Oh, Yeah, life goes on
Long after the thrill of living is gone…
A singularly depressing and unwholesome song, yet possessing a kernel of truth.
I’ve rambled on before about how theater is kind of a metaphor for life. I think of this again as I prepare for another round of Hunchback. It happens about this point in about every show. Call time may be 6:00 p.m., but it will be 6:10…6:20…6:25 before all of us have dragged our sorry bones into the seats. There is often a pervasive sense of…blah.
I’m sorry—blah is a technical term. It means ennui, or lassitude. In any case, it will take some doing for us to rise to the occasion.
They tell me this is common in the theater. You go through the work of rehearsal, building a show piece by piece. The tension and excitement increase as you get closer and closer to opening. Finally, there is the pure adrenalin rush of opening night. This rush takes you through the Saturday evening show and the Sunday matinee.
Then you go home.
For five days.
When the next week rolls around, and the next, and the next, you can find that, in part, the idea of performing has slipped from the category of “get to” into “have to.”
It’s not new anymore.
But the audience deserves a show—the very best you have in you. They paid for it, after all, and you promised it.
So you pray, you dig deep, and you go through the motions of setting props, getting into costumes, checking mics. And somewhere in the process, you rediscover the joy that brought you here in the first place.
See the multitudinous connections?
Of course you do–you’re brilliant.
Hmm…marriage. A lot of marriages—even Christian marriages—end in divorce. Why? Because the fun wears off, the adrenalin rush passes, and we get…blah. But your spouse deserves the best you have in you. They paid for it, after all, and you promised it. So you pray, you dig deep, and keep loving, and serving, and being together. And somewhere in the process, you rediscover the love that brought you here in the first place.
Let’s see…what about jobs? Kids? Friendships? Goals? Dreams? The pattern fits.
What about your walk with Christ?
Sometimes the joy is there, vibrant, thrumming through me like a power chord.
Sometimes not.
Sometimes, by the time my metaphorical Friday rolls around, I’m tired, drained, and flat out not in the mood. Jesus tells me to abide in him. To remain in him. But—to be truthful—sometimes I’m just not into it. I get tired. Bored. What kind of idiot gets bored with the God of the Universe?
My kind.
Sometimes I feel like it’s all a show, and I’m just not up for it.
But I have an audience, and He deserves the very best that is in me.
He paid for it.
I promised it.
So I pray, I dig deep, and yes, sometimes I go through the motions. I set the props, I put on the costume, I check my mic. And somewhere in the process, I rediscover the powerful, sustaining love that brought me here in the first place.
Places, everyone.
