STEPPING THROUGH A DOOR IN FEAR

A friend said to me “I auditioned for American Idol and didn't get past the first round. I give up. I‘ll never be good at anything.”

“You gave up?! After only one try?! Did you try again the next year? Did you try other competitions? Do you accept any invitation to sing that you are offered? Sometimes God doesn't say ‘no,' He merely says ‘wait.' Or maybe you're knocking on the wrong door and God wants you to go in a different direction. Maybe God doesn't want you to be a singer. Do anything; but never give up.”

When I was young, I wanted to be a stand-up comedian… among other things. I wanted to be a singer, a songwriter, actress, and… I wanted to be funny, and to be able to make people laugh. Unfortunately, most of the time, I only embarrassed myself. I was not funny.

I tried to be the class clown and, instead, became the class nerd. The more I tried, the more I failed. Even as a young adult, when I spoke in public and tried to be funny, I was anything but funny, and again, served only to make myself look like a fool. I was not a comedian, and was beginning to think that perhaps I never would be. I was not funny.

I remember going to a church choir camp one year, and taking a hike up to “Inspiration Point” with a group of young adults from the choir, only to find another group had gotten there before us. They were telling ghost stories around a camp fire, and invited us to share ours. I knew a funny ghost story, and decided to give it a try; after all, I had learned more about public

speaking, and thought I had what it takes to make people laugh. So I got up and told my story… and no one laughed. My friends were again embarrassed for me. I - was - not - funny.

Years passed and, during that time, I watched other comedians do their shtick. But I didn't just watch them, I studied them. Although I felt that I would never have the nerve to try stand-up comedy, I couldn't suppress the desire to learn. Is the ability to make people laugh something that is inborn, or can it be taught? If timing is everything, what is it and how do I get some? I remember watching TV and seeing a young Ellen Degeneres on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. I watched a documentary about a comedy competition, and they focused on Wendy Liebman. I enjoyed watching Grady Nutt on Hee Haw. I went to Christian concerts to see Mike Warnke, Mark Lowry, and Al Fike; I loved their story telling abilities.

Then one day, it happened… I burned my parents' kitchen down. (Well, of

course it wasn't funny at the time.) The day afterwards, I called my boss to let her know what had happened and was told that she would grant me that one day off, but I had to come in the next day because burning down part of your house was not an absence that was covered in the employee handbook, and therefore was not excusable. (Yes, she really told me that.) So when I went back to work the next day, my fellow employees took me out to lunch so I could tell them all about it… and so I did.

To give the reader some background, I was still living with my parents at the time. My grandfather also lived with us. I was 25 and had just graduated from college (finally) and was told that I would get a job and that I would move out, only the first of which had been accomplished. I had gone out with friends after work that Monday, and had come home late to find that Mom had left a pot of grease on the stove to congeal; she had apparently made fried catfish and had cleaned up everything except the pot of grease before she and Dad went to church visitation that evening. Grandpa was asleep on the couch.

Being the (ahem) thoughtful, dutiful, adult child that I was, I decided to put away the grease so that Mom wouldn't have to when she came home that evening. So to allow the grease to melt just enough to enable me to pour it back into the Crisco can, I turned on the burner. Saying that I was not an accomplished cook is an understatement, but I did know how easily a grease fire can start, so I turned the burner on low. As I stood there watching and waiting, I decided that it would be okay if I turned the stove on high because I was, after all, watching and waiting for the grease to melt. I wasn't going to let it get hot, only liquid enough to pour. I was going to watch it very carefully. I wasn't going to walk away from a pot of grease on a hot bur…

Ding Dong!

Gee, I wonder who's at the door?

I went to the door, determined to get back to the stove as soon as possible. I was not going to be distracted from that pot of gre…

It was him. *sigh* What grease?

A.D.D. at it's finest. He had come to borrow some music and I was just the one to help him… and I was just the one to walk him back outside to his car as he left. We stood there talking at the curb for a few minutes when he said, “Janet, what's that big orange light in your kitchen window?”

By the time we ran to the kitchen, and entered the side door (yes, we went INTO a burning house, idiots that we were) my grandfather had already called… the operator – 911 meant nothing to him; you called the operator when you had an emergency. Fortunately, the operator did put him through to the city emergency services. Help was on the way.

So there we stood in the dining area, staring at the fire that had engulfed the

kitchen. Suddenly the oven door blew up, and shattered pieces of glass came

flying at us. It was then that we realized we were standing in side a burning

building, and it might be prudent if we got ourselves out side.

So we went outside, our faces gray with soot, and flagged down the first fire truck that arrived. Then came another truck, a few police cars, and half the neighborhood. The woman across the street had already called my parents at

church and told them to come home quickly.

Oh no… my parents. What were they going to say?!

Now remember, I was telling all of this over lunch to my co-workers. One of them said, “Surely, when your parents got home and saw the house, they weren't angry; they were just thankful you were okay, right?”

“Are you kidding?! My mom's a red head! She blew up more than the oven did!”

My co-workers were laughing. They were actually laughing at something I said… on purpose! “What did she say when she got home?”

“She said, ‘What have you done to my kitchen?! What have you done to my kitchen?!! What - have - you - done - to - my - kitchen?!!!!'”

“What did you say?”

“I didn't say anything. I just kept thinking, ‘ Isn't it obvious?! ' But I knew if I said that, I'd get slapped.”

They were laughing hysterically. I was funny! Why? Because I was being

myself. I was telling my story, not some silly ghost story, or a corny joke. I was not trying to be the class clown. I was not trying to be a comedian. I was just being me.

I continued to tell them about the fire and, after that, for the next couple of years, every time my co-workers and I went out for lunch, if there was someone new with us, they would say, “Janet, tell (him/her) how you burned down your parents' kitchen! I love that story!” By the umpteenth time, I had gotten it down to where it was practically a comedy routine; I told it pretty much the same way every time I was asked.

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Time had passed, and along came 30, which turned out to be an incredible year for me. The door to South Africa had opened and I went two weeks after my 30 th birthday in October. The following spring, I received a promotion at work. Then, a few months later, I would have one of the most memorable summers of my life.

For the previous three years, I had spent one week each August at the Christian Artists Music Seminar, held at the YMCA of the Rockies, near Estes Park , Colorado . Set near Rocky Mountain National Park , the YMCA, at an elevation of 8,010 feet, is covered with evergreen trees and surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Spending my annual vacations there was the highlight of my summers, and provided a learning experience as I went to classes taught by industry professionals, participated in singing and song writing competitions, attended concerts by head-liners in the Christian music industry every evening, and rubbed elbows with those same head-liners each day.

When I received my registration packet in the mail that spring, there were several changes to the competition portion of the seminar. In addition to the usual singing, song writing and dance competitions, they had added new categories in drama – monologue, duet, script writing, and… stand-up comedy.

Wow. Could I? Should I? I don't know. I don't want to get up there and

embarrass myself again. But how will I know if I don't try? Is it even worth

trying? Will they laugh at my jokes or will I simply become a laughing stock? Hmmmm.

I'll ask my friends.

“YES!!!! Do it! You're so funny! You would be soooo good! If anyone can do it, you can!”

“But I've never done stand-up.”

“But you're so funny! You're a great story-teller and I know you're not shy about being in front of an audience.”

“I can sing in front of an audience, but I just don't know if I have the timing for comedy. I mean, it's not the same as sitting at a table with all you guys.”

“Just do the same thing there that you do when we have lunch. Relax and be yourself. Besides, you'll never know if you don't try.”

“Right. I'll never know if I don't try. *Deep breath* Okay, I'll do it.” So I filled out the form and sent it in, but the payment wasn't due until 30 days prior to the start of the seminar.

No, I won't.

When the 30-day deadline came, I sent my songs in for the song-writing

competition, and sent in my money for the housing, the singing competition, the song-writing competition, and the seminar itself, but I did not pay for the comedy competition. I had thought long and hard about it, and had even written an outline of what I would say for the two rounds of competition… but I was not going to do it.

I told my friends I had chickened out and they were not happy. “I‘ve never done stand-up and I‘m scared to death. I‘ll watch this year and see how the competition is. If I think I stand a chance, I‘ll enter next year.” My friends still did not agree, but I had my resolve and was not going to change my mind.

Four weeks later, I drove from Mesquite , Texas , to Estes Park , Colorado , and began my fourth foray into the Christian Artists Seminar. The seminar began on a Sunday afternoon with registration, finding your cabin and room, and meeting your roommates for the week, followed by a concert in the evening.

After the evening concert, those who entered the song writing competition were to go to a meeting to find out who had made the finals. All songs had been sent to the competition 30 days in advance, and had already been pre-judged. Only the top 20 made it into the finals in each category. In each of the previous three years, I had had at least one song make it into the finals, usually more. This year, when all of the finalists had been announced, not one of my songs had made it beyond the first round.

“How can this be?” I asked a friend.

“Well, maybe God's got something else in mind for you this year.”

I didn't see how that could be possible. I had entered the singing competition, but I was always told I was “unmarketable,” so my main purpose for entering that competition was generally only for the experience. But since my turn in the singing competition came on Monday, I determined to keep a positive attitude.

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Because there were hundreds of people entered in the singing competition, the first round lasted two days, and contestants performed in alphabetical order -- my turn was Monday afternoon. There was a “chapel” service every day before lunch that was supposedly required, but I did not go that day, as I felt I needed some time to think about my up-coming competition performance that afternoon… and to pray.

That afternoon, I headed for the competition room that I was assigned to, which was held in one of the cabin's general assembly area. Each contestant had five minutes in which to give their name, a brief introduction of the song, and then sing the song itself. If you went over five minutes, you were docked points. My song was three minutes long so, for my introduction, I decided to give them a minute of what would have been part of my comedy routine, just so I could get an idea of what an audience response would be like if I ever decided to actually try stand-up.

There were generally about 75 people in the competition rooms who came and went as different people performed. Some were other contestants, some were friends and family of the contestants, some were passers by… and three were judges. They were seated behind a table at the back of the room, pen and paper in hand.

I got there about 20 minutes before my scheduled time, and listened to the

performers who would go before me. Then it was my turn. I can't remember

exactly what I said, but I do remember one thing… the audience laughed. They laughed a lot!

Then I sang my song and left. I knew I wouldn't make the 2 nd round, so that was it. My participation in the competitions was over.

As I walked out of the building and began to cross the courtyard, I heard someone call my name. I turned around and it was a small group of 20-somethings. They said, “That was great! Are you in the comedy competition? You‘re really funny!”

“No, I didn't sign up for it. But thanks!”

“You should do it!”

“No thanks. Maybe next year; it's too late for me to sign up this time.”

“No, it's not. They announced in the chapel service this morning that they didn't get as many comedy entrants as they would like, so they've re-opened the competition for late-comers.”

Stunned. “Are you serious?”

“Yes! You should really do it! You're soooo funny!”

Composing myself, I politely said, “Wow. Maybe I will.”

Were they right? Did they really hear that in the chapel meeting? I could hardly believe it, so I decided to make sure that I didn't miss the evening concert and, sure enough, before the concert they announced that they were still accepting entrants in the comedy competition.

God, is this a sign? Am I supposed to do this? What if I make a fool of myself? But they laughed when I spoke before my song earlier today. Should I? Shouldn't I? How am I supposed to know?

I was standing before a door… a very scary door. How was I to know whether or not God wanted me to enter this particular door?

“Alright, God, if you want me to go through this door, you're going to have to open it, and not just a crack. It has to be WIDE open. The comedy competition starts on Wednesday. If I go to the registrar's office on Tuesday, and they tell me the comedy competition is still open, I will enter. I promise.”

I wasn't asking for a miracle, just an open door. Putting my decision off for one day gave me time to think. Unfortunately I thought a little too much because I barely slept a wink that night. I kept running the routine through my head, over and over and over and over again. Every time I'd start to doze off, I would awaken suddenly at start over: “HI! I'm Janet…”

The next day, I walked around like a zombie. I saw a friend before lunch, and she asked me if I had entered yet. I told her no, but I would check that afternoon. And that's what I had planned to do… I planned to wait until right before the office closed for the day. I did not want to do this. I wanted them to tell me that I was too late. That way I wouldn't have to tell people I had chickened out; I could just tell them I didn't get there in time.

At about 4:30 p.m., I walked to the registrar's office and opened the door. I remember it like it was yesterday. Two smiling ladies sat at the table, ready to greet me. “Can we help you?”

“Um, yes, is the… um… comedy competition still open?”

In unison, “YES! Would you like to sign up?!”

I wanted to cry. “No, but I think I have to.” I thought I was going to be sick. The door was open; it was WIDE open. And here I stood, afraid to enter. Even with my promise to God, it took me five minutes of pacing and mumbling, trying to talk myself out of it before I signed the paper and paid the entry fee. Those two ladies must have thought I was mental.

That evening, I was a basket case. At dinner I could barely eat, and I didn't sleep a wink that night, as I ran the first routine through my head all night long. The morning wasn't any better as I wasn't sure I could keep anything down at breakfast; and I have no recollection of lunch. All I remember was that I got to the competition late because I had trouble finding the cabin where it was to be held.

When I finally did arrive, the main thing I noticed was that this competition room was much larger than the room I had sung in, and it was jam packed with people… about 150 of them. I would say it was standing room only, but there was no room left to stand. I couldn't even get in the door. There was a hallway leading up to it, and there were several people standing in the hallway looking in, so that was as close as I got. Fortunately I'm tall, so I was able to look over people's heads to see what was going on.

One of the judges was making announcements and doing a roll call of the contestants. Mine was the last name called, because I was the last to enter; and that meant that I would be the last to perform. When I raised my hand and said, “Here!” from the hallway, the judge and several people offered to let me come into the room. But that was the last thing I wanted to do. Being in the hallway gave me room to run in case I chickened out… or needed to throw up.

As I watched and listened to the would-be comedians who went before me, I noticed that some were funny and some, unfortunately, were not very funny. When the funny ones were doing their routines, I stood there thinking, “ I can't compete with them. They're too good. What am I doing here?!” When the not-so-funny ones were doing their routines, I thought, “ That's going to be me in a few minutes.”

Suddenly I heard someone say, “Get a paper bag, I think she's going to pass out!” Several people were gathered around me, and helping me sit on the steps of the stairway that was just off the hall. I hadn't realized that my thoughts were causing me to hyperventilate. Fortunately the judges and others in the main room did not know what was going on in the hallway... though they did shush us a few times when it got too noisy.

Thoughts continued to run through my head as they worked to calm my breathing down. “If I'm this bad off before I even get up there, what will happen when I perform? I could just leave now and no one will know. Yes, they will! I've already said, ‘Here,' and everyone in that room turned around to look. People will be asking me, ‘Where did you go?' for the rest of the week. I have to do this. Besides, I promised God I would. I have to. Oh well, it will be over after the first round, so I'll just get up there, make a fool out of myself, and then go back to my cabin and cry.”

A few minutes later, my breathing was back to normal. They asked if I was sure I wanted to do this. “No,” I thought. “Yes,” I said, “I have to.” Once I had stepped through the door when I registered, I found it easier to say yes, even though I wanted to say no. I was not going to back out.

A few minutes later, when they called my name, I was still a bit pale, but had enough resolve to feign confidence. As I took the microphone, sitting before me at the judges table were Mike Warnke, Mark Lowry, and Al Fike – three of the biggest names in Christian comedy. There were also several headlining musical artists in the room who had come to watch and listen, plus those 150 other bodies that were packed in there like sardines.

I had decided that the best way to start out was with something to help them remember my name. Name recognition is good. Yeah, just keep telling yourself that. I had decided to do a play on my last name – it was a very corny joke that I had heard since I was a child from my dad, about our last name sounding like the last two syllables in “alcoholic.” But I added a new twist to it, and I was hoping and praying that I had gotten it right; that I knew how to make a good joke, and could deliver it with just the right timing.

“Hi, I'm Janet Hawlik. There are alcoholics, choco-holics, work-a-holics. I'm a Janet-holic – I can't get enough of myself.”

They laughed. I was funny. I was shaking! Seriously, the sound system was

making a funny noise and, when I looked down, I realized it was me shaking the microphone… and my legs, and arms, and every other part of my body. I tried to take a deep breath to make it stop, but it wouldn't. All I could do was try to go on.

So I told them about various things, including my B.M. degree, and my trip to South Africa : I talked about khaki and the geyser, and I ended with the sermon of David and Goliath that I had heard while I was in South Africa . And the one thing I noticed about it all, was that they laughed.

When I finished my routine, the first round was over – for everyone. Then one of the judges stood and made an announcement about the second round... that all of the comedy contestants would be progressing to the second round. In the other competition categories, only those who scored the highest points went beyond the first round. But this was comedy. Not only were there not as many of us as there were in the other categories, the judges realized that most of us had never done comedy before. They wanted to give every person an opportunity to perform again, in hopes that our second round performances would improve.

After his announcement, the judge dismissed everyone, and I was suddenly swarmed by people wanting to shake my hand and congratulate me. I had not made a fool of myself. God had opened this door for a reason. Al Fike even pulled me aside and gave me a few pointers. He said, “You've got great timing and delivery, and your material is fabulous. If you can calm down your nerves, and if your next routine is as funny as this one, you've got a good chance of placing in this competition.”

Placing – Each year, on Friday afternoon, they had the awards ceremony. They gave 1 st , 2 nd , and 3 rd place trophies and prizes in each category; and the grand prize winner in each division got to perform in the Friday night concert. I had never placed. I had come really close one year in the songwriting competition, but had never actually made it.

This year, I had a chance to place in comedy; something I had never done before, and felt I wasn't qualified for. I was absolutely confounded. I might actually place.

I didn't expect to win; three of the men and one of the women were really funny, and I expected one of them to take the top prize. In fact, I expected the men to be the top three, though, at this point, no one could tell. There was one man named Denny who was really good, and I just knew he would win. But I had saved my best routine for the 2 nd round and, if I could get my nerves together, I might stand a chance of getting 2 nd or 3 rd place.

I was able to eat something at dinner that evening but, that night – you guessed it – I didn't sleep a wink. I laid awake all night running my next routine through my head.

After three nights of almost no sleep, and the prospect of another round of competing, by Thursday I was just plain numb. And I was still scared.

Many people whom I didn't know shook my hand and encouraged me throughout the day, and I went with a friend for a ride through Rocky Mountain National Park , and that calmed me down a lot. But when it came time for the 2 nd round, my nerves kicked back in… and for good reason!

This time we met in a tent. Apparently there were not enough meeting spaces for all of the new contest categories, so they had set up a large tent on an open area of ground. There were only about 75 seats but, again, there were people packed in there standing for lack of seating. Fortunately I got there early enough to sit this time.

If you've never been to the mountains, you may not know that nearly every afternoon it rains, and often storms. By the time the first person got up to perform, the wind had started to kick up. A chill swept through and everyone started bundling up, or running to get their jackets. I didn't think I had time to run back to my cabin, so I was stuck there in my short-sleeved blouse, not only shaking from fear, but shivering with cold.

As I sat there wondering how I was going to survive this ordeal, I prayed, “God, please help me.” Immediately, a young man who was sitting behind me offered me his denim jacket. “Thank you!” “Thank you, God!” When I put it on, it was waaayyy too big; the sleeves hung several inches past my hands. The people who were sitting around me laughed.

As I watched and listened to the other competitors, the results were much the same – some were funny, some were not so funny. Then it happened… one of the contestants (two before my turn) popped the microphone with his hand to create a sound effect, and the sound system was gone. Off. No sound. And no matter how hard the judges tried, they could not get it back on.

At about the same time, rain began to pour down in sheets; and on a tent, it was really loud. As the rain came down, and the wind continued to blow, my fears compounded. The guy who popped the microphone had to finish his routine, and he did so very well. Then there was a girl before me, and she could barely be heard. I shook even more because I knew how soft-spoken I was. The people around me, seeing my distress, were asking me if I were going to be okay and I told them I didn't know. As the other contestant continued to perform, I looked around at the audience who could barely hear her, and I knew I had only one option – I bowed my head and prayed.

“God, I cannot do this without You. There is absolutely no way on earth I can overcome all of these forces against me. If this is what You want me to do, please take over. You opened the door and told me to walk through, so please help me get through this. I give it all to You. Not me, but You.”

Suddenly a calm and peace came over me like nothing I had ever experienced. And I knew exactly what I was going to do. First I needed to stay warm. So I turned around to the young man who had loaned me his jacket and I asked, “Can I wear this when I perform?”

“Sure!” He said.

When the contestant before me had finished, the judges again tried to fix the sound system. I could tell that they were concerned about my soft-spoken voice, and were afraid they wouldn't be able to hear me... But I knew they would. Because God said shout.

I kept telling them not to worry about the sound system; I would be okay. I honestly did not want them to fix it. “God said shout” I kept thinking. “Don't fix the sound system; God said shout.” They tried every which way, to no avail, and they finally decided they had no other choice but to let me perform without a microphone.

When I stood in front of that audience, all I can say is that God took over. With the wind and rain beating down on that large tent, and no microphone, I stood before all of those people, in absolute confidence – no fear whatsoever – and shouted my entire routine.

I had walked up to the front carrying the denim jacket, told everyone about the nice young man who had loaned it to me, and put it on for all to see, and let the sleeves hang past my hands… and they all laughed. Then I told them about burning down my parents kitchen, about the trials of being single, and I ended with one verse of a song called “Still Single.” Some people at the back had trouble hearing the song but, overall, it was a success – there was lots of laughter.

After it was over, Mike Warnke came up to me, gave me a hug, and told me I was going to do very well – I could only guess he meant that I would do well in my career. People were congratulating me the rest of the evening. I just told them, “It wasn't me.”

I slept well that night... very well.

On Friday at 4:00 p.m., everyone gathered in the main auditorium for the awards ceremony. The comedy contestants had all created a special bond that week, so we decided to sit together. We sat close to the back of the auditorium on two rows, one behind the other. I was sitting on the front of the two rows; I don't remember who was sitting on either side of me, but Denny was sitting directly behind me.

Before they gave out the awards, they reminded us that the winners in each division would open the concert that evening... for Stephen Curtis Chapman.

Several prizes were awarded in the music and drama categories, and then it was time for the stand-up comedy category. Mark Lowry was called to the stage to present the awards.

“Third prize goes to...” and all the comedy contestants patted our legs as if we were giving a drum roll, “... Bruce Long!” Yea! That was one of the three men I expected to place. “Okay, so I didn't get third. My chances of placing are narrowing.”

“Second prize goes to...” as we performed our leg-pat drum roll “... Wayne Warren!” Yea! “Denny's got it. Well, I guess I didn't place again. But at least I didn't chicken out! I competed in the comedy competition and did really well. But Denny's the winner. Denny's it. It's not me, it's Den...”

And the grand prize winner, who will perform in tonight's concert is...” leg-pat drum roll “... Janet Hawlik!”

I froze in my seat. I couldn't breathe. “I have to perform in the concert tonight!” They called my name again because I didn't jump up running to the front. I couldn't. I couldn't move. “I have to perform in front of thousands of people tonight!” From behind me, Denny reached forward, grabbed my arms and tried to pick me up. He told me later that he thought I was trying to be funny by not getting up, as if I were trying to keep up the comedy act, until he tried to help me up and realized it was no act. He raised me up frozen out of my seat with my legs still bent (I was really skinny). It took me a second to unbend them and stand up and, even then, I was kind of wobbly... and I had started to cry. The people sitting around me helped me stabilize myself before I made the trek down to the front.

I walked slowly to the stage, crying the entire way. I had done it... No, God had done it. It was not me. I would have been nothing without Him.

I climbed the steps onto the stage and was asked, “Are you going to be okay? Are going to be able to perform tonight?”

I said, “Yes,” and this time I had no doubts. I had every confidence that I would be just fine. I was funny and people laughed, and I had not made a fool of myself.

The concert wasn't until 8:00 that evening so after all the awards had been given out, all the competitors went to pick up our adjudication sheets to read our notes from the judges, and find out exactly what our scores had been. When I got my sheets, I saw that, in the first round, out of 75 points per judge, I had received 65, 74, and 73. “Wow. I didn't think I did that well in the first round.” Then I saw the scores for the second round: 75, 75, 75. “God said shout... and it worked!”

Comparing the scores of my fellow contestants, we saw that Wayne Warren had also made perfect scores in the second round. Someone said, “It's because you're a girl. They picked you because you're a girl.”

Denny said, “I don't think that's the reason.” He congratulated me, gave me a big hug, then he smiled and walked away.

At dinner, I saw Al Fike, and he gave me a hug and congratulated me. I said, “Al, I'm confused. Wayne and I both received perfect scores in the final round. So why did I get first, and he got second? Was it because I'm a girl?”

Al said, “No. When we realized we had given both of you the same high score, we had to decide which one of you we thought could handle the pressure of performing in the concert in front of all those people. You did so well dealing with the storm and the sound system going out, we knew you were the one. We felt like you could handle anything.”

There are no words to describe my thoughts and feelings at the words he had just spoken. All I could think of was that God had done it, not me. It was His strength and guidance.

I have no doubt in my mind that the entire ordeal was orchestrated by God Himself. I could not have won that competition, and subsequently become a Christian stand-up comedienne, had He not brought me through that painful, frightening, yet rewarding experience.

And it all started because I stood before a door and allowed God to open it. I waited a very long time for that door to open. When I tried pushing it open I only made a fool of myself. But waiting on God, and allowing Him to work in His own timing made all the difference.

I should also mention... they never had the comedy competition again. Had I watched and waited until the next year, I would have missed my opportunity. When God opens a door, walk through it as soon as He opens it; there may not be a second chance.