And I live to tell about it.

So, I had to speak in church yesterday.  It's been years since I've had to do this, and trust me, I was totally ok with that. I'm really not one that longs to do that sort of thing. I'd rather just sit near the back of the chapel and take in what everyone else has to say. They say that this is right under being attacked by sharks, as far as people's fears go. Hey, I'd rather take my chances doggy paddling around in shark infested waters than get up in front of a bunch of people I kind of know and talk. I had five weeks to prepare and I don't know if that was a blessing or a curse because it gave me five long weeks to worry about it and wake up with that panicked feeling over and over. It may have been better if they would have sprung the news on me the day before. 

I was asked to speak on prayer and I decided to narrow it down to family prayer. After writing this talk in my head for five weeks and going 10 different directions with it, I actually started writing a few thoughts down the week before. Finally, on Friday I pretty much had it prepared. I just had to clean it up a little and time myself. There were three people speaking including myself. I locked myself in my room and piled some pillows up on the end of my bed like a pulpit and timed myself with Mike's stopwatch. What a dork I am. It took me exactly 15 minutes and that's what they wanted so I was good to go...all except the nightmares to come that night.

Sunday morning came and we were suppose to meet 15 minutes before church. I found out one of the speakers wasn't going to make it. That's REALLY not what you want to hear! I'll just speak a little slower, right? I was so glad to see Janet Cook, a spirtual giant and a lady I look up to so much, was speaking with me. If my talk didn't go well, I knew she'd do great and she was speaking after me so everyone would remember her talk. Her talk was amazing and I really don't remember much about my talk. I was just so glad that my knees didn't buckle and my mouth worked for the most part. I'm pretty sure I only teared up twice. Once when I talked about my kids praying for Papa when he was sick and then when I talked about Reagen's bedtime prayers. I was proud of myself because usually all it takes is me stepping in front of the pulpit and the tears start falling. (I think my practice run with the pillow pulpit really helped.) 

Anyway, I felt such a sense of relief when I sat back down and my heart stopped pounding. I was going to have one of the members of the bishopric sign my talk and excuse me from talking for the next five years, but I thought that they might think that was a little weird. I did gain a greater testimony of family prayer by doing this because in those five weeks that I had to prepare, I made sure that every night we had it and I felt the subtle blessings that came from doing this. I guess the Lord knew that this was something we needed to work on a little harder.