"The happy day passed like a dream."
I ran across this quote in June of last year, as the week of my second brother's wedding was coming to an end, and my family was preparing to scatter to the four corners of the U.S. To return to their homes and continue life as usual. And after a long cry and a flight home, time was placed in fast-forward again, only pausing to allow me to remember certain moments as life swept me along.
And now, just three months away from another June, time is paused. Just long enough for me to look back on what has happened. How much I have survived, grown from, laughed over, cried through and recorded as vague flashes of colors and sounds and moments. And I could write about every little thing, and spend a whole night laughing over memories that have become inside jokes and friendships that have grown. But one blessing, tonight, stands among the rest as a beautiful representation of what God gives.
Last Spring, a show called "Spoon River Anthology" was announced among several plays in the season that my University was scheduled to perform through this last school year. And when the title was given, I looked to my classmates with confusion as to what in the world this anthology was about. And then time swept us on a wild journey through a short Summer, a fall semester, a stressful musical, a struggle for A's and B's. And "Spoon River" was shoved to the back of our minds through it all. Auditions for the show came and went, a cast list circled around, and when it was time to concentrate on it, we hardly knew what we were getting ourselves into.
And then rehearsals began. And so rapidly, things changed. It went beyond the countless monologues assigned to us. It delved deeper than the lengthy hours we spent separately and together, tripping over lines and missing the point of words. It was lost in the five or ten minute breaks allotted to us, when we would flee to fresh air or breathless laughter that kept us company later. It was in the passing moments that melded in together to create some strange blessing that is only realized after it is over.
Six weeks that blurred into flashes. Fifteen or so people thrown together from the most diverse directions. Beginning with bold quips and ending with long strings of awkward banter that caused uproars of laughter. And every little moment in between. A wonderfully cramped dressing room buzzing with endless energy (which often got us in trouble). A flock of wild turkeys. Back aches and hard benches. Morning, Scum. Quiet moments of support when a cast member's tears called for help. Counting those Bottles of Beer on the Wall. Making faces across the stage behind curtains. Loud nights in a 24-hour diner. And all those little things that were lost in the shuffle. Relationships that bloomed when we weren't even looking. A cast that became a strange, talented, hilarious, beautiful family with a patient Director at the helm. Until, with tears falling during the final "Spoon River" song, I looked around the stage at this cast of happy misfits. And counted a little blessing among many.
Little blessings that cannot be taken away. No matter how fast time flies, or how many more cast lists go up on the cork board, or how far we scatter away from each other in our pursuit of living. One thing always remains, offering a smile in times when I miss this cast, when I wish for the times back. One bittersweet, happy thought... There is a little "town" that we can always call home. A little collection of memories that will fade in all but beauty. One thing that is always guaranteed. We will always have Spoon River.
And I thank God for all of you.
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