Change

My title was inspired by a post in another friend's blog; thanks Joy.

This past weekend we had a big Sunday School bash, where we rent out a school, all the Sunday School classes put on little plays, and there is way too much pizza and candy. So pretty much, a lot of fun. Fun when you're a kid, I guess I should say, and a little more harried and crazy when you're a teacher of one of these said classes.

Not that I don't love my girls, because they're pretty much awesome. I have 10-, 11-, and 12-year-olds, and they are truly amazing. And hilarious. And they all love vampires, a less hilarious subject which I find myself shooting down during class nearly every Sunday. Come on, how many different segues are there into the subject of Twilight, anyhow? Apparently, a lot.

All that aside, I was thinking about how awesome my play was on Saturday. Not because it turned out insanely well (though, considering the talent levels of both the actors and me, the writer/director/ahhh, it really did turn out impressively), but because our story was a cool lesson.

We did the story of John Newton--we started with his mother dying and him being shanghaied by the British Navy, and moved on to his disregard of all things nice and polite, and finished up with his getting saved, marrying the pretty girl, and writing Amazing Grace. We covered a lot in roughly seven minutes.

Anyhow, there was something I didn't even notice until the play actually began, and we were live in front of the audience--which is to say, the happy mix of girls in my class. John Newton was a slave trader, and doing the play on Saturday, I was incredibly thankful for how much had changed. A little Hispanic girl played Mr. Newton (she did a pretty good job of convincing the captain to search for "his" son until John was found), and a little African-American girl played a captain--the very captain who talked John into dealing slaves in the first place. It didn't even dawn on me when we were doing the "auditions" (auditions comprised of all the girls wanting to be Mary, the eventual wife, and everyone being sad when they realized they couldn't all have the same part) that I could have done the casting differently. But I don't think I would have changed it if I could have, you know? Who cares that my slaves were played by little girls who look more Swedish than African, anyhow? This is what we've moved beyond, and I'm thankful that I honestly don't even notice it any longer.

So this is a tribute to those brave men and women who fought for what was right, who did the hard thing, who sacrificed personal comfort for the good of others. I'd like to think I would follow in their footsteps, given the chance (yes, yes, I know there's a lot I can be doing now--see what I mean? I'm not as impassioned on the subject as they obviously were), but I'm scared that it's just another thing that I'd ignore in favour of "protecting the family" or something like that.

Food for thought, this change stuff is...