It's Monday, and I'm already exhausted. Very typical of a Blue Monday.
Last night was the third and final night of my church's Easter production, the drama portion of which I was the director. The production – a collaboration of eighty-some people all told, counting the cast, crew, and choir – was a resounding success, by the measure of success for which we were aiming. God was glorified through the presentation of the Gospel through songs and dramatic scenes. I have not yet heard if anyone accepted Christ as a direct result of the message we presented, but I'm certain that lots of seeds were planted.
In the drama portion of the production, our cast of 12 and crew of 10 or so spent the better part of three months working hard in preparing for this past weekend. Each actor and actress, who may or may not have been acquainted with their cast mates prior to the play, grew closer to each other as the long days and nights of rehearsals piled up. We became somewhat of a ragtag family, of sorts. In what other universe do a 10-year old relief pitcher, a retired Army colonel, three classroom teachers, and three home-schooled kids, among others, join forces and do something meaningful together? It never ceases to amaze me how it all comes together, but invariably, it does.
Someone facetiously asked me the other day how much I get paid for directing the Easter drama. I chuckled and told them, "Zero dollars." Some folks would think I was stupid for spending countless hours at church and at home preparing for something that doesn't earn me a dime. Those folks have probably never been involved in real ministry. What I get out of it isn't the point. It isn't about monetary gain or personal acclaim. The purpose is in the message, and I hope and pray that it came through loud and clear this weekend.
Which brings me back to Blue Monday. This is what I call the first day after the last night of the production. All those long days and nights spent preparing are now over. The people in whose company you've spent countless hours are suddenly no longer a part of your life in the same way. It's all over but the crying. And while I might not always shed actual tears over it, the sudden inactivity is a definite shock to the system. It hits you like a ton of bricks: Now what do I do?
The answer is obvious: Life goes on. Playtime is over, at least for now, and now real life takes its place. And so we look forward to the next time we can do it all over again, maybe with a different group of people, for a different occasion, or maybe just because we want to. And until then, we wait. Till Tuesday...
To Leann, Jamie, Lori, Erick, Jimmy, Taylor, Daniel, Emory, Tim W., Cindy, Kim, Blake, Tim D., Chris, Nathan, Brandon, Nick, Bill, Tim S., Michael, Tim C., Steve, Teri P., Gina, Terri D., the Girls' Ensemble, Kevin, the Choir, and everyone else involved in the production: Thank you for this experience. There will never be another one just like it, and I've enjoyed every minute of it!