It’s 1975 and I am about to graduate high school.  For my senior year two of my friends and I attended Belmont Vocation School.  All three of us were in the B.O.E. class where we went to school for a half day and then went to work for the other half of day.  One of my friends worked for her self-employed dad in the afternoons, and the other got a real nice job with a local pharmacy.  Being from a small town, without many employment opportunities, I was fortunate that our church hired me as church secretary for $1.00 an hour.

I typed letters for our Reverend, got the Sunday bulletins typed and copied for church services, and ran for supplies in her Town Car.  At that time our preacher was a woman and she was no pushover.  Most days she came in with a spitting headache and was most generally grouchy.  Pleasing her was nearly impossible and most days I felt like a failure.  So my three hours there, every other day, felt like torture and I did not know if I was going to be able to endure this job, or have to go back to my home high school.

Dreading the last option of returning to my home high school I resolved to try harder to learn this job and kept showing up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

The Reverend did not ease up on me for a moment.  She screamed and hollered at me for every mistake that I made.  Plus she lectured me frequently about how important it was that I attend Sunday Church Services.  I went a few Sunday mornings but it was difficult for me to listen to her because the woman dressed nicely, with her hair all done, and make-up applied flawlessly, standing behind the pulpit was not the same woman yelling at me in her pajamas, with her hair all in a mess, complaining of a splitting headache.

Even though she was rough on me and I did not attend to hear many of her church sermons I had a real respect for her.  I valued her criticism and tried to get things right.

Finally the end of the school year comes and we are preparing for graduation.  In our class it was customary to hold a banquet for all our employers of the year.  Mr. Lucas, our instructor, assigned me for giving the banquet prayer before we sat down to eat!  I couldn’t believe it!!  Begging him to have someone else deliver the prayer was futile.  He insisted since I worked for a Reverend that it was only appropriate for me to say the dinner prayer. 

Not knowing what to do or how to deliver a prayer I went to my boss and told her what was expected of me.  She helped me write a prayer and I practiced it over and over for a couple of weeks.

Everyone shows up.  The banquet table is decorated with ribbons and flowers and looks beautiful.  I’m a nervous wreck.  My dress doesn’t fit right.  My curly hair is going frizzy.  My stomach is in knots and I feel like throwing up.

Ping, ping.  The sound of Mr. Lucas tapping his fork on his glass. 

Oh no!  Time for everyone to take their seats, and my cue to stand up.

I’m standing, sweat starts to bead-up on my forehead, my hands are clammy and I feel as if I’m going to pass out.  Reverend Paterson is sitting next to me, dressed and looking very professional.  I’m trying to remember the words to my prayer, but my mind won’t concentrate or cooperate.  I feel everyone staring at me, waiting for me to start.

“Dear Lord,”  comes out of my mouth, but the words are barely audible.  Then it happens.  Frozen stiff!  I could not move or say another word for what felt like an eternity.  My face feels like it is on fire.  What am I suppose to say next?  I couldn’t think! 

The Reverend grabbed my hand, feeling really sorry for me.

“Amen.”  I sit down.  That’s all I could remember of the prayer.

Reverend Paterson patted my leg and said, “Don’t worry about it.  It can happen to anyone.”

But I still feel like a heel for not being able to say the prayer that I had practiced so hard to remember.