Sunday, April 13, 2014


"Hosanna!", they cried.
"Hosanna", meaning, "Save us!", "Have mercy on us!"
"Hosanna!", "Save us!", "Have mercy on us!", they cried a week before, at their hands, you saved them and had mercy on them.

The Jesus I Had Forgotten

Inspired by the experiences of assistant directing Godspell

     When I was a child, I was told stories of a man who healed the blind, walked on water, multiplied food, told the best stories, and came back from the dead(which made logical sense, I mean, if He could WALK ON WATER, then, of course He could come back to life). More importantly, I was told of a man who was more than just a man and still said, "Let the little children come to me." He played with children, blessed them, and defended them. I think that's why I loved Him as much as I did. He was full of joy and life and love. He was the best thing in the world to me. As I grew up, this view of Jesus was challenged by a view of Jesus that took away fathers and grandfathers and allowed me to be hurt and confused. I still believed He loved and cared for me, but more out of desperation than belief. I did believe, but I was shaky. It was, and still can be difficult to completely trust Him. Thankfully, my trust ebbs and flows but His love does not. As I sat, night after night, watching an actor play Jesus, years after my father passing, after many trust-shaking episodes of my life, that is what I remembered. I change, my trust shakes and steadies, but He will always say, "Let her come to me." Even after I have grown up, He will always be the Jesus I adored....and more.

Loss in Life

     For the first time in months, there is no need for a jacket. Grass is clearly visible. Trees no longer wear white. Birds chirp in the distance. Spring is arriving, life is returning. Yet, I still hear the crunch of dead, autumn leaves beneath my feet. The singular beauty of winter is melting away. While I am encouraged by the hope in the new, I cannot forget the loss in life.


Inspired by the text of&experiences of stage managing Good Person of Szechwan.

"Apparently, our commandments are fatal"

Can one be good?
Support. Encouragement. Tea and chicken nuggets. Company during a nosebleed. There was good.

"A good person is not easily forgotten. There aren't many."

Snide comments, stubborness, tense tones, unkind words, looking out for only one. There wasn't much good.

"Are you disgruntled? Do you disapprove?"

People are not always good. I am not always good.

"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy"

One made me good.

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

He showed grace.

"Go&tell Peter"

Maybe it's time to show a little grace.

"We've got to do better. We must, must, must."

Wednesday, December 25, 2013


 I knew you for only a short time.
    Despite the time, you were dear to me.
    I didn’t really get to say good-bye.
    People tell me it’s better that way
    That way, I never saw you in pain.
    But you encouraged me not shy away from pain
    So I don’t really know what to think of that.
    But I do know that I’m thankful for you
    And that I’m grateful to you.
    I didn’t get to say good-bye
    But maybe there’s still time for thank-you.
    Thank-you for welcoming me.
    Thank-you for recognizing me.
    Thank-you for your insight.
    Thank-you for the trivial conversations.
    Thank-you for all the times you made me angry.
    Thank-you for your support.
    Thank-you for your openness.
    Thank-you for snapping.
    Thank-you for apologizing.
    Thank-you for laughing.
    Thank-you for crying.
    Thank-you for breathing.
    Thank-you for living.

Monday, August 26, 2013

Let's Look at One Another!

I sat in a hard plastic chair. Laying open in my lap wass a copy of Our Town. But I wasn't really reading along anymore. My eyes are held captive by the 70-90 year olds reading it out loud in front of us. They sit in a row, mirroring the young’ns, none of us any older than 25. The 95 old woman reads, “Living people don’t understand much, do they?” She paused and silently scanned her eyes across the row of youth. As much as my friends find it humorous when I tell this story, at that moment, I didn’t find it funny. I think I understand. But then again, do I really? It’s a question worth asking. It’s a question worth praying over. It’s a question worth pondering on. At least I’m trying to understand. God knows I’m trying to understand ma’m.

                I lay on the Webb’s bench offstage. I wasn’t going on for awhile. I could rest. Imagine that.“This play is called Our Town” the Stage Manager says. I sigh in contentment. Everything about this show, and my life in general felt rushed. But not right now. In the time being, I could relish in the moment.

There wasn’t anything spectacular about it. I watched my friend pace back and forth as he spouted out his lines. I just listened. He finally sat down, and I sat down next to him. He must have gone through his monologue at least three times, in a row, sometimes without my cuing line. We sat, and stared off together. Like I said, there was nothing spectacular about it… it was just a moment with a friend that for once didn’t seem to be moving too fast.

I could hear the clicking of my heels echo throughout the hall. It was quiet. The lights reflection caused double in the mirror. As I looked over the balcony I felt surrounded by light. Outside was so dark. From far off though, I could still see the lights on in Walton. Everything was around me was still. Everything around me was light. It was beautiful. From below I heard, “This is…geographically where Emily is when she says her good-byes.” I looked out at my college home that in a few months, I knew I would also be saying good-bye to. Suddenly I understood Emily just a little bit more.

                I was exhausted. I was nervous. I was really ready for this weekend to be over. Act III lay in front of me and all I wanted was to go sleep. My mind rushed through lines. The list of homework I could be doing grew and grew. The problems I had were swirling in my brain. My heart was pounding. I tried to take a deep breath, which is difficult in a corset. Then there was the cue of thunder. I looked up to black umbrellas opening around me and a blue light shining down on us. For a play about treasuring life’s “little” moments, it’s so easy how life distracted me from it.

That night, my stomach was in knots. And it wasn’t the corset. It was my nerves. I couldn’t eat. I wasn’t visibly shaking but I felt like I was. My nerves had not been this bad since I was a Stage Manager. Despite my nervousness, the hugs in the hall, grasped hands, thumbs up, shoulder pats, and kind words carried me through the night. Every action and word was paired with a face and a name that I hope I never forget. I know for sure that I will be forever grateful for them.

We sat on the stage, in full costume and make-up. I sat on a chair, lightly touching flower petals of my boquet. Once again we sat across from the senior citizens who had inspired us months prior. They asked us questions and made comments that sent us into roaring laughter. Despite our ages, we had remarkable common ground. It’s amazing how stories bring people together.


Blank pages sit in front of me.

Blank pages waiting to be filled.

Blank pages inviting experience and insights.

Blank pages shouting,

"Go live so that you can write!"