What Are the Chances

One of my responsibilities as a dental hygienist is remove terror from the patient’s eyes. Some people come in looking as if they just watched a horror movie. Once seated, their sideways glance is telling. They are waiting for me to pull out a machete, or something along those lines. My instruments are metal and sharp, but much smaller. Still, they can evoke great fear, even in the hands of someone only five feet tall, so I talk sweetly.

One Friday morning, Gus (not his real name) came in and his eyes were scanning the room, checking the corners for hidden danger. He was new to our office and this was his first hygiene appointment. While placing the patient bib, I asked if he had plans for the weekend, usually a safe topic.

Gus told me he was going to a concert on Sunday, but was not looking forward to it. The singer was someone his wife liked, some country guy. I’m a big fan of country music and told him how lucky he was, but he was far from convinced.

At the end of his appointment I introduced Gus to the receptionist. I told her he was going, reluctantly, to see a country singer in concert on Sunday.

“Kenny Chesney!” she squealed. “You’re going to see Kenny Chesney?”

Deadpan he answered, “That sounds like the guy’s name.”

I explained he wasn’t a fan of country music and was going for his wife. He still didn’t believe how fortunate he was, even though we were both gushing. I told Gus he could stay home and I would accompany his wife. We all laughed and my job was done. He left smiling.

Cute story, but what does it have to do with anything? It has to do with God knowing our hearts. He watches and sees, listens and hears our deepest desires. And, like any good father, gives us what we want when He thinks we’re ready..

One hour after Gus left the office, my phone alerted me to a text message. It was my friend inviting me to see, as Gus would say, some country guy on Sunday! Come to find out, this was much more than one country guy, this was Country Fest - where four bands perform for over six hours! It had been on my bucket list for years! My immediate response was “Yes!” and I thought how wild it would be if I ran into Gus.

Taking our seats at Country Fest I could barely hold my excitement. The check mark on my bucket list was audible. It was daylight when the first band took the stage and as the sun went down, the seats filled up. The country guy, Kenny Chesney, came on and it was if the electricity from the crowd powered the stadium lights.

Two things happened as he greeted the crowd; the people surged forward and beachballs appeared out of nowhere, ricocheting over the crowd. As the lights reflected off their vibrant colors I thought, “Oh God, how I wish I could hit one of those beachballs.” Not an elaborate prayer by any means, but something I had always hoped to do. My mathematical brain did the numbers, guesstimating the unlikely chance of hitting one of the beachballs, and I let that thought go.

At most every song I turned to my friend, claiming it to be my favorite, and got totally swept up in the music. The crowd’s energy seemed to increase exponentially the more the country guy sang; he was fired up, placing his hands over his heart in a humble expression of mutual love.

Then it happened. From behind me a beachball dropped down, as if from the heavens. It was so unexpected and I reacted automatically, hitting it into the person in front of me. I was ready for it when it bounced back, and solidly hit the beachball with all ten fingertips, sending it high in the air to the crowd below, where someone else could realize a dream.

Time, and I, stood still while my thoughts drowned out the blaring music. I had just hit a beachball at a concert - not just once, but twice! What are the chances? Well, rounding down we were a crowd of 60,000 people. I tried to count the beachballs to divide into that, but realized the futility of such an exercise. Safe to say my chances were slim.

On that thread of slim chances, something else happened. During a break, my friend and I were returning to our seats when I stopped short. I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, but thought I must be mistaken. This person was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and a broad smile!

One row down and three seats in was Gus, and he was happy! Recognition was in his eyes and I could see him trying to place how he knew me. The shock registered on his face when I said my name. We had a nice reunion and I returned to my seat on the other side of the aisle. We were essentially six people away from each other! What are the chances?

That’s an easy calculation: 1 in 60,000. Even less than hitting a beachball.

Odds don’t mean anything where God is concerned. Chances can, and will happen. I had planned to have a great night, yet God had planned for me to have an even greater one. He knows my heart and how seemingly small things mean a lot to me. He sees me and cares. He listens and responds. And I am thankful.

Country Fest, check. Seeing Gus, gobsmacked. Hitting that beachball, only God knows the depth of my joy.

Chances are He has much more in store for me, and I can’t wait.