"Exhale," she says tenderly to me. "I don't fully know what I'm speaking into, of course, but that is the word that comes to me." It is my third time since June going up to the stone columns at the side of the worship center after Sunday service, where people are invited to come for prayer. Karen is alone this morning, without Lonnie, both of whom have prayed with me previously about the Audience of One musical. Since I'm relatively new to the area, they barely know me. But their words are always spot on, and they listen intently as I pour out the petitions of my heart.
I am uptight. I've set project deadlines for myself and others and have started to receive funds in support of this musical. It all raises the stakes and creates pressure to produce all that has to be done to bring it to fruition."This isn't just about the production at the end," Karen continues. "It's about the journey . . . about now, about joy in the process." I tear up under her hand on my shoulder and blow out a slow stream of air. "This musical belongs to God. Trust him with every detail."
Inexplicably, I am reminded of when my first daughter, Lauren, was born. In the hospital, while I lay exhausted from birth and groggy from medication, I wondered why several additional nurses had gathered in the doorway, looking so concerned. Then my husband told me our baby wasn't breathing. Everyone was riveted on the obstetrician, who had bent over her tiny face to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
It was nearly eight minutes till the medical personnel collectively waiting to exhale on behalf of this newborn in their care could relax as she took her first breath, then her second, then her third. Once the rhythm of respiration was established, before I could lay eyes on her or hold her in my arms, they whisked her right out the door for further observation. It would be 12 more hours till I would meet her.
The birth of creative projects is often similar to this for me—a warm gestational period followed by all kinds of challenges and setbacks upon release into the world. I panic when the slightest discomfort enters the picture and disturbs my joy. Can I lean into and learn from that discomfort, rather than tighten up against it? Most of all, can I trust?
Exhale, I am being told today, and I am obedient to the word.
There has been so much blessing and joy in this process so far. The libretto is finally in decent shape, and we are preparing to schedule a read-thru of the entire musical in 6-8 weeks. We are also beginning to envision certain actors in certain parts and to consider which roles to post casting notices for. The pace is picking up, for sure. But it's also time to notice when a sense of fear or urgency threatens to clamp off the flow of oxygen.
I want to give special thanks to those who are part of my village of support for this musical: the intercessors, the behind-the-scenes cheerleaders, my theatre friends, and those who have given financial gifts to make it possible to go forward. You all make it much, much easier to breathe.
—ab
Comments