EXIT

It is a minor miracle that I'm able to stand in front of big crowds every weekend and deliver any kind of talk that sounds rational and coherent, because the truth is I used to suffer from glossophobia. That's a fear of public speaking.

In junior high and high school, when I had to stand in front of my peers and give a book report, I don't mean to be indelicate, but i would practically wet myself every time.

I remember once giving a speech about contact lenses where I was going to demonstrate loading and unloading them - cleaning them - etc - because I had recently gotten my own first set. My hands shook so bad I almost pushed my eyeball out of its own socket trying to demonstrate how to put one in. I was that nervous.

Years and years later - in college and beyond - my mouth would get dry - my stomach would churn - my heart would race - my palms would sweat. I would look for the exit. I would like to say I've completely overcome that today, but I know I haven't. Not entirely.

I've been in rooms as an adult - even recently - where we had to go around the table and introduce ourselves - tell a bit about who we were - our families - our jobs - and as it got closer and closer to me, I would develop this temporary case of amnesia. I could barely remember my own first name. Here I am, a guy who speaks routinely to thousands of people every month from a stage, but I'm in a cold sweat because I have to say my name in front of fifteen people.

Go figure.

'God didn't make a mistake. Maybe He created me as I am for a purpose.'

And now when I speak, I listen to myself on the DVD and find I have this annoying vocal texture that makes me cringe as I listen and I wonder how the crowd sits there without running screaming for the exits in the first five minutes. So there I am - every weekend - trying not to raise my voice too much so it doesn't crack -- wearing three layers of shirts so I don't sweat through -- hoping my Bible doesn't slip out of my sweaty palm.

To add to my fears and insecurities and generally make matters worse, I might stand at the door shaking hands at the end of the service, only to have a gentleman come up, stretch out his hand and say something like: 'I like you ... but for the life of me, I have no idea what you were trying to say up there this morning.'

'God bless you, sir. Have a nice day.' Where was the nearest exit again?

Here's what I know. God didn't make a mistake. Maybe He created me as I am for a purpose. Maybe there are others out there like me who could still be used by God to do obedient work for the Kingdom even though they feel like they never quite fit in -- and they could expose someone else to God's amazing love.

And be blessed.