Scared Speechless

by Robert Bruce

Three steps into what I surely believed was my death march to the front of the class, I thought I might throw up. With each passing step, the podium inched closer. All rational thought seemed to recede into the unknown, inaccessible areas of my mind.

Sixty sets of eyes turned their attention from the professor to me. They expected me to have something important, something valuable and enlightening to say. More aware of myself than ever before, I could feel their cold, calculating stares following my every move. Do they already know? Can they tell I’m on the verge of a breakdown? Are they on the edge of their seats waiting for this blabbering idiot to fumble through a train wreck of a presentation?

Everyone else in the class had already presented. On the first day of class, I signed up to present during the last week of the semester, delaying this self-perceived, catastrophic meltdown for as long as humanly possible.

The professor expected me to speak for 20 excruciating minutes. To me, the Sahara Desert in mid-August seemed more pleasant. At that moment, I would have substituted anything—and I mean absolutely anything—for standing alone in front of these 60 people.

The podium inched closer … and closer … and closer. And, though I moved swiftly down the aisle, time—like my thoughts—seemed to stand still. All of the moisture in my mouth had vanished and seemed to relocate in the palms of my hands, now drenched with sweat. Reaching the podium, I glanced upward again to catch several questioning stares. They’re on to me. They know I have no idea what to say.

I slowly began to talk. And though I had practiced the presentation at least a dozen times, my words seemed to take on a life of their own. John Scopes. The Monkey Trial. Creation versus evolution. For one surreal moment, I felt as if I wasn’t talking at all, as if my brain instinctively reacted to the stress of the environment and spat out the words I had practiced for weeks.

I knew the keys to a successful presentation—make eye contact with the audience, talk with your hands (but don’t overdo it), don’t stare at your notes the whole time, walk around some, crack a joke.

But all of that went out the window. I just wanted to survive. My feet picked a spot and didn’t budge. My hands squeezed the side of the podium until they hurt. My eyes never glanced upward, not once.

Five minutes slowly and painfully passed. Ten minutes became 15. And somewhere around 18 minutes and 47 seconds, I concluded my presentation. Or, more accurate, I stopped my presentation. A conclusion implies an introduction and a body of supporting points. Nineteen minutes of directionless rambling hardly qualifies.

But, nonetheless, I had survived. My heart was still beating, though forcefully. My brain returned to a state of coherent thought. The universe seemed intact. Though every ounce of my body desired to turn around and run, I forced myself to endure those 20 minutes. Not only because I would have failed the class, but, more importantly, because I knew God didn’t desire for me to live in fear.

Two nights prior to my presentation, I recall lying in bed, asking God for the strength to make it through. For some, public speaking is second nature. To me, shark attacks and stomach viruses seem more appealing. But throughout that night, God comforted me and forced me to realize the necessity of overcoming this obstacle. I even recalled Second Timothy 1:7—“For God has not given us the spirit of fear.”

As I entered class that morning, I experienced the type of fear Dr. Stanley describes as “tormenting” and “punishing” in his “Landmine of Fear.” It’s the type that “God does not want in our life.” It holds us back and hinders us from becoming believers who have maximized their God-given potential. Sure, I may never be the president of Toastmasters. But I was certain of one thing—God didn’t want me to run from a challenge.

Nearly eight years later, I still despise public speaking. I’m still the last to volunteer for any speaking engagement. And I still stare at my notes. But, by God’s grace, I’ve realized that living in a state of perpetual fear has no place in my life.

Each time I have to speak in front of five people or 50, my fear subsides a bit more and I understand why God places me in those situations. In those moments—alone at the front of the class, or at the head of a small group of people—it’s easy to get lost in myself. My feelings, my paranoia, my worries and my concerns. But the only way I’ll ever endure is by breaking out of my self-created bubble and relying on God. Otherwise, the fear is debilitating and I’m left speechless and ashamed.

And the funny thing is—God’s never patted my head and said, “You know what, everything’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure you never have to speak in public again.” Nope. Instead, He’s made sure I get plenty of practice. Along the way, I’ve learned to focus on the Bible’s promises and to lean on Him. Truth is … that’s the only way to overcome fear.