The Director´s Chair

What is it about movies and books that often take us away from reality yet can stir something in our souls? I love stories like this, but they often send my desiring heart down a path of discontentment and disillusionment. I tend to romanticize a lot and dream about what “my story” may be like, instead of seeing my present story from God and letting Him write the screenplay of my life. My heart wants to learn of the characters in later scenes, whether friends, a reunion of friends or family, or of a certain one to lavish my love upon, instead letting Him bring them in from stage left or right in their due time. Its as if I am not happy with the Writer of the script and instead of talking to Him (who is also the Director, Producer, and Special Effects Coordinator), I change the story to what I want as I dream beyond the present or say my lines, even if it is out of the will of the storyline. Instead of asking “What if” I need to think of “what is,” and not jump to later scenes that are not prepared for filming.

I need to focus on the scene at hand, living my role as best as I can only with the help of the Director, and interacting with others in the scene with the love and care that my character is called to be. It is only by His help that I can live out this role and can see what I do through the lens of His camera. Although I make (and will continue to make) mistakes throughout the filming, the camera keeps rolling and the Director doesn’t shout “CUT!!!” and chew me out for a bad take and my horrible skills (since I am the worst of all). Instead He smiles as He looks on with love at the story and those in it, knowing with His editing He will still receive glory for this biographical “Lifetime” movie and will change and redeem my character from all the mistakes I make throughout. In the studio the lights are not on me or others in the story, although I, and others, may presume it is or “hog” the light, it is always on the Director, and He radiates His light upon us.

And He, like a director, isn’t always on his director’s chair, He was before the scene, He is in the scene, and looking back His hand is seen. Usually without my recognition He changes things around to redeem the story from my faults, as well as protecting me in the action scenes since He didn’t need a stunt double for me. (He actually was my stunt double in a scene many years ago when He took the torture that I deserved).

He is also the composer for the musical score in this story, and although I may not audibly hear the music He has written, I feel it in my soul. A synopsis of the overture goes a bit like this: strings playing in a minor chord long, soft notes during the sad scenes; a lively trumpet and cheerful flute echoing notes and rhythms that dance in the happy scenes; the saxophone wailing the blues in the more mellow and depressing scenes; and in all the frustrating and stressful scenes is the disharmonic sound of a middle school band tuning, warming up, and practicing at the same time without order.

He has poured His life, His blood, sweat, and tears into this story and to think that I, and probably other characters in this story, are asking for more from Him: things, money, and easier script to play. We consistently doubt the goodness of the story, perhaps wondering why we took this certain role. We may wish that we looked like someone else in the next studio or that special effects could airbrush us so that our flaws could be hidden. We do not know that in our weaknesses the truth of the story, the compelling truth of our complete depravity is what the Director wants to see to show the audience of His grace and that there is nothing we did to deserve it or earn it. We don’t trust that the Director truly has the good of our character and the story in mind.

When my story is over, the Director only has one Oscar in mind, of which is my heart. He treasures it and will never let it out of His grasp.