Wednesday, August 19, 2015

ANOTHER Dramatic Monologue?

Certain things in life make me uncomfortable. Like those kiosk sales people at the mall who try to curl my hair or make me sample their gold-infused face cream as I walk by. Or when couples argue in front of me. Or when I don't get a joke, but laugh anyway. I even get uncomfortable when others feel uncomfortable.

And this past weekend, I was reminded AGAIN 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 an overly theatrical demonstration or artsy reading of poetry.

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 dagger through my side - straight through my side - 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 (that's what she calls herself), stepped onto the stage at church on Sunday.

I quickly looked over at my husband and opened my eyes real big, as if to say, "Is this chick for real?" But he seemed totally cool with it. He even put on his black turtleneck and grabbed his bongo drums. Or might as well have. And right then, I knew I had to be a big girl and just listen.

And 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 daggers in sides after all, but an amazing love - God's love.

Yes it was a monologue. YES it was dramatic. But she hooked me in with her talk about pride, and how we've "come too far" to let it get the best of us. She also beautifully described how we are God's vessels, challenging us to not be empty vessels. But rather, vessels of hope and mercy that reach "a thirsty world."

I was wowed.

So maybe I should re-think this whole discomfort thing with dramatic monologues and just stick to the usual scary clown or when someone tries talking to me through the bathroom stall. 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.

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