The Sign From God

I had been debating for months about auditioning for Grand Rapids Civic Theatre’s production of the musical “1776.”  Being in a show is a huge time commitment, and the summers in West Michigan are short enough as it is… did I really want to spend the better part of August and all of September in either rehearsal or performance? I hadn’t even been to the beach yet.

I did not know the show very well, but knew there were any of a number of parts in it for guys like me: old, bald white guys who can’t dance.  It could be fun (I had been in lots of those shows)… it could be NOT fun (I had been in some of those too)… Was I willing to gamble?

The debate raged right up until the actual audition dates on a Monday and Tuesday.  The Friday before, I had gotten a phone call from the director (always a honor), pointing out that my name was not on the audition list.  “Oh yeah, I forgot I have to sign-up,” I only partly lied.  “I’ll call you back after I check a few things.”  This last part was complete horse-hockey.  The only thing I needed to check was my inability to make a freaking decision.

When the Monday of auditions came,  I had still not called her back.  By now, my inner vacillating had reached fever pitch.  I knew I had to make a decision on that Monday, or it would be too late.  I was still torn on my way home from work.

I deciding to swing by the local grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner.  As I walked and shopped, I also debated and struggled.  “Yeah, let’s get some of that… Should I audition?… Oh, I need that too… Do I really want to do “1776″?… I’m almost out of that, I should get some… But it’s the end of summer… That’s a good price, let’s pick that up…”  And so on.

I got to the cashier and engaged in the usual pleasantries with her while she rang up my items.

“You total, sir, will be $17.75.”

“WHAT?” I said to her, in a tone of shock that you can well imagine.

“Seventeen seventy five,” she said, a bit sheepishly. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” I said, gathering myself back together and paying the bill, trying hard to dispel the image of Lunatic Shopper that she clearly had of me.

As I carried my groceries to my car, a new debate was raging in my head: “It HAS to be a sign… no, it does not… but it’s so close!… but it’s not the right number!… of all the trillions or numbers in the universe, why that one?… it is just a coincidence, let it GO!… but it’s so close… but it’s NOT THE RIGHT NUMBER!…”

Pulling out of the parking lot, the debaters in my head were shouting: “…but it’s SO CLOSE!  It’s only one number off… EXACTLY, it’s doesn’t mean anything because it’s MISSING ONE!”

And then… there was a calm silence and another voice in my head said: “The one that’s missing is YOU.”

Luckily, the car was stopped anyway.

I closed my eyes and hung my head, more in resignation than prayer.  I knew this was from God, because I was not convinced that it was what I wanted.  So I smiled softly and said out loud, “OK, fine!”  How do you fight something like that?  You can’t…

I drove home, put the groceries down, and picked up the phone.  I left a message on the director’s voice mail that I had just received a sign from God that I was to audition and if there were still any openings for the next night, I would be there.

There were.  I was.  And the following Friday, I had the honor of being cast as Benjamin Franklin, one of the sweetest roles in the show.

I hope God enjoys the performance.

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