When I danced along the Milky Way

Now that she's back in the atmosphere 

With drops of Jupiter in her hair, (hey, hey, hey)

She acts like summer and walks like rain 

Reminds me that there's a time to change, (hey, hey, hey)

Since the return from her stay on the moon 

She listens like spring and she talks like June, (hey, hey, hey, hey...)

~Train Drops of Jupiter

This Spring, I had the privilege to labor and create amongst the stars.

But it wasn't all roses and rainbows. No.  It was far from it.  The heartache and pain that surrounded this work, and the dedication and teeth-gritting determination I experienced from all who labored with me, was inspiring.  It was other-worldly, supernatural. And it took a village to accomplish.

You see, an entire constellation plummeted from the sky on February 2nd. 

And how can just one or two people save a situation like that?

A beloved homeschooling mom of 14 children... a woman who was looked up to by ALL who met her... one who walks into a room or situation, or a LIFE... and just takes over... just makes you feel at ease and loved and encouraged and empowered... THAT kind of amazing woman...  was suddenly killed in a car accident.

An entire ray of light... just gone.

I'm pretty sure we are all still trying to wrap our minds around that.

Her oldest daughter, newly married, about to have dear Helen's grandchild... rightly stepped down from directing the St. Paul Institute's Spring Shakespeare production of Much Ado About Nothing. She canceled the play.  And held onto to her devastated family...most especially her two youngest siblings, just two and three years old.

The whole community was shaken to the core.  Friends of Helen's kids were especially hard hit.  It was simply unimaginable.  

In the chaos of trying to process what just happened, I mumbled to my dear friend Lisa that I'd be willing to TRY to help the kids carry on with the play... if they somehow wanted to...

I couldn't imagine they WOULD want to.
I couldn't even think HOW it would continue.
Nor did I spend much time worrying about it.
Because I doubted anyone would want to move on.

But the answers trickled in... small yeses... tentative confirmations... a lot of maybe's...

My friend Lisa was determined.  Death will not win. These kids need this, they need their friendships, they need to know that we are an Easter people.  Death will not win.  Our kids need to see this and live it.

Her words:
I am so grateful to the two of you for standing in the breach made by Helen's death to stop death from continuing its destruction. This will be blessed by God in all of its difficulties and will allow these great kids to learn part of what it means to be Christian and to believe in the resurrection.

The play was to be after all...

My partner in crime? A wonderful mom, my polar opposite, and just an exquisite human being.  Jen describes herself as Hobbit-like; she delves into details, and pulls out nuances and hidden meanings in the most minute phrases.  She is a master of Shakespeare, not because of extensive study, but because of her love for it.

Here we are... me, on my phone, desperately searching for a certain type of mood music 

while she pontificates on historical context and heavens knows what else. 

She kept us true to the time period and Shakespeare's renditions.

Here's our texts the night before tech week.

See? Dedicated, and crazy.  We made an awesome team.

(And she brought coffee. Every day of tech week) ;)

I could never put into words what she meant to this play...

On to these amazing teens.  

I had really NO IDEA what I was getting myself into.  I'd seen the kids act. They are easily on par with professional Shakespearean actors, no doubt about that. But I wasn't sure how they'd react to ME.  Would they trust me? Would they listen to me? Would they be bitter, or angry, or resentful?

In my mind, they had every right to be.  I'd have to tread a fine line.... not only with regards to emotions and feelings, but with regard to Shakespeare. It was simply astounding how much they knew and understood... and how much they WANTED to know and understand further!!

To give you a taste: I went into rehearsal one day and heard Jen in the midst of a heated discussion with Leonato and I walked over to find out what the problem was.  This young man was insistent that Shakespeare placed a particular comma in his lines for a reason, and he wanted to know why.
A comma, my dear friends. 

And that is the very reason I prayed to the Holy Spirit every day before I entered that rehearsal room. 

He never let me down.

(I always added a quick "Help me, Helen" for good measure, too.)

Leonato photo bomb

Claudio and Don Pedro

Beatrice and Benedick

Beatrice and Hero

A friend with our Gemma, Virges, spotlight crew, Conrade and Ursula

I agonized over the set.  Me, Miss "Non-crafty-in-the-least-mama" had to come up with a versatile set, easily moved, easily stored, easily used again.  ME.
Andrew built the frames, and a lovely young woman who needed to create beauty in her world that was falling apart, worked in the hot sun painting alongside me.  Side by side, we worked in silence.  She, creating a gorgeous backdrop of orange groves and sun with brush and color... me, taping grout lines on fake stone walls.  The bitterness of why we were there hung all around.  When working alone, the lines blurred and I turned up my headphones and grieved.

Those silent times are what sustained me and gave me balance and perspective whenever the panic set in.

Friar Francis

There weren't many moments of panic, thank goodness.  And here is where that village took over.

Moms were constantly asking me to let them help.  Sewing moms, theater moms, cooking moms, organized moms.... it was astounding.  Even more astounding? I let them help. I knew there was just no way I could pull this together by myself.  At every turn, I gathered my troops.  A theater mom helped with set pieces, and organized the costumes. Another two moms took over the meal prep for performance nights. Yet another mom sewed some costumes for me, and provided the pattern for all of those tail coats for the young men.  The result was magnificence.  We pushed our (teenaged!!) costume designer to her limit. And she delivered. My friend Lisa hosted the rehearsals at her home.  And when I called for extra rehearsals, moms drove the kids (sometimes for hours!) just to get them to my house on time. It was humbling and inspiring.

Me (I think my brain was hurting) and some cast members backstage, 

along with our amazing theater mom who was such a saving grace for us!

And truthfully, we pushed everyone.

I felt a kind of madness take over me when it came to this play.  When I signed on, I was content with, "let's just make it presentable." I thought I would be happy if everyone knew their lines and could execute them with some semblance of drama.  But as we got going, I saw the importance of making it excellent.  These kids were hungering for it. Because, in fact, that's what they were used to! Furthermore, that's what they deserved. Their emotions had been ripped apart and they were fighting their way back to the light. Holding on to friendships and love and hope and everything good, they were fighting for joy and happiness. And damn it if I wouldn't work myself to the bone to make sure this play was worthy of that.

Borachio, Leonato and Don John

The great thing was, ALL the kids wanted this excellence. After our dress rehearsal, Jen got up and just started praising them. She really hammered it in about how amazing and talented they all were. We knew they were working hard, and we were so proud of them all. Such an inspiring pep talk, and very much deserved!! But all eyes were on me, and the extensive notes I had taken during the performance. And finally one of the kids remarked to another sitting next to him, "wait until Mrs. Smillie starts talking!" and they both laughed. But they wanted it.  They wanted the corrections, they begged for my notes rather than go home and hear them the next day. (It was after 10pm and parents had been waiting in the parking lot for over an hour!) And so we pushed on.  And we pushed and pushed. And even the last night of the performance, the young men were coming to me... "What else? What more can we work on?" and I had to beg them to relax and simply enjoy it.

 Don Pedro and Claudio... the two perfectionists.

This last night was the reward, I told them.  Enjoy it.

It was bittersweet to see it end.  Though I didn't have much time to ponder it.  We had a major hiccup that last night.  Our amazing stage manager was very sick.  She had been up all night with a severe stomach bug that had been making its way through her family.  I must admit, I was pretty panicked.

Annie and half of our fabulous stage crew.

Annie (in the blue shirt) knew every detail of this play.  She knew props and entrances as well as exits and call times.  She knew lights and sound cues and also all the set changes for every scene.  She had 8 people working under her. And while we had talked about all of these things, she had the notes, and most importantly, she had it all in her brain.  Luckily, she had also talked it all out with Kate, (the gal on the far left) so she was able to take over for Annie.  I was given the last headset and deposited in the back of the audience to man that entrance and keep my panicked self occupied.  It went off without a hitch.

My last email to the cast and crew came around 2am after the last performance.  I was so spent, so proud, so intensely grateful.  Helen's 14 year old son had chosen to remain in the play.  And his thank you that night made it all worthwhile.  My God, dear young man, what I wouldn't do for your wonderful family, for this amazing community, and what I would have missed had I walked the other way.

I returned to my daily life changed. Walking among excellence does that to a person.

Drops of Jupiter.

I'll never be the same. Thank God for that.

;)