A Control Freak Learns to Dance

Greg's patience waned. Despite his commendable efforts, his choreography looked more like a fight than a dance. 

It was my fault. Troy, my partner, tried his best, but couldn't do anything with me. He laughed in frustration...probably to keep from crying. "I'm trying, Greg, but she's stronger than she looks."

It wasn't only that I wasn't a great dancer. It was who I was.

You see, dancing with a partner has the same effect as baking with small children--it exposes you for the control freak you are. 

"Relax. Let go," Greg said. 

I'd heard the equivalent of this admonition many times before. I've heard it many times since. 

"Let go and let God."

"Let it go, let it go...can't hold it back anymore..."

"Control is an illusion."

You'd think I would've learned by now. I mean, look. at. my. hair.

Not to mention that everything I once held dear crumbled to dust in my hands. But no, I content myself to build doomed castles with the rubble and sand.

I'm too easily content. 

And I'm too easily tricked into work that God has already done. I try to earn the love that's already mine. I try to manipulate God into doing what I want Him to do by good behavior. I seize the reins of my life, and instead of a dance, my walk with God looks like a fight, and I'm left tired and filthy and no better off for my efforts. 

I may be more aware of my lack of control today than I was five years ago, but that doesn't mean the control-freakiness is gone. It's still there. It's just sneakier than it was before.

It's like pride--every time I think I've beaten the habit, it pops back up somewhere else...like a relentless game of Whack-A-Mole. 

One of my new friends sniffed me out during my prayer ministry session. "Melissa, who's responsible for your salvation?"
Well, this one's easy. "God."
"Who's responsible for keeping your salvation?"
 "God."
"And who's responsible for your sanctification?"
"The Holy Spirit...God."
"What are you responsible for?"
I blinked. "Umm...to cooperate?"

An interesting thing for the Lord to bring up. Earlier that day, I had read the story of the crippled woman Jesus healed in Luke 13. Verse 11 describes her as "a woman who had a spirit of infirmity eighteen years, and was bent over and could in no way raise herself up."

Jesus saw her. He called her to Him, and told her, "Woman, you are loosed from your infirmity."

Even after reading this, I asked God what I could do to prepare for my prayer ministry session. "Should I fast, God? If so, what should I fast from?"

Insert cosmic eye roll.

The crippled woman did nothing to secure her salvation. She was just there, hanging out in the synagogue, making space for Jesus.

For my healing, spiritual and physical, there is nothing to do. There's nothing I can do. I can't raise myself up. Every time I try, I mess up the dance.

As my friend told me, the only thing I'm responsible for is crucifying the flesh (Gal. 5:24). Though, to be truthful, I'd prefer a bazooka. A bazooka seems faster and less painful somehow.

But there is a way to forget the pain. To forget you're dying because you're so alive.

"Look into his eyes," Greg said. "Let him lead you."

I took a deep breath, locked eyes with Troy, and stepped into his arms.

And just like that, I was dancing.

Fields of Gold

Here's the reality--tons of writers romanticize everything. It's part of the job description. I don't place myself under their banner yet, but I hope to one day. Until I achieve something a little loftier than winning a local writing contest at the age of ten, and being published in poetry anthologies for which the published must pay, I'm still an apprentice.

I think I'm learning the ropes pretty well. I know that the topic of baking cookies with Micah is acceptable reading material, but no one really cares about the pile of dishes left in the sink afterward. Everyone likes a nice blog about the joys of summer when the season first begins, but no one wants to read about a Louisiana August, in which all of the vegetation has been obliterated by the cruel sun, in which the triple digit heat index overstays its welcome, and how the simplest tasks, even indoors, make you wonder if the shower was even worth it. If Summer had overextended its visit for one day longer, I would have rebelled. I felt so bullied by that triple digit heat index that I came "this close" to exchanging romanticism for---squeal!---realism. I would have pummeled you like a hungover John Steinbeck. Thankfully for you all, while I was involved in Curtains, something magical happened--Sir Summer surrendered to the gentler climate and richer palette of Fair Fall.

Autumn's entrance in the South is rarely distinct or official. She drifts in with a sense of serenity, and an undercurrent of humility. She has no need to announce herself. Why should she? We all know when she walks into the room. Her presence is obvious, breathtaking. She is a little frustrating in that she ambles in and out, bullied around by Sir Summer who can't seem to relinquish his rights to the year. It's no wonder that I'm not sure exactly when she was ushered in by cooler breezes and that dank, smoky smell the fallen leaves take on, but she's here now. Hopefully, she will prop up her feet, and stay awhile. I'm sorry I missed the moment the doors between one season and another flew open, but I was distracted by other good things.

Although Curtains was the dominate activity for the past 8 weeks, I was also busy with mothering, wifery, housekeeping and teaching. I know that you don't care about dirty toddler diapers, mildew growing in the shower, or that I was making dinners around the same time I made lunch every day, so I thought I would limit myself to the highlights.

I will begin with my new music discovery--Mumford and Sons. This British group creates a genius combination of folk, bluegrass, rock and piercing lyrics. I couldn't decide which song I liked best, so I thought I would share one that is pretty iconic of their work, which you can listen to on the playlist provided below if you are at a computer with speakers and no workplace firewall to block your fun.


I began teaching piano and voice lessons the last week of August, and managed to hang on by my fingernails as Curtains entered into technical rehearsals, then performances. It's always amazing to me how children grow, mature and develop over the short course of a summer. The little girls I taught last year are looking more like little women, and students who couldn't sit still for half an hour last spring are doing brilliantly in hour long lessons this fall. Brandon and I also began teaching Sunday School again at Crossroads. We are glad to be back with our class from last year, just one year older, a few inches taller and a few vocabulary words wiser!

During the weeks I was involved with the show, I worked on Micah's baby book in my precious spare time. I used Shutterfly.com to upload my images, design my book and publish it. They did a beautiful job, and I'm very pleased with the product! Shutterfly photo books are user friendly, quick, painless and reasonably priced. It provides the perfect approach to documenting memories at this time in my life. What mom doesn't like fast, cheap and awesome?

The front cover

My letter to Micah and first photo

Probably my favorite page

Back cover

One Saturday, I came home from either a rehearsal or a performance--I forget because it all runs together in my mind--to find our living space painted and redecorated . . . man's man style. You may remember the battle of wills that waged until I chose to give in, realizing that I never give in, even to the person I claim to love. I will admit that although it isn't to my taste, that it isn't the nightmare I had imagined, either. Several people have really liked it. Everyone else has found some level of appreciation for it. I just have to ignore the creep factor of having the heads of dead animals protruding from my walls. (Too much realism for you? Me, too.)

How am I doing? I'm . . . coping.

I think that pretty much says it all.

Sandwiched in between the two weekend runs of Curtains were two very important events--my first time conducting a choir in 2 years and Brandon's 31st birthday. I conducted a joint choir, which included members from Crossroads in Ruston, Christ Community Church and John Knox Presbyterian Church, for the World Communion Sunday service at John Knox. It worked out surprisingly well, but I'm not sure how much of the success can be attributed to me. I was so nervous that I was freezing for the entire service, convulsing with nervous chills and uncontrollable nervous yawning until the song was complete. I also began the piece too fast. Fortunately, the organist was very good, and followed me right into a slower tempo.

Brandon turned 31 on September 21st. His birthday was on a Tuesday. He worked all day long, and just wanted to come home and relax. He had also been working really hard for the past 4 months so I could get some stage time. Almost every day, he would come home from work, pick up Micah from the grandparent on duty, feed him dinner, bathe him, and put him to bed. That is a lot to put on a guy whose job entails holding human life in his hands on a daily basis. So, I wanted to make the evening special for him.

I cooked one of his favorite dinners . . .
went to great lengths to bake him a real, glutenous,
highly-poisonous-to-myself birthday cake . . .

bought him a video game, allowing him to unwind by mass murdering the villains . . .

and made sure he was rewarded by lots of birthday kisses,
both captured and not captured on camera.

This tightly packed bushel of events hit me line a ton of bricks. Until my third 10 hour night of sleep, I was asking questions like, "Where am I?," "What am I supposed to be doing?," "What's my name again?" because I have been so TIRED after all that has gone on. On the other hand, I had been feeling like I had missed out on quite enough Micah time. So . . . for the past few days, I have aligned my schedule with his, and basked in the sunshine, the crisp air and the glow of his tiny soul.

I remember heading outside with him the first day we were able to share alone. I wanted to etch the happiness of the moment in my memory. I knew the only way I could do it was if I provided a soundtrack to our outdoor play. I brought out my Ipod, strapped it on (no headphones, just a light buzz from the small speakers), and selected the only song that made sense to me in that moment. The breeze blew into our faces gently. Golden rays peeked down at us from the tree tops, dancing in and around Micah's curls. The smell of autumn wafted from the woods to the tips of our noses, and just like that, those precious, slow moments with my son were forever burned into my memory with the help of Eva Cassidy's "Fields of Gold." What a perfect soundtrack to that hour . . . Micah felicitously discovering the world around him, teaching me how to once again marvel at the various sizes and shapes of sticks, the indigo vastness of the sky, and the joy of holding a katydid in the palm of my hand. His squeals of delight and his baby songs of contentment are sealed in my mind and heart. I remember sighing with pleasure as I drank in creation, watching him toddle about the yard and knowing that I was living in those fields of gold.

Welcome, Fair Fall, and all of your lovely fields.

I have worn a million hats thus far this fall, but the MOM hat? It fits just right.

"Peek-a-boo, Mama!"

And I didn't even tell you that I soured three loads of laundry this week by forgetting they were in the washer. How's that for romanticism?

Where am I, again? What am I supposed to be doing?

Show People

Disorganized. Messy. Slapdash. Exhausting. Exhilarating. Arduous. Sensational. Funny. Memorable. Joyous. Nostalgic. Sad. All of these adjectives come to mind when I reflect on the past few weeks. They have passed by in a whirlwind. A disorganized, messy, slapdash, exhausting, exhilarating, arduous, sensational, funny, memorable, joyous, nostalgic, sad whirlwind. Now that the winds have died, the debris has landed and the dust has settled, I want to write about it. I won't write about everything, but I will write what I don't mind being read.

The most consuming activity of the past several weeks was Curtains, the musical comedy whodunit. Seriously. This play ate two months of my life. I'm mostly okay with that, but there will be no more plays for quite awhile. I had the privilege and delight of bringing the character of Nikki Harris to life. Nikki is about as airheaded as they come, but somehow manages to make dumb and kind of annoying come across as charm. I don't know how she does it. Maybe it's the red hair.When I auditioned for this show, I was sure I had the Lord's blessing. When I was cast as a principle, I was exultant. I loved the story. I loved the music. I loved the character. But the price I paid to perform this show was extremely high. If I had been handed a slip of paper that detailed all that would befall me throughout the rehearsal process and the performances, I would have thrown it back, and asked, "Are you kidding me?" I am quite sure that I wouldn't have done the show. I am also quite sure that I'm glad I was handed no such slip of paper.

Had I been, it would have read something like this:

Blood. Yes, literally. (However, the spilling of my own blood probably had less to do with the show and more to do with my mishap magnetism, dismal depth perception and general lack of respect for very solid set pieces.)
Sweat. (Dude. The choreography was intense. If I never have to high kick again, it may be too soon.)
Tears.
Time away from husband and son. (Lots of time away from them.)
Pain.
Uncomfortable conversations.
Hurt feelings.
Betrayal. (Not mine and not my fault, but I was still a participant.)
An array of miscellany. (The boring, the mundane and the too private to talk about on a public blog.)

I don't really want to delve into this list because the point of this post isn't how bad things were while being involved with this show. It's really about why, in light of all of that happened, I'm still glad I did the show.

Easily, the number one reason I'm glad I did this show is because I caught a glimpse of my own frailty. Odd reason, I know. However, anytime a Christian has to face their frailty, it causes them to seek strength from the Lord. For weeks, I was absolutely at the end of myself, and I am quite sure that if I hadn't had supernatural help, I wouldn't have made it. I immersed myself in God's word and prayer. I listened to sermons and worship music during the car rides to and from rehearsal. I got a taste of what it is to walk in the Spirit, and that is a very, very good thing. Regrettably, I did not keep it up as I should have. There was a moment when I subconsciously decided that things had improved enough that I could handle them on my own. Why am I so stupid? Why can't I learn? But for a few weeks there, I experienced the Lord in a way that I had not before. And you know what? I'll never be satisfied with a mediocre walk with the Lord again because I know what it can be.

The second reason I'm glad I did this show is because I was able to spend so much time with some dear and dearly missed friends from my college days. I was also able to make new ones! Elizabeth, it was so good to work with you again. You keep impressing me with your growing talents. Madonna, we are sisters from different misters. I love you so much . . . even though something ridiculous happens almost every time we are together. I am so happy that we got one more show together.The third reason I'm so happy I did this show is because I had the opportunity to work with a truly great choreographer. Greg Baccarini is one of the best teachers I've ever had because he taught me to do things I've always wanted to be able to do and never thought I would learn. The choreography was hard for everyone, but I managed to do it--believably. He taught this tense, clumsy, control-freak of a woman to relax, surrender, trust and be led by a man without the influence of alcohol. Hard to believe, I know! Greg, if you read this, know that I'm so very grateful.

The fourth reason I'm happy I did this show is because of this show, this story, this music, this character. If you aren't familiar with the plot, music and characters of Curtains, you are missing out. I love the way it was written, the music is really special and the characters and relationships are funny, interesting and have surprising depth. It's extraordinary, really.

The fifth and final reason I'm glad I was in this show is because I'm a show person. There are few thrills equal to performing on stage for me. When I'm up there, I have so. much. fun! I hunger for this kind of thing, and feel a little starved when I'm not doing it. I can't really explain it any better than that, so I'm going to get a little help from one of the showstopper numbers from the score:

"We're a special kind of people
known as show people.
We live in a world of our own.
Our days are tied to curtains,
they rise and they fall.
We're born every night
at half hour call.
We can't picture being anything
but show people.
Civilians find the whole thing quite bizarre.
But that hop in our hearts
when the overture starts
lets us know how lucky we are.
It's an honor and a joy to be in show business.
I feel that spotlight hit me and I'm gone.
At the last curtain call,
I'm the envy of all
so I know that the show must . . .
go on . . .
show thrilling, we're show people;
and on . . .
so willing, we're show people;
and on . . .
so thrilling, the show must go on!"

I'm not sure any words on earth could describe the feeling better than those.

As much as I love the stage, I feel the need to take a good, long break from it. I'm exchanging the extreme highs and lows for something in the middle, something good for the soul. The experience of playing Nikki in this show was wonderful, but I will never play a role more important or exhilarating as those of wife and mother. It is in these roles that I find myself complete and centered. I may never get applause for playing these parts well, but that's okay. Every smile I win from my Little Red and every look in Brandon's eyes that tells me that he is happy I'm his is confirmation enough. If I can play these parts well, I will have done the best work of my life.

Babies don't wait to turn into little boys, and you stop being friends with your spouse if you stop spending time together. After some rest and focus, for however long I need it, I know that the stage will still be there . . . waiting. In the meantime, I get to enjoy lots of this . . .

And that is a very, very good thing.

Stay tuned for non-theater related recent happenings and general goings-on.

Recommended viewing:

Baking Cookies and Going Bonkers

I meant to document Micah's first baking experience the other day right after it happened, but I just didn't get around to it. I have been swamped with an equal mix of responsibility and fun. This summer, the average day goes as follows:

7-8am: Wake-up call given by Micah or Scout, the green dog.
8am: Make breakfast
8:20:Eat breakfast
8:45:Clean kitchen
9:00:Laundry, take out trash
9:15: Get ready to teach lessons
10:00: Teach
12:00: Lunch and clean kitchen
1:00: Micah naps. Mommy spends time with Jesus. Check email and FB.
2:30: Get Micah up and feed him a snack. Begin cooking dinner.
3:30: Clean kitchen again.
3:45: Play with Micah and do a couple of chores
5:00: Pass Micah off to someone else, and leave for the theater.
6:00: Rehearse.
9:30-10:15: Arrive home. Eat snack. Clean kitchen for the 4th time. Waste time or fold laundry.
12am: Go to bed, and do it again.

Blogging has been difficult to fit in.

But back to baking with Micah . . . I managed to fit it in week before last when we had an unexpected night off from rehearsing Peter Pan. We baked chocolate chip cookies, and he loved it! Well, most of it. He wasn't too interested in my compulsive cleanings in between each mess. He enjoyed dumping ingredients into the bowl and mixing them together, but his favorite parts of baking were eating the chocolate chips he dropped onto the counter, licking the bowl and consuming the fruits of his labor.
Whisking dry ingredients.



Licking the bowl.

Gluten free chocolate chip cookies made from rice and potato flour.

Yum! Yum!

Those cookies were remarkably good for being gluten free. This was the first time I have ever made them from scratch, but it won't be the last!

We are through the first weekend of Peter Pan. I have only 4 more nights to be Mrs. Darling, and then I'm back to being Mrs. Keaster full time. A hunch tells me that Brandon is looking forward to that. He is so incredibly supportive of my love of the stage, but he can't enjoy me being away from home until late every night. By being such a good sport about this play and its hours, he has given me a much greater gift than he could possibly know. (I love you, Baby!)

Peter Pan has taken a bit of a physical toll on me. I am exhausted. I'm sore for reasons unbeknown to me--What? I'm old. It takes me awhile and a few cups of coffee to help me get going in the morning, but I am having so much fun. Fun hasn't been the only positive by-product of being a part of this production. The creative waters have been stirred, and the sleeping beast within has been wakened. I am a firm believer in the old adage "creativity breeds creativity," but I'm experiencing something closer to "creativity breeds manic creativity."

Yesterday, I went bonkers. I wish I had taken a picture of the house before I cleaned it up because I had uncharacteristically large messes in multiple rooms. Stuff was everywhere! I started several projects yesterday, and began planning several more. All I really want is to do is to do, to create! So, I added several pages to my novel, framed photos to hang in our "new" home, began preparing for a hypothetical audition, began studying Dickinson again, unpacked boxes, decorated, began planning a scrapbook for Micah's life thus far, cleaned, taught, spent time with Jesus, read my book, mothered and did two loads of laundry.

For me, this is crazy behavior. I am generally a low key, low energy kind of person. Normally, if I make it out of my pajamas, cook dinner, and keep Micah healthy and happy, I count it as a good day. But today, the house is mostly clean, I am creating and possibility flavors the air. And possibility tastes oh, so good.

"I dwell in Possibility--
A fairer House than Prose--
More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--

Of Chambers as the Cedars--
Impregnable of Eye--
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky--

Of Visitors--the fairest--
For Occupation--This--
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise--"

-Emily Dickinson

A Summer State of Mind

Walking outside is like wading through bath water. It's every bit as hot, and the humidity adds resistance to the air. The heat almost has a smell, or maybe that's just the grass baking in the summer sun. I can hear the locust chorus singing from inside my living room, and no doors or windows are open. Fireflies are blinking their hellos to me as I look through the windows of my french doors into the dusky woods. It's the time of year when heat lightening can be seen almost every evening out here on Lake D'Arbonne, and the gathering clouds bring a welcome drop in temperature and a gentle breeze to kiss perspiring faces.

My refrigerator is overflowing with summer squash, crisp cucumbers, fresh peaches and juicy blackberries. Soon, there will be more watermelon available than I can eat. Oh, how I love watermelon! My grandfather and father-in-law both take an interest in summer crops, so there are more than enough delicious and non glutenous things to eat for at least three months out of the year.

Summer holds more nostalgia for me than any other season. I don't know why that is. I have an asthma attack whenever I'm near a freshly mowed lawn. My blood sugar becomes uncontrollable if I spend too much time out in the swoon inducing heat. I sometimes break out in hives if I eat too much watermelon. So, why do I love it so? I'm not sure, but I think it's because when I was a child, my entire household relaxed out of its school year tension when summer came. My dad was a school teacher, and while he's always liked his job, he's always found it a bit stressful. But each year when the school doors closed, light shone into our home, and the only thing on the agenda was to have as much fun as possible until mid August. And boy, did Dad know how to show us all--Mom included--a good time! We would go out for snow cones and play in the park. He would set up a sprinkler or a slip n slide which would provide hours of cool, wet fun. We went to the zoo, summer art camps, and Vacation Bible School. I loved staying up late watching movies, and waking up late to the comforting smells of coffee and bacon. We always took at least one vacation a year together. For several years in a row, summer wasn't complete until we had gone to a Texas Rangers baseball game, eaten one of the stadium hot dogs and spent the following day at the big waterpark in Arlington, Texas. And don't even get me started on the year we began planning an annual trip to the Florida coast! I became a beach bum for life before I was legal to drive. It's a good thing I married a fellow beach bum because that could have been a deal breaker.

The fact is . . . I love, love, love summer. I love summer so much, in fact, that one of my primary reasons for choosing to get a degree in education is because of summer vacation. It's just lucky happenstance that I like children and that I'm a gifted teacher. Here's the strange thing--I teach private piano and voice lessons, and I'm not taking the summer off. I'm primarily a stay-at-home mother of a toddler, which means seasons aren't as significant as they once were, and I am still caught up in the intoxicating nostalgia of summer. I cannot help myself. The heat is miserable, and my Eustachian tubes won't quit itching (which is super annoying because you can't scratch your Eustachian tubes), and I know I'm gonna have to cut myself off and/or down a couple of Benadryl after a slice or two of watermelon, but I am absolutely, irrevocably in L-O-V-E with summer.

Honey, it's summertime, and the livin' is easy. I have kicked up my heels, let down my hair and let the summer high take me away into the D'Arbonne sunset (which happens to be spectacular, by the way). Inspired by one of my new favorite blogs, I have compiled a summer "to-do" list. Some of these items have been checked off once, but it's summer! I'm not limited to one check!

1. Audition for a show. Check.

I auditioned for Peter Pan at Strauss Theater in Monroe, and was offered the role of Mrs. Darling. It's a perfect role, really. It's different from anything I've done before. It's small, so I don't have to give up my summer late nights with my main man. I get to sing a little and show off my British accent. I couldn't ask for more.

2. Buffalo River canoe trip. Check. I even caught a couple of nice bass.


3. Spend time with seldom seen friends. Check, but more of that to come . . .

4. Finger painting with Micah on a hot afternoon. Check.




5. "Swimming" in the backyard with Micah. Check. (But there's not much actual swimming going on. He won't even sit in the water.)




6. Cook more. Half a check. I can cook more because I'm not teaching evening lessons. I like to cook more now that I'm not teaching evening lessons. Sometimes Micah and I cook together. Sometimes, I cook, and he adds the whine. And sometimes, Brandon watches Micah while I cook, and I get to listen to awesome music on my Ipod Touch as I stir, season and create.

7. Discover great, new music through ITunes. Check! See previous post.

8. Eat more vegetables. Fruit is too easy. Check!

9. Do more yoga. Check!

Now, on to the things left undone . . .

10. A family swim in a real pool.

11. A family vacation to the beach (minus the oil-slick). To make this one happen, it will be in combo with the remainder of number 3.

12. Sing more.

13. Read more non-fiction.

14. Seriously work on the novel.

15. Make at least 3 library story hours with the little guy.

16. Rent a canoe from D'Arbonne State Park, and float around with my boys as the sun sets. Like I said, D'Arbonne sunsets are something to be seen.

17. More bass fishing. Brandon and I leave for Arkansas next weekend to make this one happen!

18. Share a popsicle with a curly red.

19. Read more fiction.

20. Take another trip out to where Grandmommy grew up, where she lived and where she died.

21. Eat figs fresh off the tree at Grandmommy's old place. Watch Micah's face as he tries one.

22. Figure out the proper amount of bug spray required to keep the horsefly hordes from attacking me so that I can play outside with my child in peace.

23. Share all of my favorite summer foods with Micah.

24. Drink a homemade cinnamon dulce daily.

25. Lay out in the sun as often as I can for as long as I can stand it or until I smell like man.

26. Watch several summer storms.

27. Take afternoon naps.

28. Finish sewing our curtains.

29. Go on a movie date with Brandon at least twice a month.

30. Go on an unplanned adventure.

31. And as I do all of these things, taking as much pleasure in life as is humanly possible, I will remember from whom all blessings flow. I will revel in His many gifts with joy and gratitude. He was the one who was clever enough to imagine and create summer, after all.

So raise your paper cup of Country Time lemonade purchased from your neighbor's five year old daughter. To summer!