Last week, I tried something new. I polled Facebook for sermon illustrations. I've seen others do it and, to be honest, I've NEVER answered. So if karma ruled the day, my little experiment should gotten as far off the ground as a fat kid on a pogo stick. Lucky for me, that was not the case. (Karma-0, Becca-1)

Something I've been thinking about lately is how LONELY the preaching endeavor can be! At this point, I'm not an every-week preacher. Mostly, I just preach once or SOMETIMES twice a month (but my boss has pretty much told me that I could do every other week if I wanted!) But this is enough for now.

The weeks that I preach are spent with MUCH more solitude than is my norm. I read, read, and read some more. I take notes and I read again. All in the solitude of my office. I fill legal pads with scratchy notes that only I can decipher, which get messier and more DRAMATIC as the week progresses. Case in point: a couple weeks ago, when preaching on the resurrection, I wrote in big scratchy uppercase letters, WHY DOES THIS MATTER??? WHAT IS THE POINT??? (Oh, the angst of it all.)

Preaching has always been a pretty angsty process for me. Back in seminary, even though we weren't supposed to KNOW which profs were teaching which preaching sections, I sneakily made sure that I got into the BEST professor's class- Dr. Cleo LaRue... a older (but still fiery as all get-out) African-American man who CLEARLY knew his stuff. Because I respected Dr. LaRue so much, I really wanted him to like my sermons. And not only that, even though I KNEW that this was just preaching CLASS, that these 12-minute sermons REALLY didn't matter in the long run, I still freaked out over every one. Literally, I CRIED somewhere in the process of writing all 4 preaching class sermons. I'm glad I had a very patient and loving small group.

Fortunately for all my co-workers, I've found ways other than breaking down in snotty tears to deal with my sermon-angst these days. One of my saving GRACES is my husband. (Yes, I am writing about him again. I kind of like him.) After a week of wrestling and writing, I bring a rough-draft of my sermons to Dave for him to review. Sometimes I nicely hand him a draft I feel pretty good about and eagerly await his minor tweaks. Other times, I am SURE that the sermon I've just poured my life into is certainly a steaming pile of poo and I avert my eyes as he reads, wincing at every tiny little eyebrow tweak he makes as he reads.

And inevitably, Dave always comes back with something good and encouraging to say. Even if the draft still needs some work, he assures me that it is indeed GOOD. And that it WILL communicate God's GOOD NEWS to my congregation. His words fill me with the courage I need to actually get up in the pulpit and preach, instead of locking myself in my office 30Rock style. (It's a good thing. I've got no Liz Lemmon who'll come talk me about my telling me that I have pretty hair.)

Preaching. It's a lonely business. And if I didn't have Dave now (or my small group back then) to build me up every time I do it, I think I'd be tempted to despair, flinging myself on my bed for a cry in my pillow every Sunday afternoon.

Which brings me back to this week... I didn't want to write ALL by myself. I was so grateful for the chance to bring in a multiplicity of voices into this sermon. Even though I only shared a few individual stories outloud, I felt like I was proclaiming God's GOOD NEWS, not just from MY head and MY heart and MY experiences, but from the lived experiences of a real "great cloud of witnesses."

So, thanks friends. Thanks for those of you who shared such wonderful and touching and amazing stories about how you've seen God do the impossible. I was encouraged, and I got to encourage others with your words. And unless you count the moment I got a little misty watching Kurt and Rachel "diva-off" for the solo in Defining Gravity on Glee, I didn't even cry this week. So... thanks for that too.