The truth about testimonies
As a child, I testified every Sunday morning. I can’t do it anymore.
“The-Lord-has-been-good-to-me-this-week-so-I-want-to-thank-him-for-all-of-his-loving-kindness-and-tender-mercies-because-he-helped-me-with-my-schoolwork-and-protected-my-parents-and-blessed-my-family-with-everything-we-need-so-all-I-want-to-do-is-serve-him-all-the-days-of-my-life-so-please-uphold-me-in-your-prayers-this-week-and-I-will-do-the-same-for-all-of-you-praise-the-Lord-Amen.”
This, just about verbatim, is the “testimony” I gave at church every Sunday, from age six through high school. Well, sometimes I said “Jesus” or “God” instead of “Lord” or added a detail to spice things up: “Last-Tuesday-Jesus-helped-me-get-an-A-plus-on-my-social-studies-test-so-I-want-to-praise-and-thank-him-forever.”
During summer, I skipped the bit about schoolwork and praised the Lord for beach weekends, ice cream sundaes, or Disney vacations instead. Occasionally I threw in a memory verse or lines from a hymn. But mostly I stood up, recited the above speech at 1,000 words a second, and sat back down.
