When I was little girl, going to Sunday school made me sick to my stomach. My mom forced highly encouraged me and my brothers to go to church each week. I didn’t so much mind big church where I could latch myself onto my mom and hide in her shadow. No, it was Sunday school, the torturous “hang out with your peers” hour. That’s when my innards would begin break dancing like a b-girl inside of me.
One morning, the Sunday school teacher thought it would be fun to go around the table and quiz us on our Bible knowledge.
I was thinking, Oh my, Lord, she’s gonna make me open my mouth and talk!
The b-girl began a few warm up spins on my abdomen floor.
The teacher began the interrogation.
“Billy, who was King Jehu’s father?”
Okay, so this, more than likely, wasn’t the first question the teacher asked but the b-girl inside me wasn’t focused on the question. B-girl was focused on the fact that she felt as if she had just been forced to play a round of Jeopardy….I’ll take Bible for Dummies, for 50, Alex.
“Um,” Billy thought. “Um….I forgot his name.”
Wait a second.
B-girl stopped her spinning.
B-girl started moon walking across the four stomach dance quadrants.
That’s the answer I will give too!
“Samantha,” the teacher called. “Who was swallowed by a big whale.”
“Jonah,” the over-achiever next to me cried out.
The time had come…the moment of truth…or at least the moment to open my mouth and speak.
I forgot his name. I forgot his name. I forgot his name.
As soon as I say my brilliant answer, the pain will be over.
“Eileen, who washed the disciples’ feet?”
“Um,” I said, making it sound as if I was really thinking. “Um…I forgot his name.”
My insides breathed a quick sigh of relief. It’s over.
All eyes looked in my direction and laughter erupted.
Wait, what just happened? That’s not right. What did I say?
“You can’t remember His name!? You can’t remember the name…Jesus!?”
B-girl began spinning again uncontrollably.
Me and b-girl learned a big lesson that day
Before you claim defeat…try.
I hadn’t listened to the question. I just assumed I wouldn’t know the answer. I let my fear dictate my response. I opted for the easy route, which turned out to be the most painful route.
I still do this sometimes. I listen to that voice of defeat tell me that all I can handle are the easy Jeopardy questions.
I don’t want to sell myself short like this anymore. Do you?
“I’ll take… I Am A Writer, for 1000, Alex.”