(mother holds baby in arms in adoration, cooing and speaking silly words of baby-talk and sweet love babble, then baby smacks mom in face, and soon after erupts in screaming, weeping and bawling -- suitable for Mother's Day play)
MOTHER:
(smiling, making sweet smiling faces) Yes you little wittle boo-boo! Yes! Yaaaiiis! Ah-boo! Ah-boo! Little mooboo ah-boo boo!
BABY:
(smacks mom in face) Ah-waaaaaaaa! Waaaaaaaaaaa! Waaaaaaaa!
MOTHER:
(recovering from smack in face) Shhhhhhh baby! Now you shhhhhhh!
BABY:
(pukes in mom's face) BELCH!
(mother and baby freeze in mid-action)
NARRATOR:
This young mother sometimes felt that everything was hopeless. I mean, what was the point to everything? Hard work, struggle, hours of pacing, patting, cooing, cleaning, rocking, singing, worrying, praying, struggle, more struggle, hard work, back-breaking work, cleaning, cleaning, changing diapers, changing diapers, changing diapers -- and her reward? PUKE in her face! What was the point? Her overall reaction? WHAT A NIGHTMARE!
(mother and baby stand and turn back to audience, stand quiet and still)
NARRATOR:
But things HAD to change, didn't they? I mean, change is constant, isn't it? Change is GOOD, isn't it? And people are constantly changing for the good, aren't they? Plus, that puking, screaming baby is growing up, maturing, evolving, adding, growing, stretching and expanding and getting closer and closer and more and more like God, right?
LITTLE GIRL:
(whirls around to face mother, and clasps imaginary doll to her chest) NO! Mine! NOOOOOOOOO!
MOTHER:
(turns to daughter, places hands on hips) Sweetheart! I want you to be a nice girl! I want you to SHARE!
LITTLE GIRL:
NOOOOOOOOO!
(mother and little girl freeze in mid-action, mother leaning forward in concern, little girl leaning forward frozen mid-scream)
NARRATOR:
This young mother sometimes felt that everything was hopeless. I mean, what was the point to everything? Constant care, patience, tenderness, holding-hugging-hurting- healing-hushing- hiccuping-hashing- and-rehashing -- repeat repeat repeat repeat -- hopefully something -- SOMETHING gets through into that hard little coconut head that is so much like her own coconut head! But still, it seemed like the best and most consistent reward was STILL the proverbial "puke in the face." WHAT A NIGHTMARE!
(mother and young girl turn and put back to audience, stand quiet and still)
NARRATOR:
But COME ON! Things had to change, didn't they? All that hard work had to pay off? All that worry had to amount TO SOMETHING, didn't it? All this mother's -- this not-so-young mother, now, with gray appearing in her hair -- all this mother's hopes and fears and hard work and pacing and struggling and holding down myriad jobs, wearing multiple hats, grinding her fingerbones down to proverbial NIBS . . . didn't it all mean ANYTHING? WHAT A NIGHTMARE!
MOTHER:
(whirls on young girl) Now just DROP IT! The answer is NO. It's the Sabbath, and you need to focus on God, get to know Him better. It's not about screaming with your girlfriends at Elitch's!
YOUNG GIRL:
I DON'T CARE! I WANT TO GO TO ELITCH'S!
MOTHER:
(firmly) The answer is no, young lady!
YOUNG GIRL:
I HATE the Sabbath, and I HATE you!
(mother and young girl freeze in place, mother leaning forward shaking finger in daughter's face, young girl leaning forward mid-scream)
NARRATOR:
What was this constant repetition, this murderous cycle of shouting back and forth? It seems like the daughter is all-too-ready to repeat that puke in the mother's face, at seven months with screaming gusto and now at twelve years with shrieking energy. Was there a point to all this? Was there a REASON for this constant struggle, this constant clash of wills, this constant wrestling match? Or actually, what they are involved in is probably closer to A DUEL.
(mother and teenager turn back to back, frozen, as if they are ready to pace-off in a duel, take ten steps and turn and fire at each other)
NARRATOR:
And now, in this corner! Weighing in at 125 pounds, one cup of coffee removed from a nervous breakdown -- THE MOTHER! (mother bounces in place, arms above head, but she knows she doesn't stand a chance!) And in this corner! Weighing in at 95 pounds, threatening to take drugs, run off with boys, dye her hair purple and pierce her tongue -- THE DAUGHTER! (places arms over her chest and SNEERS at audience)
Please take 10 PACES, and then turn and FIRE. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR...
(mother and daughter begin taking short steps away from each other, each with a mock "gun" held up at face level-by their ear, an index finger cocked like a pistol)
...FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN...!
(they turn and FIRE)
MOTHER/TEENAGER:
(simultaneously, fingers pointed at each other in rage) You don't understand! You ingrate, ungrateful child! You just want to control me! You're going to end up pregnant, in prison, with DISEASES! You hate me! No, you hate ME!
NARRATOR:
And the mother beleaguered mother and the angst-ridden daughter FREEZE in place.
MOTHER/TEENAGER:
(continuing) Well, you're an idiot! You don't know everything! You don't know ME! All you do is complain! With everything I do for you! I hate you! Oh yeah! You ingrate! YOU'RE the INGRATE!
NARRATOR:
(politely coughing to get their attention) Um, excuse me? EXCUSE ME!
MOTHER/TEENAGER:
(whirling on narrator, shouting) WHAT!?
NARRATOR:
(taken aback, a little afraid to get in a word edgewise) Um, let's not forget . . . that this is a dramatic parable illustrating 1 Timothy 6:11-12, okay?
MOTHER/TEENAGER:
(continuing confused uproar) Yeah? Well SHE called me an INGRATE! WELL SHE SAID SHE HATED ME! NO, SHE SAID SHE HATED ME!
NARRATOR:
Ladies! LADIES! Please! That's enough. Perseverance, remember? Not giving up? Hanging tough? Are we ready to continue?
MOTHER:
(glares at daughter) I guess so. As long as she forgets dying her hair purple!
DAUGHTER:
(glares at mother) I guess, as long as SHE quits trying to RUN MY LIFE!
NARRATOR:
They stand back to back and FREEZE. (they comply) THANK YOU! Okay, where were we? Oh yeah. These are tough times. I mean, babyhood seemed like a quest for the Holy Grail, and the toddler years were like holding down a garbage truck route while being a teacher, a nurse, a child-psychologist and an ANIMAL TRAINER. And the adolescent days? Sheer battle of wills! Psychological arm-wrestling. And now the dreaded "teenage trauma days." Okay, there WERE some happy times mixed in there, even now with purple hair and that BOY who must have broken out of prison a few times that is hanging around the house . . . but after all this, WHY HANG TOUGH? Why not give up a long time ago, focus on ME, go out and explore the world and discover that the world is MY oyster. Let's move forward a few years...
MOTHER:
(whirls around and seizes daughter from behind in a great bear hug) Oooooh! I love you! (kisses daughter on the back of the head)
BRIDE:
(sweetly) Mommy! You're going to mess up my hair!
MOTHER:
(hugging and rocking daughter) Oh, you are the most beautiful bride in the world!
BRIDE:
(turns and hugs mother) I love you so much, Mommy! I don't know how you put up with me all those years!
MOTHER:
(smiling and hugging daughter) It was tough, sometimes. But you know, you're my best friend in the world. And standing with you here today, all those times of trouble don't seem so bad. Standing here today, everything IS okay.
BRIDE:
I'm so glad you hung tough, Mommy.
MOTHER:
You too, Girly. My daughter. What a prize we have!
(arm in arm, they exit as best friends)
__________________________________________
Completely free Christian scripts, sketches, mimes.
Always a parable. Storytelling making the difference.
Soldier On. You were created on purpose.
You were created with a purpose, a mission.
Ways to aid this ministry include praying for this site www.TruthSeek.net, www.DeceivingtheElect.net, and www.DramaticParables.com, donations and provision may be gifted using the TruthSeekGift page (and please only use this if you feel you are inspired by God to do so), and also feel free to use the Prayer Request page to submit prayer requests, and praying for the prayer requests of others, as well as exploring the various advertisements and links on these pages (regrettably, the advertising is necessary to recompense the many costs of keeping a website running, so exploration of the advertisers, which are not connected to any of these studies, is greatly appreciated). Any aid is joyously accepted, even if that means a smile and a well-wish. Thank you so much!
Art et Amour Toujours
