984 weren’t as keen to grab kids’ attention with the “wow” factor, or perhaps both, I remember it as one of the most boring days of my life. So I wasn’t sure what to expect when my husband and I took our son to Johnson Space Center in Houston yesterday.

May I just say – Wow!

They had lots of stuff aimed at grabbing kids’ attention, and Nathan had a blast (pun definitely intended). And it was interesting to see how the astronauts live on the space station without gravity. All of it was fascinating, but what really grabbed me and won’t let go was the Saturn V rocket. This was an actual rocket of the type used to travel to the moon, but it had never been used. Eventually they built a temperature-controlled shed around it to preserve it and left it for tourists to look at.

Have you ever stood beside a rocket? If not, you cannot begin to imagine the size. Even if you’ve seen them on TV and think you understand that they’re big, until you’ve stood beside it, you cannot begin to imagine what “big” means. Our tour guide had said ahead of time, “I guarantee when you step into the shed, your first words will be something along the lines of, ‘Oh my goodness.’” I thought, Well, now that you’ve warned us, that won’t be true. But it was true. I had determined I wouldn’t be shocked, just to prove him wrong, but the words were jerked out of me without my consent.

The size was amazing enough, but even more incredible was the proportionately tiny space allocated for the astronauts. They were squeezed into a triangular cone on top of something like 350 feet of fuel tanks. That cone was the only part of the rocket which would return to earth – the rest was jettisoned after the fuel was burned.

Anyone who knows me knows I think more than is good for me, so naturally I’ve been thinking too much about the symbolism of that rocket. (I swear, this stuff just comes to me; I don’t dig for it!)

I thought I’d been prepared for the size of the rocket, but when I stood next to it, the true, overwhelming size of it blew me away. It was huger than I ever could have imagined. I think when we come one day into the presence of God, that will be our reaction. We may talk, here on earth, of how big He is, and how overwhelming, but we can’t begin to imagine what that means. No amount of knowledge will ever prepare us for that moment when we step into His presence and simply have to say “Wow!” (Or think it, since the wow may be so huge we’re beyond speech.)

The other thing I’ve been thinking about is how tiny the astronauts’ space was compared to all the fuel it took to get them where they were going. It wouldn’t have been comfortable. It may have seemed like they could take over more of the space and stretch out a little. Of course, they didn’t do that, because they wouldn’t have reached the moon without all that space for fuel. And that’s how it is for us, too. It’s not too comfortable to make ourselves decrease so God can increase in us, but if we start stretching out, if we try to take space back from Him, we won’t have the fuel to get where we’re going.

I realize it’s a stretch as an analogy, but it shows me again how, when God is first in your life, everything points to Him, whether it’s intended that way or not. That’s a big wow factor.

365 Days a Year

I think I’ve figured out why Christmas hasn’t felt special to me this year – and it’s a good thing. Our pastor preached yesterday on the difference between the spirit of Christmas and the Spirit of Christ, and how if we have the latter, then we’ll have the former 365 days a year. And I think that’s it. I’ve finally reached a point in my life where I’m utterly content and peaceful, so those “warm Christmas fuzzies” I usually feel don’t seem that different to me from the way I always feel.

I am so blessed. My husband and I are still crazy in love with each other after twelve and a half years. We have a loving, funny, smart son. We have good friends who make us laugh and who’ll sit with us when we cry. We aren’t financially rich, but we don’t want for anything. God has provided for us well enough that I’m able to devote myself to the ministry I love.

I already have everything I want for Christmas.

Nathan is, of course, antsy to rip into packages in the morning. That’s a given when you’re nine. I’m antsy to watch him, to see his face when he finds those special surprises he didn’t ask for but I know he’ll love. I’m antsy to watch my husband, Matt, find his surprises, too. I’m antsy to go to a friend’s house later that afternoon to share food and laughter. I’m antsy to take off on our spur-of-the-moment (decided yesterday) overnight trip to Houston the day after Christmas. I’m antsy to get back afterward and get to work on Safe Haven.

This is my life, and I’m antsy for all of it. It doesn’t have anything to do with the date. I love the life God has given me, whether it’s Christmas, Flag Day or September 25.

I hope you have a very merry Christmas with the people you love. And a merry December 26. And merry all the rest of the days, too.

   

Rude Parents

In the car on the way to his fourth grade Christmas program, my son said, “Don’t listen too hard, Mom. Our songs are really stupid.” He’s at a stage right now where if it’s not rock and roll, it doesn’t count. But I have to admit that, while I wouldn’t have used the word stupid, I also wouldn’t want to be forced to sing such ditties as “I Taught My Turkey How to Tango” and “Over the Freeway and to the Mall”. We asked him afterward if he wanted our copy of the program, and he said, “Please throw it away. I don’t want to remember this night.”

You’ve got to expect vapid songs at a public school Christmas program – I should just be glad they called it a Christmas program. What really appalled me was the behavior of the parents. People sitting all around us were laughing and talking throughout the songs. Then, at the end of a song, they’d whoop and holler as if they were at a sporting event. I wonder if some of them realized there’s a difference between a choral concert and a football game. It didn’t appear so.

If it had been isolated to one family, I could consider them rude and move on. But it was all over the auditorium, a whole generation of parents who apparently never considered that it might be polite to shut up while their kids were performing for them.

So here it is, in case no one’s ever told you before – chatter and yelling may be supportive at Little League games. At a performance, it’s rude. End of story.

And while we’re at it, turn your cell phones off, too.

Decisions, Decisions

Well, auditions are over. I had twelve really talented people audition last night. Unfortunately, there are fourteen roles in the play. Perhaps I went too far with my “this will be an intense rehearsal period; don’t come if you can’t commit” speeches.

So now there are decisions to be made. Regular casting decisions, of course, but also decisions about what to do with my lack of actors. One of the roles is quite small and can be easily doubled – no problem there. But I’m still one short. So do I go beat the bushes and drag in an actor who wasn’t sure he wanted to commit? It seems like a bad idea – I’d regret it when he missed rehearsal; he’d regret it when he was overwhelmed by overcommittment. That leads me to Option 2 – there is one role that could potentially be dissolved. I’m not sure that’s a great idea, either, but it is a nice benfit of writing your own scripts rather than renting them – I can do that kind of thing without breaking copyright law.

As Kiera reminded me in her comment to my previous post, this kind of decision can only be made through prayer. I know that God is the real director of this drama ministry, and I’m only a representative. But it’s hard to sit quietly and listen for that still, small voice when my mind is clamoring, “Hurry up, make a decision, everyone’s waiting.” It’s so temting to jump out and make a decision, any decision, just to have it done. I know that God gave me the inspiration for this script, and I know that He knows exactly how it should all fit together. I just wish He’d give me a call, or send me an e-mail, with His preferred cast list. Oh, and could you do that today, God?

Acts of Faith, over and over and over again. 

On the positive side, among the twelve who did come last night, there aren’t many difficult decisions about cast placement. As we did readings, people seemed to fit pretty naturally into one part or another. Some of them fit right where I’d expected them to. In other cases, readings made it clear someone needed to be cast differently than I’d expected. Which is, I guess, why we do readings.

You know, when I typed “among the twelve” in that last paragraph, it suddenly sounded quite biblical to me. The twelve, sent out to spread the Word. Maybe twelve is a better number for this cast than fourteen.

For those readers who auditioned, I’ll post the cast list here as soon as it’s done. For now, be patient. I’m waiting.

Pre-Casting is a No-No

When I worked in community theater, nothing made me more mad than the feeling that I didn’t even have a shot at the part I wanted, no matter how great an audition I gave, because I didn’t know the director. I moaned to my husband on several occasions how unfair it was that the same people got the good parts, over and over.

Now I’m seeing things from the other side of the footlights, and I don’t like what I see.

The crux of the matter is that some degree of pre-casting is inevitable, especially in my situation, when I pretty much know who’s going to show up for auditions. Do I have a cast set in stone, despite the fact that auditions are two days away? No – absolutely not. Do I have a fairly strong suspicion of how things will go? I have to say yes.

I had a scary, eye-opening experience last week to show me how careful I have to be in regard to pre-casting. One of my experienced actors called to tell me he would be out of town and miss a week and a half of rehearsals near the beginning of the rehearsal period. Did I still want him to audition? I told him yes, hung up the phone, then began trying to rearrange the rehearsal schedule so that “his character” wouldn’t be scheduled as heavily during that time. I spent about five minutes working on that before I stopped, horror-struck at what I was doing. Auditions were still a week away. I shouldn’t have had any idea which was his character. 

I hate that. I feel like I’ve become every director I ever vilified. But here’s the thing – if I’ve worked with someone on a previous show I know so much more about him than an audition can ever show. I know whether or not he’ll be at rehearsals. I know how easily he memorizes. I know how he takes direction. No matter how talented someone appears in an audition, if I’ve never worked with him, he’s an unknown quantity. Similarly, if I have worked with someone and I know he’s the one who perpetually has rehearsal conflicts following him like a row of ducklings, I’m not going to give him a lead role, no matter how talented he is.

That doesn’t mean I never give the unknown actor a shot. As I’ve detailed elsewhere on this site, I never hold an audition for inclusion on the drama team. Anyone is welcome to come to our training sessions, which act both as teaching times and as an ongoing audition. I’ve also been known to cast someone without any previous experience. In Blackwell Inn  I cast a woman in a major role despite the fact she’d never done theater before. She did a great job. (Though she did make a major change to her hairstyle halfway through the rehearsal period – my fault – I forgot someone without experience wouldn’t realize what a no-no that was.)

I try very hard to remain open to new people, especially because we’re a ministry first and a performance group second. If someone wants to worship the Lord through drama, I want him to have that chance. I firmly believe someone with a desire to act and a willingness to work can learn to perform well. It’s a matter of whether I’m willing to take the extra time to work with him. That’s easier on some shows than others. On this show, which is going to be hard enough for my experienced actors, I’m less likely to cast someone new.

But I’m trying to stay open to the possibility. Really, really trying. There’s a line in the play when one character accuses another of believing only “nice” people can become Christians, that the door is closed to those who don’t fit her image. And I hear God whispering that to me – do I believe only those already in the drama team “in-crowd” deserve a chance to be a part of this worship experience? Can I close the door to someone God leads our way?

 The door is open. I’ve wedged my foot in there to make sure it stays that way. Auditions are Thursday night – we’ll see if anything unexpected happens.