I've been contemplating what to write about my church's (www.valleycc.org) recent children's dinner theatre adventure, in which I participated as the father of the girl who has a dream about her father being the owner of a camel lot (Get it? Camel Lot? Oh, it only gets better from there.) in Bethlehem on the night of the Very First Christmas.
I could tell you all about the six-year-old shepherd turning to the audience and, in Munchkin exasperation, clearly intoning, "She didn't let me finish my line!"
I could describe the round of applause that the lead pastor received just for walking on stage in a bathrobe.
I could share the perfect sense of joy when the preschoolers were the cast for a nativity scene and Mary REALLY preferred that Joseph hold the baby-doll Jesus. ("Thwack!")
I could attempt to do all those things, but mere words on a page could not imbue to you the feeling that encompassed the room when the only person to totally forget a line in the whole show was also the only one with professional theatre experience.
Yeah...that's right...I absolutely "went up." Didn't have the inkling of a clue as to what words ought to have been springing forth from my mouth. That in itself would have been satisfying enough for the huddled masses (in a neener-neener sort of way), but the thing that lit the fuse to the Bomb of Jocularity was my pre-teen acting partner looking me in the eye, circling her hand, palm up, and leading me on with the first words of my line: "I finally realized..."
The place exploded...but I guess you had to be there.
Love and joy comfort you...
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