Nathan Perry

My heart was racing, I could barely breathe, and I could feel my pulse pound against my ribcage. A cold trickle of sweat rolled down my forehead. The air was thick and stuffy; was it supposed to feel this stuffy in an amphitheater? Yes, no, maybe – I couldn’t tell. All I could tell was that there were a hundred eyes all looking at me in anticipation.

A frozen breeze drifted through the wooded clearing we sat in. Dozens of sharp pricks struck my skin with a cold that fought to turn my bones to ice. In that moment I became supersensitive to everything around me. I suddenly felt every drop of sweat, each strand of hair standing on end, I heard every whisper among the crowd over the subtle drone of my own heartbeat. There was neither a shift of seat nor breath of air that I couldn’t see or hear, and I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information I received.

One second became two, three became five, and I still hadn’t said anything. The audience before me began to settle into an uncomfortable silence, waiting for me to speak my piece. My throat became dry as my mind frantically searched for something, anything to say just to break the quiet.

Freeze-frame. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Nathan, you sound absolutely terrified to speak in public! How ever did you find yourself in such a horrifying predicament?” Well, I’m glad you asked. Let’s just take a moment to go back to the week prior, when this this tale really started.

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. Autumn was in full swing, as one look out the wide classroom window would proudly show you. Crimson and gold trees basked in the sun’s glow, casting a soft, warm light on my Apologetics textbook. Birds and bugs droned as Mrs. Reebel continued her discourse of Deuteronomy. While pastel-colored leaves softly fell to the grass, my head followed a similar journey to my desk. “Nathan,” my teacher called, causing my head to jump from its comfortable rest on my textbook in an attempt to look somewhat awake. “See me after class.”

For the rest of the period I sat ramrod straight, attentive as a soldier. I was never one who liked breaking rules, and Mrs. Reebel was not one who liked when rules were broken. While I physically took notes on the lecture, mentally I was coming up with a thousand different reasons and excuses for myself to try and escape her punishment. As the bell rang to signal the end of class, I gave up on the effort and resigned myself to whatever consequences I received.

I had been expecting a slap on the wrist. I got something quite different, but no less painful.

“Next week is the Fir Point Spiritual Emphasis Retreat,” she stated from behind her desk. I merely nodded in response. Fir Point was the highlight of most students’ year, where we left school and distraction behind in order to bond out in the wilderness for a week. We weren’t allowed to bring our electronic devices, forcing us to find other ways to entertain ourselves. Underlying it all, however, was the spiritual emphasis. Led by a pastor, we attended study sessions meant to encourage and inspire us to follow Christ and to live out the Christian faith. On the final night, the senior class held a bonfire and gave speeches in an attempt to stir the student body into action. I use the word attempt because that’s often all it was, an attempt to change a lifestyle overnight. Come next month we’d all forget what was said and have gone back to however we were beforehand.

It always bothered me how little action stemmed from the event. We all went, had fun, said “yay, Jesus,” then went right back to the way we lived. Three times I’d gone and three times I’d come back unable to remember who said what or why any of it mattered. What was the point? I honestly wondered why those students went up to speak to the whole school. They gave some wise words, made good points, then couldn’t even live up to their own advice. I just couldn’t stand seeing that happen a fourth time.

Mrs. Reebel turned in her chair to face me directly as she spoke. “I talked with some students about the Senior Bonfire. Quite a few of them signed up to speak, but we just have a small issue I’d like you to help with at the end.”

I bet you can’t guess what she asked me next. Fast-forward a week and there I am, the last speaker at the Senior Bonfire. Funnily enough, we weren’t able to get the bonfire going so I was standing behind a big hole in the ground as stared out at the student body. No one was looking at their phone, nobody was browsing through Facebook, everyone was looking at me from across the gulch.

I gulped. Unlike the other students, I hadn’t prepared a speech for everyone. I was winging it, and falling fast. Why hadn’t I just refused Mrs. Reebel’s request in the first place? I don’t even know what to talk about. I made a stupid choice agreeing with her….

Wait a second.

It was then that it dawned on me. Choice. The biggest factor in all my issues with the bonfire, and probably one of the most important aspects of our life was choice. People choosing to not let the pastor inspire them, the choice to go back to the way we lived before retreat, the decision to just hear God and then forget what He told us, it was all about choice.

All I needed now was a Bible verse to help my point. As I thought back to verses I knew on the subject, I spotted Mrs. Reebel among the crowd, smiling widely. She looked like she had full confidence in me, ready to hear whatever I had to say.

I was suddenly taken back to that lecture she gave a week ago on Deuteronomy. She wrote “Deuteronomy 30:19” in big letters on the board before turning to the class. “Life is all about choices.” She smiled as she spoke. “A lot are easy, like which clothes to wear or what to eat; some are really hard, and have the power to change your life forever. In Deuteronomy, God says it like this.” She took a moment to pull out her Bible. Clearing her throat, she read, “I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you today that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life in order that you may live, you and your descendants.”

I blinked and I was back in the amphitheater. The hundred eyes were still watching me, but now they didn’t seem so intimidating. Now they seemed… ready, attentive. Like they couldn’t wait any more to hear what I had to say. I took a deep breath before I felt a smile tug at the corner of my lips.

Here goes nothing.