There's always a cost, isn't there?
Friday night's speaker evaluation was quite possibly the most intimidating moment of my life, simply because speaking is the the last thing on earth I desire to do. Truly. When I sensed the Lord nudging me to begin speaking at the beginning of the year I thought, Surely You must be kidding. I'm a writer. I like writing; it gives me time to think, backspace, delete or just start over.
Then I thought, Maybe I'm just making up the speaking thing. Maybe I'm imagining one of those worst-case scenarios my brain seems compelled to create. Like when I'm driving over an impossibly high bridge on a freezing day and I try to figure out if I could get my window open and unbuckle my seat-belt and swim to the shore without freezing in the event my car plunges over the guard rail.
Finally, the Lord
accosted convinced me while I drove one afternoon, (not over a bridge) and I surrendered, uttering a simple yet incredibly brave one-sentence prayer: Lord, if you want me to speak, please confirm it.
Finally, the Lord
Two days later my laptop slid to the floor when I saw my name on Lysa TerKeurst's blog as a scholarship winner for She Speaks with this post.
But still, months later as I cried on a comfy bed after the She Speaks speaker evaluations on a Friday night in Concord, North Carolina, I couldn't help but think I do not want to speak. God, why are you making me speak? Furthermore, my body betrayed me when I did speak. I could do without the internal earthquakes and the Niagara Falls armpits, thank you very much.
My comfort zone had not only been imposed upon, it had utterly vanished.
Saturday morning found fresh tears on my cheeks. Another speaker evaluation loomed like a pistol-waving terrorist only inches from my face. After choking down a few bites of breakfast, I hurried to the prayer room for some desperately needed spiritual fortification.
And there He was. My Prince of Peace. My courage. My strength. The lover of my soul. And the One through Whom I can do all things.
A beautiful prayer warrior named Charlotte whispered, "Would you like to pray with me?" Heads bowed, hands clasped together, we prayed.
God showed Charlotte a few things, and she shared them with me. And just like that, everything changed; my perspective, my countenance and most of all, my heart. I left that prayer room equipped with His grace and His joy, which is my strength. And I suddenly realized that I was walking, with Him, toward my destiny.
How about you? Do you have a prayer room story? I'd love to hear it!