The Drama

The curtains divide; Act One begins.
I’ve been cast the protagonist but I don’t even know the Script.
The Author says to learn it as I go, watch for His directions, ad-lib impromptu.
He’s the Designer, Conductor, and Director; He’s in the audience watching too.
He’s the extraordinary Maestro–He never misses a cue.
Every move, every detail, every line He’s composed is perfect;
Yet all He asks from me is my best.
And I try, I do.
I’ve come to a learning curve, where I desperately yearn to impress.
As the tempo increases and the scenery changes: Now begins Act Two.
My feet start to tangle, trip and tumble.
I’m too focused on my own steps.
The Teacher reminds me to keep my eyes on His feet.
He dances with me, one-two-three,
Keeping the time to His melody; our steps coinciding like poetry.
Before too long, it’s already Act Three.
I had longed to be independent–to show what I was made of.
But He’s no longer guiding my hand or directing in my ear.
Now I actually feel alone, without His presence near.
I long for His approving nod or just a clap from backstage.
So since I cannot see or hear Him, I study His prose instead.
I learn every line, even those between; I’ve memorized every page.
Suddenly I realize, His spotlight is on me; He’s been watching from afar,
Proudly observing just like the northern star.
Act Four starts the crescendo, the climax, the peak.
He’s now become the reason I sing, dance, and speak.
His words and actions now flow from my own soul–
I finally feel together yet I’ve lost all control.
The rhythm is natural, like it’s something I’ve always known.
I don’t care anymore whether they boo or applaud;
I just want to play my part so I can go Home.
Act Five is ushering in: It’s the Beginning of the End.
Now starts the conclusion, a wrap-up with a twist.
This is an Evening no soul will want to miss.
The reality hits me: This is more than a Show.
This is Life and Truth, and all I ever want to know.
This is my defining moment to give it my all–go out with a bang.
My mind begins to wonder of what’s to come when the music fades.
Surely there’ll be rewards and recognition for the labored days.
But more importantly, I know that when I exit stage right,
I’ll walk my wearied feet upon a glittering, golden street.
And the curtains behind me will descend like the night.
No more acting, no more struggling on the stage;
Together with the Playwright, we’ll usher in the Golden Age.

Coronado Island, San Diego, California