Today we had this public speaking practice event at work. It was one of those hard things that no one wants to do, but once it's over, you're glad you did it.

My friend Mickey was nervous. I only knew because she told me before it was her turn to speak. Her words were beautiful, her emotion was so evidently present, and her composure was strong. She had a sweet, enduring laugh following her first joke, and I could immediately feel the audience disarm as her words carried through the room. She carried on with elegant direction, and all looked happily on as she shared her story.

It was worrisome to me to think that fear could have prevented all of us from hearing her story and seeing her heart. It felt like such a privilege to hear her words, and I wonder how many other stories in the history of the world have been kept hidden out of fear. I wondered how many times throughout history people kept their stories because felt like what they had to say wasn't important.

Back in my high school days, I would usually sit pretty quietly at the dinner table with my family. It was kind of puzzling to me, especially this one night where I was contemplating it. I wasn't anti-social by any means. I remember feeling like I simply just didn't have any significant brilliance to offer to the conversation of adults. I contributed a hand to pass the side dish and a nod when an agreement was needed.

This public speaking event reminded me of that night at the dinner table. I felt that same smallness and insignificance. It's funny that despite the encouragement and reminder of the value you can receive throughout your life, the fears and spot-light can overwhelm any kind of coherent thought, as well as the desire for others to know it.

This overwhelming comes into play mostly when I'm asked to share a personal story. Nothing gives me more anxiety than someone giving me the microphone, all of their attention, and a big old fat expectation for me to share something significant from my own life. And it isn't that my life has lacked adventure. I've had thousands of experiences in my life that have excellent potential for storytelling. I've been on spectacular backpacking trips, mission trips, and trips across the street. I have seen beautiful things, I've experienced heartbreak and the purest of joys. I've fallen in love, I've mourned and grieved death, and I've celebrated life with dear people.

But sharing one of these personal stories feels like giving something to someone without being able to ask them to keep it safe. It's like granting a gift, but without the opportunity to tell them the important directions that you have very carefully crafted. Sharing is risky in sorts. You can't control what a person will do with your words, or think of you because of your words. And yet, sharing creates one of the most very basic and foundational human connections.

It is letting someone know you.

There are stories of our lives that are meant to be shared. Not necessarily to shine in the spotlight we've been given, but to reflect and communicate commonality. To love people and offer a perspective that could give them definition to something they've been feeling. It has the potential to demolish the harshness of loneliness, enlighten someone's understanding, or help bring them out of the darkness and into the light.

And if you know Jesus, It is so important to remember that fear is not valid enough to silence the hope that you have found in Him. We have to share. We have to boldly give to those around us and speak fearlessly. Because otherwise, people will not know. Actions speak loudly, but words are the means by which we communicate the heart of our actions and the reasons for our choices.

I pray that you can be emboldened to share your story and the beauty that has touched you.

Speak on friends, fearlessly.