Have you ever felt as though you fell short through no fault but your own? I did that this weekend. Several weeks ago, I was approached by our church matriarch. She requested that I tell my story at our annual women's retreat. MY story...MYYYYYY story, not much to tell, but she seemed to think younger women in our church could benefit from hearing...yes MY story! I asked the question and she assured me a few short minutes was really all that was expected, not a sermon, just a few words. I moved it to the back of my brain, it was several weeks away and I'd give it some thought when the time was nearer.
A couple of days before the event, I attempted to pull some thoughts together, wondering if I could think clearly long enough to articulate my story in a manner worth hearing. My plan included quoting relevant scripture proved true throughout my life. The morning came to go; I was packed and ready to load the car. I knew the verses I wanted to use, but wasn't sure of the exact location. No problem my procrastinating brain offered, I pulled out my Kindle to be sure it was charged and ready. It was not, in fact it was totally dead. Plan B, grab the heavy edition of my NIV study Bible. It went in the bag and I quickly tried to get a beginning charge on my electronic version. As we began our journey, no opportunity presented to compile the notes I would need.
That evening as the activities wound down, I escaped to my room to jot down a few notes. Ten minutes or so should be sufficient to locate the passages I needed. Perhaps my memory was from the KJV Bible, or perhaps my memory was seriously flawed. I could not locate the verses I craved. As ladies stopped in to visit, I casually inquired if they knew where to find various scripture, but my search was in vain.
The morning came and I was forced to open my remarks with an apology for poor preparation. I admitted that no scripture would be quoted verbatim. I launched into my rather disjointed story and knew that relevant verses should be bookmarking each event. At the end of my talk I shared the experience of Ol' Abner's transplant.
Afterward, several told me they had enjoyed my story, and one woman approached me to say her twelve year old daughter had died in a terrible accident four years prior. She said they had never heard from any of the recipients and my story had given her comfort. A story badly told sometimes has favorable results. I was later introduced to a woman whose husband suffers from the same condition as Ol' Abner. He is being evaluated for transplant and they are working through the doubts about this course of action. I wish I had prepared better.
