The Playwright

This is the story of how my best friend and i wrote and directed our first play

As my class sat around a large, stained, and wooden table, listening to a history lecture

pertaining to the upcoming test, my teacher mentioned the caste system- a concept few are

adequately informed about. Granted, we do have an unorganized but obvious class system in

America, from the ultra rich and famous to the impoverished and homeless. However, in

America, while we may feel personally targeted and discriminated against between the eye rolls

given by those who do not approve of how we make and spend our income, and the pressure to

keep up with the ever-advancing technology, we are still allowed basic courtesy and privileges,

regardless of our social standing. These thoughts stayed floating around in my head, only to

reappear a few days later while I was pouring out my knowledge of ancient history onto the test

page before me. My mind began to wander until it reached the caste system. One rule in

the caste system stood out to me the way the moon does when it shows itself during the daytime:

I simply could not erase the jarring fact that people in different classes were not allowed to

intermarry from my thoughts; if that law is broken, severe punishment ensues. A clear painting

began to appear on what had once been a canvas full of undifferentiated splotches: a play

chronicling the story of a young girl, a victim of the unfair caste system and the daughter of a

poor candle-maker, falling in love with a boy from a higher caste. I snapped back into reality

once I realized I was still taking a test, quickly scribbled the title The Candlemaker's Daughter on my frayed notebook, and kept my idea waiting on the dock, ready for its ship to come in.

After sharing the idea with my best friend, she became the story's co-writer. Then,

ensuing behind weeks of high winds and hurricanes within our brains came a half-finished

product we deemed worthy of being presented to our principal as a proposition for a production

to be performed at our school. We nervously walked down the hall to her office, smelling pencil

shavings and feeling the ruts in the walls as we dragged our fingers across them. Boldly we

appeared in the doorway, solid proposition in shaky hand. She gave suggestions in order to

clean up the edges a bit, but all words became a blur other than those that said, “Yes.” We would

be allowed to write and direct this production for our school! Few moments in my life can

compare to the pure elation coursing through my body at that moment. We had officially been

knighted the writers and directors of The Candlemaker's Daughter.

Upon the arrival of auditions, we looked around the fluorescent-lit, pizza permeated lunch

room, and were finally able to begin to put faces to the words we had been editing and perfecting

for what seemed like an eternity. God placed just the right people in our production. Although at

times we were literally on our knees begging people to be a part of it, He had a higher plan and

purpose that we could never have imagined through all of the times the sound system went out,

or someone ended up flat on their back, a victim of prop malfunctions, or when someone on the set crew wound up with a stomach virus the week the show opened. The first time we ever performed the show from beginning to end without anything being left out was our first performance. Only God could have brought order and success to such a tumultuous mad house, and He did so with His grand majestic tranquility.

Witnessing the production come together was like watching an intricate tapestry be made;

at first, the task looks impossible, but the weaver commences anyway. Throughout the middle it

becomes tiring, and monotonous, and despite all of their efforts, one still cannot picture the final product; they consider giving up, but they press on anyway. Then, right before they are done, a

heart-shattering fear sets in that all their work may be for nothing if just one stitch malfunctions,

but they push towards the finish line anyway. All at once, before the weaver even know it, the

work is finished, it's theirs, and it’s the most dazzling masterpiece they have ever created. No one

but God could weave such thrillingly captivating tapestries. Only God could write my story and

give two young playwrights the chance to share their talents and use them to bless the lives of all

who experienced the magic of the theatre that day.