Whatever He Says, It's That One

When my college friends traipsed into the dining hall one night, we wrote our names on slips of paper for the game show staff stationed in the entryway and then sat at a round table not far from the newly erected set. It was Deal or No Deal, a sort of traveling entertainment company that would host the game right there in Bates Common Dining with all but Howie Mandel and the chicks in evening garb.



Students were randomly selected to participate for the chance to win money, gradually eliminating numbered cases holding various amounts. A one-night campus event, you could say it was a limited time offer.

I'd never seen the show - I vaguely remembered that some kids I'd babysat liked it, but they hadn't even watched it while I was with them - so friends filled in the gaps for me when I was confused.

And then my name was called.



The round table of knowledgeable advisors suddenly seemed so very far away.

A few of us were organizing a relief trip to New Orleans at the time, and we'd discussed that if we won something, it would go toward the cause. But I'd imagined that, if any of us were even called, it would at least be someone who knew what they were doing. I tended to figure that my being randomly selected for a guessing game was even less probable than my being purposely selected for a dodgeball team. Either way, I guess it's a bit hit-or-miss. (OK, bad joke, I'm sorry. Please don't throw things at me! Heh.)

I must have looked flustered, but the host was reassuring: this round would be simple. Because we were nearing the end of the event, there would be a few modified rounds for set prize amounts, rather than the whole song and dance.

The host motioned to two cases.

Over his directions, I heard within, "Whatever he says, it's that one."

I glanced at the case closest to me.



What the host was saying finally registered: one of the cases had a card inside with the amount of $50 while the other showed 50 cents. Choosing correctly meant a prize of over a hundred dollars.

"So," he finished, "which case do you think has the amount of 50 cents?"

I pointed.

Anyone who had ever seen me pick out ice cream or decide what to do with the afternoon knew very well that I seemed a little too sure of what I was doing.

In actuality, I can't really say that I was certain. In the fleeting moment of time between standing by the cases and pointing at one, there was literally no deliberation in my mind, yes, but there was also no sense of "I know this." But the funny thing is, in that moment without certainty, I also had no doubt. I simply did not experience either certainty or doubt in the way that I had ever known either one.

And so it is in contemplating my faith - the beliefs upon which so much of myself is grounded, with or without tangible evidence - that I now remember that night.

I don't insist that it was God, though it was hella creepy in the sense that it was so unlike my usual inner thought processes. But of all of the times that I have had the it-doesn't-feel-like-me-thinking-this experience, this one seems among the least "holy." It would be easy enough to say that it was God's will for us to receive that money for our trip, or to shake things up in my faith life in just one more way. But I don't know. I'm grateful, regardless; I just think attributing anything to God is a matter not to be taken lightly. Wherever the words came from, the trip and my deepening faith were what they were, and that seems to suffice for me.

All that said, this spontaneous phrase still intrigues me to this day.

It strikes me that it was so distinctly, "Whatever he says, it's that one" - so unwavering in its basic concept that truth existed and it did not depend on the host or on me.

It also strikes me that it was something of a declaration of that truth, not a command or advice as to what to do. It even came before the man had said what was expected of me.

Sometimes we are spiritually guided or instructed. "Be not afraid."

But other times, I believe we simply hear truth, and we must act on what we have heard.

Not "Pick the one on the left," but "Whatever he says, it's that one." It just is. It just is. So now what?

When we're confronted with unusual proclamations of truth, especially when we don't expect them, perhaps we will need to pause and consider, mull the words over in our minds, discern their truthfulness and only then formulate a response. Or perhaps we will hear it and know what to do with it before we even realize the magnitude of what's happening.

Either way, true Truth seems to wait for no one to tell it that it's true - as though it's comfortable in its own skin. It can be told or heard, mangled or celebrated, denied or upheld. But at times like this I suspect that it isn't our embracing it that makes the Truth true.