My Unsung Hero...

Unsung Heroes

Do you have one? An unsung hero? Someone in your life to whom you owe a profound debt of gratitude? Someone who doesn’t even realize the impact that he or she has made in your life?

I sure do. Before I introduce you to one of my unsung heroes, a bit of a back-story.

For nearly 40 years now, I have earned my bread and butter by talking. I am a career communicator. Even though you are now reading my words on a screen, writing is not my forte; speaking is.

Fact is, I talk for a living.

Not an especially earth-shattering revelation. Until you understand this: I am the guy whose 10th grade drama teacher called him into her office one day and told him this (albeit, with a pleasant tone in her voice and smile on her face): “In the fifteen years that I have taught drama, you are the single most boring student I have ever had.” Now that she had my attention, she assured me that she was telling me the truth in such a pointed fashion because she really, truly wanted me to succeed in life. She saw me as a young man with tons of potential… as long as I kept my mouth shut.

“You have a speech impediment that makes it irritating to listen to you,” she explained. “You are so inexpressive. You speak in a monotone.” And then she added this one last little zinger: “If you have to earn your living by talking, you and your family will starve.”

Wow. (I mean, “Come on, teacher. Don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really think!”)

Well, you can only imagine what went through my mind three years later when God called me into the ministry. It’s no wonder that God and I wrestled over this “calling” for months. I still so vividly remember conversations that I had with God, daily chats that went something like this:

“But God, didn’t you hear my drama teacher? She’s right. I can’t talk. It’s not my fault that my mouth is broken. You’re the one who made my mouth. In case you missed it, I am boring. Boring. Just ask my drama teacher. BORING.”

In the following weeks and months that stretched into years, everything I tried that was even remotely related to my mouth failed miserably. For instance, when I took my mandatory speech class, my first speech was an unmitigated disaster. I managed to burn up an overhead projector, had to cut my speech short as that infernal machine sparked and smoked; I slunk back to my seat and collapsed into my chair in utter humiliation to the taunts and ridiculing laughter of the class.

First sermon I ever preached, the moment I hit the five-minute mark, my mind went blank. If I remember right, I actually ended that sermon mid-sentence.

Well, to make a long story short, the very fact that I have recently lost 91 lbs, going from a morbidly obese 240 pounds to a slim and trim 149 proves that my drama teacher's doomsday prognostications were wrong on at least one count: I have earned my living by talking, and haven’t yet starved!

So what happened? What turned the tide? How is it that week after week I now muster up enough raw courage, and pump up just enough self-esteem to face a crowd, open my mouth, and talk? On a divine level, God fixed my broken mouth. (Though, if you listen carefully, you can still hear the faint echoes of my not-quite-corrected lisp.) On a human level, I have an unsung hero. One individual to whom I owe my career, my ministry.

My communications mentor. A man at whose feet I’ve sat (and continue to sit), someone who systematically taught me, syllable by syllable, how to talk.

The amazing thing is, he has no idea of the impact he’s made on my life, and by extension, the thousands of lives of people to whom I have talked over the years.

His name? You’ll find out next time.

In the mean time, take a guess. See if you can figure it out. I’ll give you only one hint (well, two actually, since I’ve already revealed the gender of this individual): He’s the single best, most effective, most gifted, most eloquent, most mesmerizing communicator I have ever heard.

And since the Bible says to give honor to whom honor is due, it will be my distinct pleasure and privilege to honor him in my next post.