Less than a year ago, I wrote a short film called Luna, which explored the question of what we see from the moment of our death. The film was an account of one man’s experience of such. For many reasons, that film represents the pinnacle of my artistic endeavors and it is the work of which I am most proud. One reason Luna is so important to me is because of the sheer joy of working together with my friends to make that film.
Last Sunday, several of the folks involved in making that film got together to see Philip Olsen, the director of Luna, perform in The Marriage of Miss Hollywood and King Neptune, at the B. Iden Payne theatre on the UT campus. Philip is studying theater at UT and we were thrilled to show our support for him. Present were Carie Fontenot, Tony and Karen Colvin, Kim and myself. Carie and Karen had been actors in Luna. Because these were friends from ACF, I hadn’t seen them in awhile. Despite her reservations, I had been able to talk Carie into joining our monthly writing group (really just my thinly veiled scheme to stay in touch with my friends from ACF), so I had last seen her at a meeting just a couple of months before, where she had outlined a writing project she hoped to explore about her father and his life in Louisiana.
After the performance, we all stood in the parking lot and talked for awhile. Among other things, we talked about how we were all seeing God’s hand in repairing the ACF Arts meltdown and we affirmed to each other that we were still working for the same cause. Tony said that he hoped we could find times to get together and share what we were learning and doing in our respective arts ministries. I told him that of course we would do that. It had been a grand evening among friends, but we joked that it was very late and that Tony needed his sleep before his big first day at his new job as Director of Arts at ACF, which is funny considering how long he has already served the church. The rest of us had to work as well, and though I didn’t know it at the time, Carie also had a doctor’s appointment the next day.
Late last night, exactly one week to the moment later, I leaned over Carie in ICU and looked upon what this world had wrought upon her tiny body, ruined and unrecognizable from the trauma of the tumors, surgeries, and infection. I kissed her forehead and told her that I loved her. In the hope that God would allow her to supernaturally hear me through the Morphine that saturated her, and that it could make a difference to her, I told her that it was okay for her to go. And less than an hour later, she did.
In Luna, during a debate about what it might look like to enter heaven, Carie’s character says, “I still think I will just wake-up and be there.” Other characters explored different ideas. Last night, Carie Fontenot ran ahead of the rest of us to find out. She ran on legs no longer afflicted with RA. I imagine that little girl ran with a new and perfect body towards her father who preceded her and towards her Heavenly Father, whom she had loved so faithfully. Whatever her journey looked like, her spirit was committed to the Lord amidst a gentle chorus of Amazing Grace from a choir of her broken-hearted friends, congregated in the hospital waiting room. Jesus Christ was exalted in that moment and in all of the moments of love, grief and comfort that preceded it. Amen.
When my mood is less dark, I will write more about this bright light in my life. My friend Jim Shields, the DP on Luna and another programming team alumnus, with whom I drew near in quiet anguish this weekend, has written a tender word about Carie here. Beth Welge has written a tribute here.
Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I’ll be right beside you dear
– Snow Patrol “Run”
