It's difficult to hear the word "no," isn't it? When we really want something (or believe we need it), "no" means denial of something that would add value to our lives; being deprived of something good. But hearing "no" often means "yes" to something better in the future, near or distant. The challenge in hearing "no" is in our thinking that it doesn't mean "yes" to something better.
My high school held a major production coordinated by our Drama Department every two years. When it was announced that West Side Story would be the production my senior year, all the kids in our music program were determined to take part.
Each of us wanted to see what part we wanted to audition for, so about 50 of us got together three or four nights a week to watch the movie - over and over. And over. And over again until we knew the entire play by heart. (My best estimate on how many times I watched the movie is 38. Honest, 38 times, rivaled only by "It's A Wonderful Life" at a mere 43 times since 1985)
Our troupe developed a strong bond as the guys decided who would play Jets, who would be Sharks, and who would make the best Tony and Maria.
For me, my greatest desire was to play Riff, the Jets' leader. How cool it would be to run the gang - a major supporting character with tons of lines and solos; rumble with the Sharks and get stabbed to death right before the intermission. Man, that was for me!
My audition went as well as it could have, but the director (one of the drama teachers) was having a tough time deciding between me and another kid; a kid who was, arguably, the most popular guy in the whole school. Additional auditions and days passed without a decision on who would play Riff.
In the meantime, the director had to break some disappointing news to a lot of other kids who had their hearts set on one part or another. I remember the tears, not only from the girls who were told they wouldn't be playing Maria, but of the director who had a kind and tender heart for each and every person auditioning.
Finally, it was my turn for the bad news. The director told me I wouldn't be playing Riff, but he hoped I would decide to play "A-Rab," a Jet with many lines throughout the entire production. I was heartbroken to hear "no," especially since the decision came down to the wire. How could this happen? Mike is the most popular kid is school, so why does he need to play Riff?
The director could see my disappointment and told me I could have a day or two to consider his offer. His expression showed that he didn't enjoy telling me, or any kid, "no."
In the end, all of the players, musicians, artists, teachers, and parents created a bond that lives on to this day 30-plus years later. I accepted the part of A-Rab, which wasn't so bad after all. (In fact, it was pretty awesome, being in the entire production, having tons of funny lines, getting in some fake knife fights, and being one of the Jets to carry Tony off stage after he was shot dead at the end of the play)
Like our loving Heavenly Father, our director knew where each person fit into the production, be it in building sets, applying makeup, playing the score behind the set, or having a part on-stage.
He also cared for us and could relate to our pain in our disappointment. Despite the pain and our sense of loss, he had something better in mind - for each of us.
He was also moved to tears when each performance was the best he had ever seen, being so proud of us all.
