Trusting the One in Charge

Let me tell you about a director I worked with several years ago.

He was a nice guy, an older guy. He had been directing plays for many years, I suspect. I had a very small role in this particular production of his (he was apologetic at the size of the role when he offered it to me, but I was cool with that). But as the rehearsals went on, I ended up taking on more and more responsibilities . . . mainly because I offered. And I offered because this stuff wasn’t getting done, doggone it, and it was irritating me – and often making me nervous.

“So . . . I could work with the chorus on these songs while you’re working that scene with the others, yes?” “Um . . . would you like me come up with some blocking for the extras in these scenes so they’re not just standing there staring at the people talking?”  “We open in two weeks . . . and we still have no choreography for this party dance. You want me to give it a shot?”

In the end, it wasn’t a great production – not terrible, but not great. But honestly, it would have been much worse without me stepping in. Even the director acknowledged that: “This would NEVER have happened without you!!” Sweet of him to say. I appreciated being appreciated, and I suppose I liked being needed. But I didn’t come away wanting to work with that director again. I didn’t trust him being in charge of something I cared about that much.

Now let me tell you about another director I worked with several years ago.

This was an ensemble show, and we spent the first three quarters of our two months of rehearsals basically building the ensemble and playing with the ideas in the script. Completely different rehearsal process than I had ever done – very fun, very meaningful, but VERY different for me.

A friend in the cast gave me a ride home a few weeks away from our opening, and we commented on the fact that we didn’t have many lines assigned yet. “Does that make you nervous?” we asked each other . . . and we each acknowledged, yes, a bit. But this director had done this show many times before very successfully. "He’s got this." We assumed so anyway.

And he did. By the last couple weeks, everything was coming together, and we were all absolutely agog at how good this was turning out. I mean, SO good. I still count this production as one of the best theatrical experiences I’ve ever had, on so many levels.

Both of these situations were the type likely to produce anxiety in me. Looking back now, I wonder why I trusted Director 2 and not Director 1. I attribute it to three things:

    1) As I said, he had done this show before successfully; I had ample testimony of that. I didn’t know much about the history of Director 1.

    2) Other people around me trusted him. My castmates working under Director 1 didn’t seem to have any more confidence in him than I did.

    3) I knew Director 2 personally. Director 1 was a stranger to me when I auditioned for him.

And here’s why this story warrants being shared here: my experience with Director 2 illustrates why I trust God.

    1) I have testimony from many, many people, in history and in my own life, of the great things he has done.

    2) I’m walking daily with other people who trust him.

    3) And I know him. I don’t just know about him; I know him.

Trusting God like I trusted Director 2 means that I don’t step in and tell him what to do or where he’s messing up. I certainly ask questions . . . which may or may not get an answer (and that’s okay). I occasionally make a request . . . knowing that he would be happy to grant it if it’s good for me and fits into his greater vision. I’m comfortable enough with our relationship to express my disagreement when it reaches a tipping point . . . which it does once in a while.

But in the end, I know he doesn’t need me to keep the train on the tracks like Director 1 did. His train is running fine – he’s just welcoming me on the ride for my own good and his own pleasure. And the more I learn to trust him, the more I enjoy the ride as well. He’s got this.