The Rescue

I'm going to teach the gospel doctrine class this Sunday. Yikes. Actually, I'm looking forward to it. I usually do feel positive about these kinds of things until about a 1/2 hour beforehand when I start violently convulsing. Luckily there is a manual, I know of some good sources, and I have some left over Klonopin from way back when.

So the lesson begins at the time when Joseph (coat of many colors) is now 430 years long gone and Israel is in bondage by the Egyptians. The lesson can be found HERE. The lesson plan suggests to have someone share a personal experience of rescue. I thought about rescue in my life. What has been my most dramatic rescue?

Flashback to February of 1997. I was a new 12 year old beehive and eligible to go to the stake youth Valentine's Day dance. I'd only been 12 for about a month and the whole boy-girl activity combo was so new and exciting.... and frightening. My best friend was 9 months younger than I, which meant I'd be rockin the dance floor solo. As soon as mom dropped me off, the moment I hopped out of the van, the excitement for the activity drained in exponential increments. In less than a minute flat I was left alone to fend for myself in the sea of goober-boys.

The dance was crowded and, as I wandered in, a slow song came on. I walked through the double doors, looked up and caught Stuart's eyes. I knew what that look meant. It didn't take much prior experience to recognize the penetrating question in his eyes. I had been born 12 years ago, not yesterday. In that blinking moment, the spirit screamed "RUN, you fool". Well, maybe it wasn't the spirit but whatever it was, I listened. Terror sank in and if I would have known what Klonopin was at the time, I would have been begging it from anyone I passed by.

In an overcrowded gym, one can only run/shuffle away so quickly. Luckily, I made my escape into the hall to get a quick drink. It only takes about 2 seconds to get a drink so I circled around the building and entered the gym from another door. How naive to think that I could have escaped the dance-proposal skills of the cunning Stuart. Before I could get ahold of myself and the situation, I found myself in the arms of my pursuer.

Bravely choking the tears back, i caught the last 30 seconds of the song with him then jogged/stumbled to the phone in the hall. Now, you may laugh and scoff, thinking, "Tears? Heh." I'm not lying though. This was traumatic for me. I called my mom and told her with that ugly-cry voice to "Come get me NOW." Needless to say, I waited outside for her.

My mom was the best rescuer ever. She was so reassuring and comforting on the way home as I choked back the tears (she was probably cracking up while I wasn't looking). She took me back to the safety of home and nurtured and nursed me back to strength without the aid of Klonopin... and life went on. I'm so grateful my mom rescued me from the dangers and trauma of the dance floor. Man, I owe her.

Now, how to fit this into the Sunday school lesson...