Gray clouds tumble in.
Darkness settles deep within.
My soul begins a downward spin
Into valleys
Littered with broken dreams,
Battered hearts and silent screams.
Falling, falling, falling,
I keep on calling, calling, calling
Out Your name.
But I can't hear You
Enough to fear You
Until I'm Fallen Down.
I reach out
Beyond my pain and doubt
And Your Hand
Grasps.
It clasps
With strength I can't define.
Scars so deeply divine
Connect Your heart to mine.
Whispers to my soul
Fill every empty hole,
Say we never were apart,
But this Love would never start
In the hardness of my heart
Until I'm Fallen Down.
I fall into the Light
And feel my heart ignite
With a love so deep
I just can't keep
It to myself.
My soul is renewed
All because He pursued
Me, never leaving,
Always believing
That deep inside,
Once the old had died,
The new would arise
With opened eyes.
Knowing His face,
Bestowing His grace,
Falling like rain,
Washing away every stain,
Every pain
'Til I gain
Something I would never know
Until I'm Fallen Down.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Lights, Camera, Action!
Psalm 31:5 - "Into Your hands I commit my spirit..."
I walk onto the dark stage. It's a gray kind of quiet. An occasional cough interrupts the silence. The faces in the crowd are lost in the shadows, melting together into a hazy blur. I focus my eyes above the faceless flock. My heart twitches ever so slightly.
And then the lights go up! They are like a dozen tiny suns. The music starts and my lips quiver as I begin to sing. Thoughts race through my mind.
At the end of the song, it's 'for thee,' not 'to thee.'
'Cling' comes before 'sing.'
Need to be a few seconds quicker on the mike change.
I wonder which chocolate I will get in the box tonight.
I still screw up and sing 'to thee,' but I get the 'cling' first instead of the 'sing.' No big deal, unless the audience can read lips. I complete the mike change with just enough time to get on the stage right on cue. The chocolate I get is caramel-filled, so when I say my lines, I have caramel stuck to my two front teeth. Oh well. I imagine it's pretty "in-character" for Blanche to have a little candy in her teeth.
Acting wasn't always so smooth. The first time I contemplated auditioning for a play, I sat in my car for thirty minutes wondering if I should go inside. I spent most of that time arguing with God. That morning at church, when my pastor announced the auditions for Steel Magnolias, a little voice spoke to my heart.
do it i'll be right there
A BIG voice, much bigger and louder and more obnoxious than that small, still one, busted in.
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING! YOU CAN'T ACT! YOU'LL MAKE A FOOL OF YOURSELF. THEY'LL ALL LAUGH AT YOU. WHAT ARE YOU THINKING???"
I realized that I'd spent years and years and years listening to that obnoxious devil tell me I'm not good enough, so I told him to shut up and went inside. Still, reading for the part, my heart was like a fish out of water, flopping around in my chest.
It's been almost a year since that first audition, and we wrapped up Grease a few weeks ago. Three plays later, and I now know what words like upstage and downstage and blocking mean. I've (somewhat) mastered a Southern Louisiana accent, can spell SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS while singing and dancing, and learned that when in doubt, do the chicken.
One of the things the director says over and over is "Stay in character!" When my heel caught in the hem of my dress while I was rama-lama-ding-donging, Courtney wanted to sputter a slew of not-so-very-Christian words and rip the darn thing out. But Blanche just gave a chocolate-y grin and kept dancing. Whether you flub a line or head downstage-left instead of upstage-right or doo-wop-da-dooby-doo when you're supposed to chang-chang-changity-chang-shoo-bop, you must commit to doing it in character. It's not just the words that come out of your mouth. Oh, Heavens no. It's what your hands are doing and how your body is turned and where your eyes are looking. It's where your feet go and how they get there and what they do once they arrive.
I walk out onto life's stage every day, playing the role of parent, child, friend, sibling, coworker, teacher... The list is endless.
I imagine the cast of characters in my life would look something like this:
COURTNEY: Mother of three. Strict disciplinarian with high standards for behavior. Loving, but with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: The ex-wife. Tries to act tough, and avoids any show of emotion. Fair, but with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: A good friend. Has an off-beat sense of humor and can be full of mischief. Wears her heart on her sleeve. Somewhat naive, with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: A loner who never asks for help. Prefers to do things herself, even though she is easily frustrated. High personal standards, with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: The perfectionist. Will perservere, often to the detriment of her mental stability. Hard-headed, with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: A teacher with creative flair. Particularly dotes on children with behavioral issues. Kind, but firm, with an air of impatience.
Some roles are easier than others. We know the lines, where to look, and how to get where we need to be. Staying in character comes naturally. But other times, it takes practice. Like when you bring that baby home from the hospital and, in an instant, you're responsible for a tiny human who doesn't stop crying. Ever. Or when you start that new job and find yourself treading water in an office pool with new faces and old gossip.
It can be difficult rehearsing those new roles, especially when your co-stars never, ever stop crying.
My life's play has a revolving door, and I don't always understand God's stage directions.
(COURTNEY enters, stage right)
(COURTNEY exits, stage left)
But which Courtney stays and which Courtney goes? Where do you want me, God? Upstage? Downstage?? Backstage???
And then, all of sudden, the show's over. The lights go out. The applause ends (if there ever was any). It's time to take my name off the marquee.
Stepping off the stage is never an easy thing to do. I chose to close the curtain on being a wife. It was not easy to pull those letters down off the marquee. It meant leaving behind props that I'd become accustomed to: our home, dreams I had for our family, friendships we'd made as a couple. But I could no longer commit to playing that role. It was doing things to me that made me lose myself. I'd committed myself, not to my husband, but to a thing I couldn't control, and I gave everything I had in me trying to "fix" something I wasn't qualified to fix. Love died, and was replaced with anger and resentment. I became a hopeless, empty shell.
True committment is entrusting yourself to another for safekeeping. I cut my feet on the shards of broken promises that littered the stage. Love and trust trickled out slowly at first, and then faster and faster as the wounds got deeper. So trust in God? Give what was left of my heart, all my anger and resentment, to Christ? Can you imagine a person like me giving up everything to a Man she couldn't even see???
He loves the broken. He cherishes the empty. We are his favorites. What I failed to realize is that if I entrusted myself to Christ, He would take care of all the other roles I play. Even when my co-stars flubbed their lines or went downstage when they were supposed to go up, He would be there to make sure the play went on.
Taking my name off the marriage marquee was a huge step in my journey to commit myself to Christ. It took me a while to wrap my mind around that. I read the Bible, and it told me that God created the covenant of marriage and hates when it gets broken. So why did it feel like divorcing myself from that unhealthy committment was part of His plan?
Because God uses brokenness to achieve great things.
I wish I didn't have to make that decision. I wish those four ugly words never had to come out of my mouth: "I want a divorce." But they did. And after they did, God whispered in my ear that He still has great plans for me, has even bigger roles for me to play, and that He will use my divorce to make those roles come my way.
Already, God is using those four ugly words to create and enhance beautiful roles in my life: Mother, Stephen Minister, Friend, Daughter, Christian Education Coordinator, Athlete, Confirmation Guide, Writer, Actor...
God will do the same for you. Whether you are auditioning for a new role, or one is coming to an end, you can entrust yourself to Him for safekeeping. Your co-stars may let you down in this life, but He never will. He may ask you to do something scary, like take your name down off that safe marquee on Main Street and put it up in a strange town somewhere off the beaten path. But He will be right there with you, holding your hand as He guides you onto the stage.
Because there is one role you play that will never change. That is your role as a child of God. You don't have to rehearse any lines or practice any blocking. You just have to commit your spirit into His loving hands and He will take care of the rest.
Really, when you think about it, life is just one big audition.
What part in Heaven do you want?
I walk onto the dark stage. It's a gray kind of quiet. An occasional cough interrupts the silence. The faces in the crowd are lost in the shadows, melting together into a hazy blur. I focus my eyes above the faceless flock. My heart twitches ever so slightly.
And then the lights go up! They are like a dozen tiny suns. The music starts and my lips quiver as I begin to sing. Thoughts race through my mind.
At the end of the song, it's 'for thee,' not 'to thee.'
'Cling' comes before 'sing.'
Need to be a few seconds quicker on the mike change.
I wonder which chocolate I will get in the box tonight.
I still screw up and sing 'to thee,' but I get the 'cling' first instead of the 'sing.' No big deal, unless the audience can read lips. I complete the mike change with just enough time to get on the stage right on cue. The chocolate I get is caramel-filled, so when I say my lines, I have caramel stuck to my two front teeth. Oh well. I imagine it's pretty "in-character" for Blanche to have a little candy in her teeth.
Acting wasn't always so smooth. The first time I contemplated auditioning for a play, I sat in my car for thirty minutes wondering if I should go inside. I spent most of that time arguing with God. That morning at church, when my pastor announced the auditions for Steel Magnolias, a little voice spoke to my heart.
do it i'll be right there
A BIG voice, much bigger and louder and more obnoxious than that small, still one, busted in.
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING! YOU CAN'T ACT! YOU'LL MAKE A FOOL OF YOURSELF. THEY'LL ALL LAUGH AT YOU. WHAT ARE YOU THINKING???"
I realized that I'd spent years and years and years listening to that obnoxious devil tell me I'm not good enough, so I told him to shut up and went inside. Still, reading for the part, my heart was like a fish out of water, flopping around in my chest.
It's been almost a year since that first audition, and we wrapped up Grease a few weeks ago. Three plays later, and I now know what words like upstage and downstage and blocking mean. I've (somewhat) mastered a Southern Louisiana accent, can spell SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS while singing and dancing, and learned that when in doubt, do the chicken.
One of the things the director says over and over is "Stay in character!" When my heel caught in the hem of my dress while I was rama-lama-ding-donging, Courtney wanted to sputter a slew of not-so-very-Christian words and rip the darn thing out. But Blanche just gave a chocolate-y grin and kept dancing. Whether you flub a line or head downstage-left instead of upstage-right or doo-wop-da-dooby-doo when you're supposed to chang-chang-changity-chang-shoo-bop, you must commit to doing it in character. It's not just the words that come out of your mouth. Oh, Heavens no. It's what your hands are doing and how your body is turned and where your eyes are looking. It's where your feet go and how they get there and what they do once they arrive.
I walk out onto life's stage every day, playing the role of parent, child, friend, sibling, coworker, teacher... The list is endless.
I imagine the cast of characters in my life would look something like this:
Courtney's Quasi Life: A Play in One Very Long Act
CAST OF CHARACTERS
COURTNEY: Mother of three. Strict disciplinarian with high standards for behavior. Loving, but with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: The ex-wife. Tries to act tough, and avoids any show of emotion. Fair, but with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: A good friend. Has an off-beat sense of humor and can be full of mischief. Wears her heart on her sleeve. Somewhat naive, with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: A loner who never asks for help. Prefers to do things herself, even though she is easily frustrated. High personal standards, with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: The perfectionist. Will perservere, often to the detriment of her mental stability. Hard-headed, with an air of impatience.
COURTNEY: A teacher with creative flair. Particularly dotes on children with behavioral issues. Kind, but firm, with an air of impatience.
Some roles are easier than others. We know the lines, where to look, and how to get where we need to be. Staying in character comes naturally. But other times, it takes practice. Like when you bring that baby home from the hospital and, in an instant, you're responsible for a tiny human who doesn't stop crying. Ever. Or when you start that new job and find yourself treading water in an office pool with new faces and old gossip.
It can be difficult rehearsing those new roles, especially when your co-stars never, ever stop crying.
My life's play has a revolving door, and I don't always understand God's stage directions.
(COURTNEY enters, stage right)
(COURTNEY exits, stage left)
But which Courtney stays and which Courtney goes? Where do you want me, God? Upstage? Downstage?? Backstage???
And then, all of sudden, the show's over. The lights go out. The applause ends (if there ever was any). It's time to take my name off the marquee.
Stepping off the stage is never an easy thing to do. I chose to close the curtain on being a wife. It was not easy to pull those letters down off the marquee. It meant leaving behind props that I'd become accustomed to: our home, dreams I had for our family, friendships we'd made as a couple. But I could no longer commit to playing that role. It was doing things to me that made me lose myself. I'd committed myself, not to my husband, but to a thing I couldn't control, and I gave everything I had in me trying to "fix" something I wasn't qualified to fix. Love died, and was replaced with anger and resentment. I became a hopeless, empty shell.
True committment is entrusting yourself to another for safekeeping. I cut my feet on the shards of broken promises that littered the stage. Love and trust trickled out slowly at first, and then faster and faster as the wounds got deeper. So trust in God? Give what was left of my heart, all my anger and resentment, to Christ? Can you imagine a person like me giving up everything to a Man she couldn't even see???
He loves the broken. He cherishes the empty. We are his favorites. What I failed to realize is that if I entrusted myself to Christ, He would take care of all the other roles I play. Even when my co-stars flubbed their lines or went downstage when they were supposed to go up, He would be there to make sure the play went on.
Taking my name off the marriage marquee was a huge step in my journey to commit myself to Christ. It took me a while to wrap my mind around that. I read the Bible, and it told me that God created the covenant of marriage and hates when it gets broken. So why did it feel like divorcing myself from that unhealthy committment was part of His plan?
Because God uses brokenness to achieve great things.
I wish I didn't have to make that decision. I wish those four ugly words never had to come out of my mouth: "I want a divorce." But they did. And after they did, God whispered in my ear that He still has great plans for me, has even bigger roles for me to play, and that He will use my divorce to make those roles come my way.
Already, God is using those four ugly words to create and enhance beautiful roles in my life: Mother, Stephen Minister, Friend, Daughter, Christian Education Coordinator, Athlete, Confirmation Guide, Writer, Actor...
God will do the same for you. Whether you are auditioning for a new role, or one is coming to an end, you can entrust yourself to Him for safekeeping. Your co-stars may let you down in this life, but He never will. He may ask you to do something scary, like take your name down off that safe marquee on Main Street and put it up in a strange town somewhere off the beaten path. But He will be right there with you, holding your hand as He guides you onto the stage.
Because there is one role you play that will never change. That is your role as a child of God. You don't have to rehearse any lines or practice any blocking. You just have to commit your spirit into His loving hands and He will take care of the rest.
Really, when you think about it, life is just one big audition.
What part in Heaven do you want?
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