The place is Cleveland
“Stretching
helps relieve stress,” I can hear the helpful voice of my drama teacher in the
back of my mind. I start to stretch and
hope nobody notices.
Relax, I tell myself, but the stretching
doesn’t help. My left shoulder blade starts
to hurt.
I paste a smile
on my face in case anyone is watching. “Smiling relaxes you as well,” my
faithful drama teacher’s instruction echoes in my mind again. “It also helps you stay awake and always looks
good on stage.”
The last song is
almost over. The nerves have crept into
my chest, producing a slight shiver. My
fingers are icy by now.
I looked down at
my scribbled notes from Genesis 22:2, “And he said, Take now thy son, thine
only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and
offer him there for a burnt offering…” and in bold, “…upon one
of the mountains which I will tell thee of.” I crumple the paper in my
hand, pretty sure the people have heard this kind of thing before. It just seems too simple.
The last song
ends. Kevin goes up to the front to
introduce me.
I walk up, grab
the music stand and hear my voice saying, “Let’s pray.”
I bow my head
and lead in an opening prayer.
After the prayer
I look up, take my notes, stick them in my back pocket and improvised.
“What did you
preach?” you might ask. I’m embarrassed
to say it wasn’t good. I made up
something about staying in school, finding God’s blessings and anything else I
could think of. It was a disaster.
“How did the
service go this morning? Who preached?” Kevin’s dad asked us in the fellowship
hall after the service.
“George preached,
it was…,” Kevin responded. He didn’t
finish his sentence but kind of looked at me with an unsure expression on his
face. My guess is he didn’t want to hurt
my feelings, but didn’t want to lie either.
“If George
preached it must have been good,” his dad said.
He saved the moment with a grace I didn’t deserve. In my heart I knew it hadn’t been good. I had let them down.
