Sacrifice

Dejected, I plopped myself down in one of the balcony pews. The stage had been cleaned up and readied for Easter morning. All that remained of hours of work by dozens of people were the cross anchored in the false flooring and the empty tomb displayed in the choir loft.

And I sat there and bemoaned my unworthy videotaping skills to Him in the darkness. The production was over, most people were gone, and the only light trickled in from a hallway.

"I stank. We all watched it on the big screen at the cast party, and I stank."

I butted in on my thoughts. "Wasn't your camera (you don't have a videocamera); wasn't your tripod (you don't have a tripod)."

And then I argued with my thoughts. "So. Should've been better. There my name was listed under 'videography,' and everyone watched it and probably thought, 'Why did _she_ do this? Never have _her_ do it again!'"

"It was your fourth time taping ANYthing!"

"So. Still stank. Wasn't perfect."

"Fine. It wasn't. You do stink." And then the cross and the empty tomb lined up in my view. "Why do you think you need a Savior?"

It hit me that my videography skills are much like my life--never going to be perfect, never going to be enough. That's a need for a Savior.

People walked past the doors to back halls on their way to pick up personal effects before leaving. More lights winked off.

"But I wish I could have shown them--shown them the good version, from the second performance. The one where I had the transitions down better and knew how to find my spot in the darkness."

He gently prodded me. "And why didn't you?"

"Because the sound was better on the first recording, and if I were one of the singers, _I'd_ want to be able to hear myself well."

"So you sacrificed what would have made you look better, for what made _them_ better?"

"Well...yeah..."

"So it was a sacrifice."

I suddenly realized I was sitting above the aisle I'd watched "Jesus" carry his cross up the other night. I remembered the "soldiers" mocking him, and tonight, one even kicked him. "GET UP!" the "Roman" had yelled when "Jesus" had stumbled.

"You don't think I didn't want to?" He seemed to whisper to me tonight. "You don't think I couldn't have called down all sorts of...whatever, and smote the tar out of them? I didn't have to come out looking bad. But it was a sacrifice."

Oh.

Oh.

It's not that I understand Him a lot better...but I know that He understands me.