Remembering Disappointment

A friend loves at all times, and

a brother is born for adversity. Pro 17:17

In a lifetime long, long ago... Okay, when I was in seventh grade, which was a long time ago, I got the part of "Arrow," pointed pet dog (yes, dog) to the lead part "Oblio" in our junior high school musical. I didn't get the part because of any great acting skill, unfortunately, but because I was the smallest person who tried out. Much of the play found me on Oblio's shoulders as we wandered through the Pointless Forest.

To prepare for my role, as all great starlets do, my dad carried me around the house on his shoulders for hours. I remember him swooping, dipping, changing directions unannounced, just to help me feel comfortable onstage. He'd carry me through the house to change light bulbs. He'd crouch and stand up, over and over, emptying the dishwasher, while I "prepared."

Finally, opening night! And I was sick. Soooo sick! My head hurt. I had a fever. But the show must go on. My parents let me perform. After all, without Arrow, there was no show. No one else knew my part. No one else was small enough.

Within minutes, my stage makeup melted on my face. I was a streaky faced, black and white pointy pup. Every break I had, I would run to the back hall, drafty and cold, and lay down on the cool wrestling mats. They felt so cool on my hot face. GROSS! That's sick... sleeping on a wrestling mat!

Play finished. Cast party, but not for me. My parents asked if I wanted to get ice cream before we went home. "Can we just go home?" I asked.

Looking back, being sick when I so wanted to enjoy the moment, I still remember the disappointment of not experiencing that play to the fullest. Disappointed in myself (though it wasn't my fault) and disappointed in the experience. No one criticized what I am sure was a lackluster performance. But still... It wasn't what it should have been.

Today, my son lays in bed with the H1N1 virus. He rallied yesterday, no fever all day. And then, last night, it roared back again. Today is the West Marching Band Invitational. His band, the featured host. His friends, hanging out, working and joking for 12 hours, together. His band, performing without the pressure of competition, but for the pure joy of the show. And he won't be there. He will be home, in bed. Disappointed that he can't perform. Disappointed at missing out on a great day with his friends. Disappointed.

My dear son, I understand your disappointment and frustration. I love you.

Friends, please post a note of encouragement to Nathan. This week, he has learned how very much being a member of this band means to him. Not the easy way, either. Thank you.