costuming, line reviews, and all the other minor details that grow to enormous proportions in those minutes preceding the opening scene. Some actors lightened the mood with quiet banter, talking about the teachers and friends who would be in the audience that night and trying to predict what their reactions would be. Seth and Kate had found two chairs in a corner of the room and were talking through Joy’s dying scene despite the chaos all around. Their eyes were closed as they very slowly, very emotionally, went through their lines. After a couple of minutes, Kate reached out and, eyes still closed, found Seth’s hand. It was one of the most moving sights I’d witnessed—two high school students sitting in a crowded changing room, tears in their voices, feeling the pain of another man’s loss.
I tended to the actors between walkie-talkie calls from the soundmen, the props crew, and the ticket-sales ladies. Aside from a few small glitches, things were going smoothly. My stomach was knotted and my mind was in overdrive, but I felt an energy and excitement I’d seldom known before. This moment had been months in the making, and despite my deepest qualms, I had a feeling it was all about to pay off.
Meagan came rushing back to let us know the auditorium was full and the ushers were closing the doors. I gathered the actors in a huddle for a final moment together. Their eyes were bright and eager. We prayed for the performers, asking that they would enjoy each moment on the stage regardless of anything that might occur, and I added a special prayer that the wardrobe doors would open on cue. Just in case. Not that I didn’t trust the builder. Then we walked backstage in a flurry of silent anticipation and waited for the lights to rise.
Seth was finishing the play with a monologue that was at once his story and his faith. “God loves us, so he makes us the gift of suffering. Through suffering, we release our hold on the toys of this world, and know our true good lies in another world.” He scanned the audience with weary, hopeful eyes, unfathomably confident despite his age and fragility. “We’re like blocks of stone, out of which the sculptor carves the forms of men. The blows of his chisel, which hurt us so much, are what make us perfect. The suffering in the world is not the failure of God’s love for us; it is that love in action. For believe me, this world that seems to us so substantial is no more than the shadowlands. Real life has not begun yet.”
Seth didn’t wipe away his tears. He didn’t flinch away from the audience’s eyes. He stood his ground. Tall. Proud. Certain of the truth he spoke and emboldened by his own healed wounds. He finished his last line and let the words settle; then he turned and exited the stage in slow, unhurried steps. I met him in the wings and ordered him to bend down so I could hug him properly. I felt his tears against my cheek and wondered at the depth of this young man whose quest for truth had somehow redeemed the fury of his pain. He seemed a healed person, and C. S. Lewis, whose faith had reached beyond the grave, had contributed to making him whole.
Once the lights came down, the actors erupted. They jumped on each other and punched the air and slapped high fives until I yelled to them to line up for the curtain call. Of course, we didn’t have a curtain—only lights that came up with the brilliance of victory. I watched as the actors marched to the front of the stage one by one, beaming smiles on their faces, and took a bow. They were the newest conquerors of the theatrical world, and their happiness was contagious. The audience urged them on to three more bows, then I used my walkie-talkie to order the room lights up and the doors open.
I’d never been on the receiving end of performance praise before, so it was all a bit overwhelming. Scott gave me an enormous bouquet of roses and gerbera daisies arranged tightly in a wide green paper cone as the Germans often did. Trey told me he’d spent the afternoon making his first German cheesecake, with ingredient help from Bev, and it was waiting for me at home. I gave him a hug that made something in his neck