by Traci Rhoades
@tracesoffaithblog

"Dear God, Thank you for all the girls who are here today. Bless the food we're going to eat." 

So went the prayer of my four-year old daughter at our church’s mother-daughter event. I had not actually asked her to pray, but simply to be quiet so I could bless the food. When she heard me call her name, she had taken it as her cue. She’s never one to miss a cue. “Thank you for my mom. God bless Scooby Doo. Amen.”

Going on thirteen years now, and my girl has never passed up an opportunity to take center stage. During times of play at home, she’s worn out three microphones. Her handful of experiences in community theater only leave her hungry to perform more. Oh, the way she could make her Barbies sing! She’d been a star in the fourth grade talent show.

Then, as a fifth grader, it was finally her turn to audition for the school district’s musical. Little Shop of Horrors, which we owned on DVD, and she’d watched a number of times. In her backpack the morning of tryouts, she packed her water bottle, a notebook and a pencil. She wore loose clothing and tennis shoes. She’d been crooning “You have a habit of causing things pain” for weeks.

Little did I know the horror of this show would take place months before opening night. The pain she kept singing about, it didn’t come from sitting in the dentist chair, but in the form of an emotional arrow aimed right at this mama’s heart.

After school, with her typical confident gait, our daughter walked into play tryouts. We walked through the door and immediately heard a strong voice belting out the same audition song she had chosen. The vibrato obviously came from an older student, loud and full of assurance as it filled the halls. My daughter looked at me, big tears welling up in her eyes, and said, “Mom! Please take me home. I can’t do this.” Between the nerves and the confident tone of that high schooler, she became overwhelmed.

What happened to the little girl who would belt into song at a moment’s notice? The one who’d been begging to take the stage for years? I was in no way prepared for this and I really thought she would get over it. We ventured further into the school and I assured her I would sit beside her as she waited her turn. No matter how long it took, I’d sit on the hallway floor all night if needed. I offered to take her out for pizza when the audition was over. It didn’t matter, nothing I said changed her mind.

 Here’s the thing. We can know our children’s abilities. They can be affirmed over and over. We assure them with enough practice, they’ll only get better and better. We even drive them to said practices. Still, there comes a time when they have to step out on their own. They have to stare failure in the face and decide how much they’re willing to risk. All the God-given talent in the world doesn’t take away those moments of overwhelming nerves. 

That particular day, she could not get her emotions under control and we left the building. The director messaged me to let me know she could try out the next night if she found the confidence to do so. 

I texted her dad before he got home from work. We were both incredulous at her response. He thought I should have made her go through with it, but he hadn’t been there. Walking into the house, he had roses in one hand and chocolate in the other, having anticipated a successful tryout. This brought on more tears. We knew we had a drama queen on our hands, but how could we get her to showcase her abilities, even among older and more experienced actors? My husband and I tag—teamed all evening. While he made his points logically, I prayed. When I walked her through the emotions, he kept his mouth shut.

Bedtime came early and thankfully, she got a good night’s sleep. The next morning, while waiting for the bus to arrive at the end of our driveway, I asked her what she’d decided to do about tryouts.

“I’ll go if you promise to be there with me,” she said.

That afternoon, I picked her up from school. We grabbed a snack before tryouts and she requested Swedish fish. I hadn’t realized that sweet, gooey, red dye 40 treats offer such a confidence boost, but she assured me they help. We sat in the hallway of the school for about thirty minutes before it was her time to audition. Finally, they called her name. I, of course, couldn’t go into the auditorium. I listened with all my might though, wishing I had brought a glass to put up against the backstage door. Did the piano start playing the accompaniment music? Had she been in there long enough to do a full tryout? What on earth was going on? Can anyone hear my heartbeat?

Eventually, she came out into the hallway again, eyes filled with tears but they were not spilling over. Better. She was sure she’d done awful but she had done it. She was more than ready to go home. I hugged her, whispered I love you and left knowing we’d done all we could do. I had another message from the director, who couldn’t believe she’d found the courage to take the stage. She assured me it went well. 

Our budding actress got a part. Actually, she was on stage a number of times during the show, and in my opinion, she made the cutest baby plant in the play’s history. She became friends with two actresses in particular, Audrey (the female lead character) and a doo wop girl. Again and again, she thanked us for making her try out. The nerves that overcame her early on had completely subsided by opening night. This time, after her performance, when Dad greeted her with flowers and a hug, she grinned from ear to ear, knowing she’d earned them.

I wish we could say we faced the battle of the nerves just this once and won the war. Middle school hormones don’t subside that easily though. We’ve faced girlfriend drama, the influx of twelve-year old boys and girls starting to go out (where they’re going we do not know), staying home alone for longer amounts of time, using the stove by herself, and homework. We might even survive advanced math.

From time to time, amidst the outbursts, the tears, the drama, I still see that confident little girl. Little by little, she’s learned to face the  emotions and work through them. Mom and dad are here, maybe not right next to her all the time, but we’re always on call and she knows it. 

The nerves have never hit as badly as they did that first time. In December she took the stage for a community Christmas concert, guitar in hand, and she entertained the crowd quite nicely. If what Shakespeare told us is true, and all the world’s a stage, she’s more than ready to play her part. However it’s also true, we can’t take the stage for them.