Monologue

I don’t think I’ve been in a more nerve wrecking situation. So, the last blog post I wrote became my project to memorize and present as a monologue before Michael Forman, a talent manager in Beverly Hills. From now on, I write with that purpose- what is monologue worthy? Just kidding, my intermediate collection of blog posts won’t interfere with my novice attempt to offer a rendition of my revelation with God.

He cleared his throat- that sound dissipated my next line and created a massive black hole into the areas of my script that were my strengths; I blanked out completely! I regained my focus after repeating my last line a few times hoping to get the ball rolling once more. As I briefly continued, there came a penetrating knock on his door! I couldn’t believe myself. As to make things so much harder; how was I supposed to ignore that this knock was to gain Michael’s attention? “One minute!”, he declared as I then poured out my last ounces of poise to undo the poison of nervousness and mistakes. I finished on a good note- at least the response I got was reassuring that I wasn’t so bad my first time around. Giving me contacts as referrals for photographers, acting classes, and an upcoming symposium, he told me to contact him once I started building a portfolio.

I walked out with sweat outlined in between the crevices of my naked chest. It seeped through my dress shirt, understandably so. Don’t remind me of my armpits. I needed to take a breather. Taking an exit out of the building, I replenished in the warm sun. Drying quickly, I felt relieved knowing that I had just endured a truly foreign moment; I thought, “Maybe I can really pursue this art” as I walked past my doubts towards the bus stop.

Even as I reflect right now, I’m glad that my source of confidence is greater than the spokes of personal experience, hardship, and growth that turn to accelerate the rotation of my tires; while it may be tiring to live this way, I’m gratified that I can take my spokes of life and lay it at His feet. Lord, do with me as you will- may these spokes be your way of speaking to me- that you understand my heart and want to provide new pedals on this broken fixture; You have spoken to me once, but would you speak to me once more. Regardless of any of my pursuits, if I don’t pursue you, this monologue of my life with deafen in your ears. Therefore, I come to you acting out a sincere monologue- one that is scripted from your own words and brought to me by your own hands. I’ll be ready for the audition. 

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Wayfaring Stranger

I met a wayfaring stranger last night. Only this time this stranger was not human, it was a limping Labrador. Well, I can’t be exact that it was a Lab; I’m not empirically able to determine a dog by its looks because God knows my ability to scout dogs is as inadequate as my ability to sniff, taste, and pinpoint the accents of various coffee.

Heading out for my usual workout (3/4 of a mile run followed by a ghetto playground routine), I exceled in pace and momentum. Right then, I had observed this harmless, yet harmed dog gingerly limping past me. I came to a full stop. “Hey come on, boy. Over here”, as I started gesturing that my arms were a safe haven of care and affection. I also used my pathetic inbred whistle to hopefully familiarize it to the call of a wanting owner. Like two lovers at first sight, we approached each other; I tried being playful- it was laying on its back with its four legs kicking up in the air. I checked its collar; there was no sign of its home or its master.

I was thinking, “Poor thing. I wish I could take you in. But I can’t. I wish I could be more effective in this situation.” All of a sudden, it was as if he could read my mind. He grasped his footing on the bare pavement once more declaring to part ways, and started hastening its steps. It made a sharp right turn into a nearby alley where my tracks of it had finally vanished.

With crumbs of evidence, and a scent of optimism, I couldn’t help but wonder if it would endure its following days. Where would it go? Who would it befriend? It was a lost dog- one that knew what it felt like to be found, but it had not comforted in that sweet thought entirely- I was his wayfaring stranger.

While I was not going to become its rightful owner, I prayed, “Lord, would you do for that dog as you had done for me”. Jesus found me as I was- a limping ‘lab’ experiment of this distasteful world; I was a formula for destruction- one that would bicker and manipulate good fortunes, and one that would sneer and jeopardize the construction of community and friendship. I was a wayfaring stranger until He found a home for me. He healed me and set me free once more; only this time I knew I was adopted; I knew my master; and I was bred in His redemptive power- I was loved in between.