Give My Regrets to Broadway

A few months ago, someone asked a question for which I had no answer. “What do you do to play?”

Excuse me. Play?

I mean, I have hobbies. I like reading. Watching movies. Going for walks when the weather’s nice. I enjoy writing, of course. You already know about my Wordle habit. But I wouldn’t call any of those things “play.” I don’t do sports. Most board games bore me. I don’t see my grandkids often enough to be pulled into their play much.

“Oh my gosh,” I thought. “I have no idea how to play!”

Then I received an email. The Glesby Centre was hosting a “Broadway Bootcamp” for youth over spring break, led by StudioWorks Academy in Winnipeg. They generously offered an evening session to Prairie Players members, free of charge. Was I interested? Sure, why not? Sign me up. Maybe I’ll get a blog post out of it.

As almost always happens, I began dragging my heels as the evening approached. Why did I say I’d attend this thing? Freezing rain was falling. My couch was calling. Now I had to go because I’d coerced my friend Vicki into joining me and I couldn’t risk ticking her off by not showing up.

In the first thirty seconds, though, I felt glad I’d gone. If nothing else, I got to see some faces I had not seen—or seen only in passing—for over two years. We gathered on the stage in our socks to protect the floor from slush and mud. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I last felt that painted platform under my feet. Twenty minutes in, I realized something else.

I was playing!

Our two young leaders taught us some fun warm-up games that involved concentration, coordination, and tons of laughter. Silliness reigned as they forced us to make split-second, life-altering decisions, such as whether to “whiz” or “whoosh” one another, whether to hop over an imaginary bowling ball or yell “MINE!” and pick it up. We practiced rhythm and attentiveness in a game called “Big Booty.” We called each other out while chanting “IN. THE. SOUP.”

Well, I guess you had to be there.

We participated in some relaxation and exploration exercises. We moved our bodies. Breathed deeply. Made weird noises. Practiced our improv skills. Activities that would feel like torture to others, the way playing basketball or sitting through a football game feels to me.

Most of all, we laughed and enjoyed each other. I really don’t know how tough the last two years have been on these friends—what hardships or losses they’ve faced, what personal struggles they may have overcome. But I do know my own, and it’s fair to assume our challenges are universal. Hearing their laughter and seeing their smiles, even though some remained behind masks, brought healing in and of itself.

I had forgotten how much fun theater games can be. Turns out I do know how to play, and children are not the only ones who need to.

At my age, it’s becoming increasingly unrealistic to think I will ever get to SEE a Broadway play, let alone perform in one. I can live with that. I just hope I’m never too old to gather with like-minded people who truly enjoy this avenue of expression, personal growth, and fun.

How do YOU play?

“A cheerful disposition is good for your health; gloom and doom leave you bone-tired.” (Proverbs 17:22 The Message)

 

Why God’s Grace is More Amazing than Yours

You may have seen the story circulated on social media. An elderly woman accidentally breaks some dishes in a store. Embarrassed and ashamed, she begins gathering the broken pieces. While other customers observe, she frets over how she’ll pay for the merchandise. The store manager comes along and tells her not to worry. Insurance will cover the loss. He orders his staff to clean the mess. The woman goes free, filled with gratitude.

The story is intended to give us a picture of God’s grace toward us when we blow it. It warms our hearts, but as an illustration of grace, something is lacking.

John 8 tells about the woman famously caught in adultery. Religious leaders catch her in the act (although her partner in crime somehow escapes their grasp). They throw her at Jesus’s feet, reminding him the law stated such a woman should be stoned to death. Jesus shows her mercy, advising the accuser without fault to throw the first stone. You’re probably familiar with the passage. I heard a sermon on this where the speaker invented a backstory for this woman in which she was sexually abused as a child. This may have been accurate; we can’t possibly know.

This version immediately incites our compassion for her. It places us on the woman’s side, but as an illustration of grace, something is lacking.

In the Old Testament, God instructs the prophet Hosea to marry a prostitute and to cherish and pursue her no matter how often she returns to her former ways. God intended Hosea’s marriage as an illustration of his love for his people, Israel, despite their unfaithfulness to Him. In a popular Christian novel based on Hosea (also recently released as a movie), the prostitute is a sex-trafficking victim since childhood. This premise makes her a sympathetic character, a smart move for an author to make—any author who understands human nature and how a good story works. (It also doesn’t hurt that she made the character beautiful.)

This assertion causes us to root for the character and cheer when she finally submits to love, but as an illustration of grace, something is lacking.

What if the old woman in the store was a rebellious teen who deliberately broke the dishes and defiantly spat in the manager’s face, but he still let her off the hook? We wouldn’t love the story nearly so much, but it would be a more accurate illustration of God’s grace.

What if the woman caught in adultery had been a man who chose an affair out of boredom—but Jesus still let him off the hook? We probably wouldn’t tell the story much, but it would be a more accurate illustration of God’s grace.

What if Hosea’s wife came from a place of privilege? What if her character in the novel was a pimp instead? We’d hate that story, but it would be a more accurate illustration of God’s grace.

Before we mortals can root for those who receive mercy, we want to understand why they did what they did. It was an accident. They were victims. They were trying to fill the empty hole in their heart. Those scenarios make God’s grace so much more palatable to us. Our sense of justice is too strong to cheer for a defiant scoundrel.

Until, of course, that defiant scoundrel is us.

That sense of justice we all share exists because we were made in the image of God. He is a God of justice. He demanded it.

And then he provided it. That’s what Good Friday is all about: Jesus, taking the blow for the thief, for the adulterer, for the pimp, for you, for me. Though each of us is free to reject it, God’s grace came first. In case you’ve forgotten what we’re celebrating this weekend.

Happy Easter.

 

Hookt is a 5-Letter Word

Hi. I’m Terrie. And I am a Wordle-holic.

If that means nothing to you, you’re probably not on social media. If you are, you’ve seen strange little grids appearing on your feed with yellow, green, and black or white squares and obscure numbers that either annoy or intrigue you. Like me, you may have wondered about the crazy fad. Maybe, like me, you decided you wouldn’t jump on the bandwagon. You didn’t need one more distraction. Only losers waste time on online games, right?

Then my son, typically not a bandwagon on-jumper, started posting his daily Wordle scores. Suddenly, I had to give it a try. You could call it Sudoku for word people. I hate Sudoku. Love Wordle.

Wordle is an online game created by software engineer Josh Wardle of Brooklyn, New York. (Not to be confused with the Josh Wardle of Regina who’s been plagued by media for comment on something with which he had nothing to do.) According to Daniel Victor’s article in the January 3, 2022 issue of The New York Times, Wardle initially created the game for his word game-loving partner, Palak Shah, for the two of them to play. “I wanted to create something I knew she’d enjoy,” he said.

The object is to find the secret five-letter word of the day in six tries or fewer. After you guess the first word, correct letters turn yellow, green if they’re also in the correct spot. Each try must be an actual word. If your guess is not on Wordle’s list, it’s rejected and does not count as a guess. Since the English language has around 12,000 five-letter words, many of which are obscure, Wardle and Shaw reduced their list to around 2,500 words. By releasing only one puzzle a day, this still gives them enough for almost seven years.

After the game expanded to family members who also loved it, Wardle decided to make it available to the public. On its first day last November, ninety people played. Two months later, nearly 300,000 people played. Articles appeared, providing helpful tips and tricks for winning the game as well as words to avoid. Multiple off-shoots have sprung up where you can play with six-letter words, play four or eight games at once, and other variations. There’s a Canadian version called Canuckle, one for music fans called Heardle, a Mennonite option called Nah Yo-dle, and more.

The NY Times has since purchased rights to the original, and I imagine Wardle is financially set for life.

Three characteristics draw people to Wordle. First, you can play only once a day. Scarcity can be attractive. Secondly, the game takes only about three minutes out of your day so isn’t a huge time-waster like many others. Thirdly, because everyone gets the same puzzle on the same day, a sense of community is created. The built-in method of easily sharing your success level provides a way to connect with others. Who doesn’t need more connection these days?

Like any good game, Wordle provides a fine balance between luck and strategy to keep it challenging while still giving you something at which to succeed. Therein, I suspect, lies the addictive properties of this or any game. We crave that pop of endorphins our brains release when we win.

Harmless, though, since you can do only one per day. Right?

Woops. Someone kindly directed me to a site where you can play Wordle’s archived games. Because I began playing the game on Day 220, its archives contained 219 games I had not yet played. I’m trying to limit myself to three a day. I’m sure I can quit whenever I want.

The New Living Translation of Proverbs 18:20 says, “… the right words bring satisfaction.” (How’s that for taking scripture out of context?)

 

Salute to Canadian Heroines, Part 5 of 5: Lotta Hitschmanova

“This is Lotta Hitschmanova. Please give generously to the Unitarian Service Committee, 56 Sparks Street, Ottawa Four.”

If those words strike a chord somewhere in your memory bank, you may be around my age. How well I remember those black and white public service announcements on CBC television and my brothers imitating the narrator’s Czech accent. Perhaps the mockery provided a way to cover for any emotions those videos dredged up. I wish I’d understood more back then about the woman whose voice we parodied or the amazing work she did on behalf of impoverished children throughout her 80 years on earth.

Born in Prague in 1909, Lotta Hitschmanova grew up in a hardworking Jewish family who valued wisdom, honesty, charity, and education. Lotta earned diplomas in five languages—French, English, German, Spanish, and Czech—and a Ph.D. from Prague University.

Lotta Hitchmanova

As a journalist, Lotta spoke out against the Nazis prior to the breakout of war. As a result, she spent the early war years fleeing from one country to another, but always working diligently for the cause of refugees even while she herself was one. Arriving in the United States on a banana boat with other refugees in 1942, she headed for Canada where she’d been granted a visa. She had sixty dollars and weighed less than a hundred pounds.

Within four days, however, this energetic woman found secretarial work in Montreal. Shortly after, she began working in Ottawa for the Department of War Services, devoting her paid and unpaid time to raising funds for relief and rehabilitation of refugees.

Not until after the war ended did she learn that her parents had died in a holding camp en route to Auschwitz. Though she’d been offered several jobs in Czechoslovakia, she decided to stay in Canada.

Having become acquainted with the Unitarian Service Committee during the war, Lotta helped establish the Canadian branch (now known as SeedChange) in 1945. She served as chairman for four years, during which time she traveled across Canada appealing to audiences to help war-torn countries recover. Canadians responded to this tiny, flame-haired woman by sending food, money, and prosthetic limbs for injured children. Under “Doctor Lotta’s” direction, USC Canada began a foster parent program whereby Canadians could sponsor a child for which they received the child’s photo and story.

Lotta quickly discovered that a uniform allowed a person to move more freely in the work of humanitarian aid. She invented her own uniform, adapted from a surplus US Army nurse’s jacket. The uniform simplified packing and garnered respect. Lotta spent 36 years speaking, writing, traveling, and raising funds to feed, clothe and find homes for destitute people, first in Europe, then around the world. She divided her time between traveling to parts of the world where food and medical attention were most needed and working here in Canada to raise funds. Her tireless efforts resulted in nearly 130 million dollars raised. She spent the final years of her life struggling with Alzheimer’s Disease and cancer. She passed away in 1990.

Dr. Hitschmanova received many awards and made 56 Sparks Street a household name. After her death, it was revealed that the RCMP had spent thirty years spying on her, fearing that, as a Czech refugee, she may have been sympathetic to Communism.

Her iconic homemade uniform, laden with awards and honors, is on display at the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa.