Some of you may have heard about my most embarrassing moment (and let me tell you, narrowing it down to one is no easy task). But there’s little doubt in my mind that singing with that soloist in Prairie Grove, Arkansas, was the worst.

Mind you, I was there to speak. I was sitting on the front row, my two teenage daughters beside me, enjoying the worship songs. Perhaps it goes without saying that I wasn’t paying one bit of attention to my program (they always tell me when to come up and start talking). So I didn’t realize (though in my peripheral vision I could see my daughters pointing frantically at their programs) that the song leader had left off directing and commenced singing a special.

I’m sure you have many questions, and I have a good many answers, but blog entries probably shouldn’t run that long. Besides, I’m sure the image of me sitting on the front row bellowing out a harmony with the soloist suffices to prove my assertion that when I realized what I had done, I wanted nothing more than to skip my speech, get home, lie on the couch, and die.

I didn’t die, but I did hit the couch when I got home. Curled up in the fetal position, I asked God to at least strike me dumb (dumber).

I can laugh at almost any crazy thing I’ve done, but I could not so much as muster a smile about this glaring public humiliation. Someone bring me an afghan and throw it over my head—that’s how I felt.

I did not want to be vulnerable again. Not ever. Hey, I thought, I don’t have to go out there and speak, I don’t have to teach, I don’t have to write an article or book someone might not like, I don’t have to do anything. I can just stay home and read. Get OCC’s academic adviser on the phone!

I wallowed in this misery for a while. Then my prayer changed from strike me dumb or kill me to help me and heal me.

You probably know, of course, that I was able to get off the couch and walk back out the door to serve again, despite the risks. That’s because of this fact: “He restoreth my soul!“ That’s my favorite of all the wonderful lines in the 23rd Psalm.

He comforts, guides, enables—restores.

One thing I comforted myself with as I lay curled up in the fetal position that loathsome Saturday evening is this: “Oh well, I’ll never have to go to that church in Prairie Grove, Arkansas, again!

I’ve been back twice.