Monday, September 2, 2013
A Dramatic Monologue?
Certain things in life make me uncomfortable. Like, bad underwear. Or when couples argue (at length) in front of me. Or when I don't get a joke, but laugh anyway. I even get uncomfortable when others feel uncomfortable.
And just like I would NEVER volunteer to sit in a dunk booth, I would certainly hate - detest, loathe, throw up in my mouth - getting "slimed" on Kids' Choice Awards. I'd even prevent myself from getting famous just so that would never happen.
And this past weekend, I was reminded of yet another thing that makes me uncomfortable - dramatic monologues. I would rather have a 10-foot-tall Frankenstein tap me on the shoulder than have to sit through someone's overly theatrical and artsy reading of poetry - or some such thing.
You know, like the finger-snapping Beat poets from the 60s. Or some kind of underground slam poetry scene where they all migrate together, monologuing about nature:
"Sky reddens behind fir trees. Larks twitter. Sparrows cheep cheep cheep. Cheep."
Or about super intense stuff:
"Put a bullet in my brain - straight through my brain - as the rain sweeps her out of my arms."
And if I'm close enough to feel their spit on me, though I may appear poised and attentive, inwardly I'm falling to pieces. So it was a good thing we sat in the way far back when "spoken word artist," Hosanna Poetry (yes, that's what she calls herself), stepped onto the stage at church yesterday.
I quickly looked over at my family and opened my eyes real big, as if to say, "You guys, is this chick for real?" But they seemed totally fine and cool with it. Jeff even put his beret on. Or might as well have. And right then, I knew I had to be a big girl and just listen.
And before I knew it, my listening turned into crying. Well, Molly-type crying. I didn't have to leave the room or anything. Turns out Miss Poetry's monologue wasn't about chirping birds or bullets in brains after all, but rather an amazing love - God's love.
Yes it was a monologue. YES it was dramatic. But she hooked me in with her talk about how we tend to stack (or pile or layer - I forgot how she worded it exactly) all the mistakes we've made and all the lies we've believed and all of our "endings" in life. And how God is faithful, for he "heals things, he uses things, he makes things new."
Even when, along the way, "there's a lot of hoping, a lot of waiting, and a lot of still being in this," Hosanna Poetry communicated the story of a "relentless, restoring God." I was wowed.
So maybe I should re-think this whole discomfort thing with dramatic monologues and just stick to scary clowns and when people talk to me through the bathroom stall while peeing. Besides, God wouldn't send his comforter - "I will not leave you comfortless. I will come to you." (John 14:18) - if life didn't get a little uncomfy from time to time.