I had been preaching for more than two decades, and I should have been at the top of my game. The church I served ran up to 1,500 on Sunday mornings, and the live telecast of our services covered a fair portion of several states. Most of my colleagues thought I had it made, and if invitations to speak in other churches were any sign, they thought I could preach.

But I didn't.

My confidence was taking a beating as some of the leaders let me know repeatedly that my pulpit work was not up to their standards. That's when I got serious about praying for my preaching.

Each night I walked a four-mile route through my neighborhood and talked to the Father. My petitions dealt with the usual stuff—family needs, people I was concerned about, and the church. Gradually, one prayer began to recur in my nightly pleadings.

"Lord," I prayed, "make me a preacher."

Asking this felt so right I never paused to analyze it. I prayed it again and again, over and over, for weeks. Then, ...

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