The Play

I was about eight years old, living in Louisville Kentucky, when my Mother enrolled me in a drama class held once a week at a grade school that was not my own. I’m not sure why she enrolled me because, as a rule, my parents rarely supported many creative interests my three sisters and I expressed.

My eldest sister, Joanne, was the first who got to pursue her inclinations by taking piano lessons. I remember sitting next to her on the piano bench as a little girl while her fingers floated over ivory and black keys. This was magic to me. Of all the keys on this large board, how did she know which ones to push?

I loved to sing along, and would belt out each song with gusto as she played. My favorite song was Scarlet Ribbons. I had long red braids which reached past my waist and I felt this was, as they say, “my song.” My sister would make mistakes as she played, and as anyone knows who has a practicing piano player in their home, the wronged keys get played over and over and over again until the flow is right. Undaunted, I would wait for her until she got her key phrases right and would then resume lyrically where we had left off, sometimes singing the same phrases over and over.

Somewhere along the way, Joanne eventually gave up playing the piano and, forever after, none of the rest of us could take lessons of any kind because……well, we would eventually quit and the lessons would be for naught (or so we were told).

As sisters, we had a fantasy that we would all be famous - like the Lennon sisters. I'm not sure what talent we would have performed, but we knew we had potential. My sister, Donna, was the comedienne of the family and we thought she was somehow mysteriously related to Carol Burnett. Obviously, we did not get the whole ‘how did we get here?’ concept. She was once in a dance recital dressed in a bird costume. She was courageous.

But the talent didn't stop there. My sister, Marilyn and I would gather all the little neighborhood girls together for parades. We would dress up in our Mothers’ clothing and march around the neighborhood playing kazoos, flutes, or banging on pans with kitchen utensils. I had seen someone play the spoons on The Ed Sullivan Show, a variety TV show where the Beatles made their first US appearance, and thought that would be a rare talent indeed to contribute to the parade. The problem was that I needed a free hand to hold up the long skirt I wore and so, the spoons became my batons to wave around. I wore plastic high heels and a fake fur stole that my Mother had bought for me on my birthday. Marilyn and I would fight over who got to wear Mother's wide brimmed hat that had black feathers around the crown of the head.

It’s funny, I don’t think we ever saw one neighbor come out to watch us or cheer us on, but we didn’t seem to notice. Every parade was a blasting success; especially when Marilyn was in the lead. We did not question her direction on any parade matter when she led us, because she spoke with authority, particularly when she wore the black feathered hat.

I suppose, these antics, combined with my love of singing instigated the drama class sign up. What no one could have guessed, however, is that, outside my neighborhood, I was an especially shy and sensitive child, believing that if I made too many mistakes, I would live a life of rejection and eventually live on an island by myself, much like Napoleon did when exiled to Elba.

I remember almost nothing about that class my Mother dutifully drove me to on a weekly basis except the play we were to put on for a large crowd of parents and other family and friends. I was overjoyed to know that I had a role as a princess and, therefore, got to wear a purple satin gown with brocade sewn on the neck and arms. I was so proud when my Mother, having an artistic bent herself, made a tin foil crown for my debut.

In preparation for this play, I had done only two things - I memorized the line before me, said by a girl who played the queen, and my own line, which followed immediately after hers. My line was “There is not much time I fear.”

I felt alone on stage though there were many kids in the play. The lights were blinding and I could only hear murmurings of parents in the crowd. I concentrated, listening for the queen's line and tried to block out all other distractions. She did not deliver it. I waited. I heard fervent whispering from the wings of the stage. I still concentrated – there was silence. The boy next to me (he must have been the prince, for he too had on a foil crown) elbowed me once and then twice. The prompting from off stage became louder now. I blurted out, “There is not much time I fear!” with all the gusto and feeling an embarrassed eight year old could muster.

All I could see from my small perspective was disappointment in the eyes of my cast members. One shook her head, the prince let out a large sigh. I had let everyone down, even after all my practice and preparation. I looked good and still…I had failed. In my defense, the queen had improvised her line or had not said it exactly as I had practiced it.

As I think of this experience today, I consider an analogy that applies. How often have we missed the promptings and whispering of Spirit because something did not happen exactly as we expected it to or how we rehearsed it in our heads? When we are so structured in our approach to life, we may miss promptings that open us to greater possibilities. When we are so focused, do we become inflexible when something unexpected arises?

From my experience, when we refuse to acknowledge Spirit's voice, we run the risk of becoming a person unto ourselves, of losing our sense of community and missing out on the chance to be a part of a greater whole, a crucial part of the play as it were and, in the process, block out opportunities, relationships and experiences that may bring us success, safety, joy.

And we always want to listen to Spirit's quiet whisperings and act before we get that elbow to the ribs that life can deliver. Those can be painful and not easily forgotten or forgiven.

During my life, I can think of many times that Spirit's voice warned me of a dangerous situation, directed me to a person that needed a hand or helped me to understand something beyond my own reasoning. I have, over the years, learned to rely on this voice to get me through this life. One of my greatest fears is that, through ignoring promptings or refusing to act on them, I may not receive more.

Richard G. Scott said, "As part of our schooling process, the Lord will help us to see the results, in our own life and in the lives of others, of our acting upon the promptings we receive from the Spirit. These experiences will strengthen our faith and give us greater courage to act in the future. Your confidence in the impressions you feel can become more certain than your dependence on what you see or hear."

It may take us a while to learn the language of Spirit and to trust it. This process is natural. And, while it is difficult to look beyond past failures, it helps us to know that these memories serve as guideposts steering us to more fertile ground and helping us to learn to listen to the cues life delivers.

In an odd twist, after the play was over, my name was called to come back up on stage. I was given an award for having the best notebook in drama class. As I think back on it, this may have been an early indicator that my gifts lay in writing and not acting! With the wisdom of an adult, I can read all kinds of hopeful messages into that experience: get back up after falling, live without regret, don't take yourself too seriously.

However, of this I am certain: with the extreme challenges and temptations and strange occurrences we face in today's world, life will be most difficult for us if we fail to learn the language of Spirit, listen to it's promptings and act on this wisdom. It may be the only thing we can truly trust in this world to lead us in the right direction.

And, as I think of it, I am being prompted to redeliver my line, “There is not much time I fear.”