I have always loved the freedom of expression that singing and dancing bring. When I’m dancing, I feel so much joy, and I have loved performing in regional musical theater productions throughout the years. 

During my third year at college, I auditioned for a production of A Chorus Line, thinking I was practically guaranteed to be cast in a leading role. I had been cast in previous productions at this theater and knew the staff and production team. So I went into the audition feeling confident in my abilities, grateful for the training I was receiving in my college musical theater classes, and fully expecting to be one of the leads.

I did get cast, but it was far from what I had expected. The theater company wanted me to be a “swing,” an understudy who covers multiple roles. In my case, this meant learning the roles of three different women in the cast. Should one of them ever need a substitute to perform in her absence, I would step in. The three women I was understudying had parts that I’d desperately wanted. To be the swing meant I had to attend every rehearsal and learn three different sets of lines, lyrics, and dance steps that I was not guaranteed ever to perform. Feeling defeated and deflated, but still wanting to be part of the show, I accepted the offer.

From the minute we started rehearsals, feelings of envy, resentment, and being overwhelmed clouded my thinking. At every rehearsal, I had to stand behind the girl whose character I was learning that day and “shadow” her without getting in her way. This felt so humiliating. Around this same time, I started experiencing anxiety and flulike symptoms, including tremendous nausea, that kept me awake at night. 

I realized I needed to change my attitude about the situation I was facing at rehearsals.

I have always chosen to rely on Christian Science treatment for healing. So after struggling through a couple of rehearsals and a few sleepless nights, I asked a Christian Science practitioner to support me through prayer. The practitioner approached our conversations with such love, seeing me as a spiritual, pure, innocent daughter of God, not an envious, grouchy girl who hadn’t gotten what she wanted. She reminded me of my heritage as a cherished child of God, and we discussed how each person has his or her own individual place in God’s family. There can be no competition for one’s place in God’s kingdom, where we each occupy our own niche.

This conversation with the practitioner forced me to start thinking beyond a material identity. I realized that I have always been more than what my theatrical résumé said about me—more than material characteristics, more than talents and abilities. I am, and always will be, a spiritual idea expressing a wealth of qualities such as grace, poise, strength, joy, patience, and beauty from my Father-Mother God.

Immediately, I saw the need for more humility in my life. This experience was teaching me the importance of being a supportive member of a team of fellow performers. I started seeing my cast mates as brothers and sisters, drawing inspiration from this quote in the Bible: “Have we not all one father? hath not one God created us?” (Malachi 2:10). We had the same source of talent, God, but each of us had her or his own way of expressing Him. 

The symptoms of illness cleared up immediately after I started working with the practitioner. They did make a comeback a couple of times later on, though in a much milder way. (Complete relief came after I’d worked through some of the issues below.)

At every rehearsal, I had to stand behind the girl whose character I was learning that day and "shadow" her without getting in her way.

Holding to the truths the practitioner and I were working with, I felt the bitterness and jealousy melt away. Instead of resenting the other performers, I began to feel a genuine desire to be a supportive teammate and found myself focusing on all of their good qualities and on what they each brought to their roles in the show. The rehearsal process became much more enjoyable as my heightened awareness of God’s presence brought increased harmony, joy, and camaraderie among the cast and the director/choreographer.

A couple of weeks after the show opened, one of the three girls whom I covered became unable to perform, and the dance captain told me after a matinee, “Okay, Allison, you’re on tonight.” He said we’d have an hour-long rehearsal to put me into the numbers before the show at eight. “Hope you’re ready,” he added.

As much as I had thrown myself into learning each of the three parts, I had not honestly expected to ever perform one of these roles. (Actually, by the end of the three-month run of the show, I’d performed all three.) I called my parents in a panic. They dropped everything to prayerfully support me and made last-minute plans to come to the theater that night to be there praying and cheering me on. 

My mother reminded me of this quote from Mary Baker Eddy’s writings, which we love: “Jesus required neither cycles of time nor thought in order to mature fitness for perfection and its possibilities” (Unity of Good, p. 11). To me, that meant that because Jesus was acutely aware of his innate connection to God, he was able to witness God’s perfection instantaneously—it didn’t have to be a long process. 

I felt comforted knowing that whatever I needed to get through the performance, I already had because God was my source of all talent, strength, and ability. Another name for God is Soul, and if I thought of Soul as my source, I knew that I had enough mental perspicacity, stamina, and poise to get through that eight o’clock show. My mom and I decided to view this performance not as a good opportunity for me and my career, but as an opportunity to bear witness to God’s unfailing love and support. I was going on stage to express God, not to impress anyone—not an audience, not a director, not even a fellow performer.

Later that night, when the lights came up during the opening number, I felt overwhelming support and love from the cast and, more important, from God. There was a palpable feeling of mutual appreciation that weekend that benefited everyone. 

I ended up performing the same role for the rest of the weekend, and by our closing performance, I felt nothing but love for the cast and our director/choreographer. A potentially disappointing situation had become an opportunity for humility and growth. I witnessed firsthand what Mrs. Eddy refers to in Science and Health, the fact that “we are all capable of more than we do” (p. 89) and that we are “rising higher and higher from a boundless basis” (p. 258). Seeing God as our source opens us up to witnessing unlimited ability and potential. 

The lessons I learned in humility doing this show, in claiming God as my source of ability and creativity, have continued to bless me bountifully since then. I am so grateful that I was asked to rise higher in my understanding of God and His goodness.