You are going to be late. Again.

You are trying to complete an online quiz for your Sociology class that you could not finish until now. Your final dress rehearsal for the show lasted until 11:30 p.m. last night because of the 40 pages of notes your director decided to give your cast. You try to suppress a yawn as you search your textbook for answers. You knew taking 17 hours plus being cast in a show would be a lot to handle, but you had to take the classes to graduate on time. You glance at your phone and realize that it’s 4:45 p.m. already. You have to be at the theater at 5:30 p.m. and you still haven’t eaten dinner.

As you juggle your plate of food you have made “to-go” while throwing your book bag full of bobby pins, makeup, and gallons of water into your car, you notice a tickle in your throat. You think, “Oh crap, of course my throat starts hurting on opening night” as you run back into your house to grab a bag of cough drops.

Once you get to the theater, you rush to the call board to sign in. Your stage manager gives you “the look, ” but you tell her you are only 5 minutes late this time. When you walk into the makeup room, people are already starting to get ready, and the environment is filled with excited, nervous chatter. You sit in the seat that your wig is placed in front of and you begin your routine. You pop another cough drop into your mouth and engage in some small talk (but not too much...you have to save your voice). Everyone is a little on edge, and you try not to think about what you have to do in an hour and a half.

The loud “MIC CHECK” that is streamed through the monitors interrupts your makeup routine as you and the rest of your cast rush to grab your mics and head to the stage. During your mic check, you sing a part of the song that you are the most nervous to sing tonight until you hear the “thank you” that signals you to stop. “Thank God sound actually came out of my mouth, saying that I have nodes now,” you think as you continue to chew on your cough drop.

After the mic check, you set all your props in their places, and then you rush into the dressing room to hurriedly put on your costume where the same person that helps you every night is already there ready to zip you up. "Thank God for routine," you think as you give them a gracious smile. Your stage manager sticks her head in the dressing room and calls “half hour ‘til places!!” You move even faster. You have to have some time to yourself before the performance. After you get your costume on, you head over to a practice room to stretch and do some vocal warm-ups. But, as usual, your mind begins to wander.

Why do you do this? The anxiety of messing up is enough to rip anyone apart. The negative talk about you circulating backstage that people don’t think you hear tears at your self-confidence every day. “You’re probably not even that good. Why would you think you could have a career in this?”

But then you remember: you don’t have a choice. Yes, you would love to have a practical major that would bring you a stable income, but every time you even think about grabbing the form to change your major something inside stops you immediately. You do not do it for the applause, the recognition, or even for yourself. You do it because the Lord has put a passion inside of you that you just can’t shake. Then you remember Proverbs 3:5-7 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord, and turn away from evil.” Then you faintly hear “ten ‘til places!”

It’s showtime.