When I was young, the youth leader
of our church would occasionally ask for someone to give a testimony during the
worship service. All the kids would get quiet, shuffle their feet and squirm.
For some reason I would feel the responsibility of the group shift slowly to my
shoulders. The silence became more and more uncomfortable until at last I would
give in and speak up.
"I'll do it," I would say,
dragging the words out to make sure that my reluctance was duly noted. The
moments leading up to the dreaded event were horrible. My anxiety would peak, my
stomach would turn upside down, and I would bounce my right knee up and down
furiously on the ball of my foot.
The first trick I discovered was
telling myself it would be over soon...
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