You know what's become almost a tradition in our wards? That moment when someone steps up to the pulpit, adjusts the microphone, and opens with: "Well, I didn't really have much time to prepare..." followed by a nervous laugh, as if we're all supposed to nod knowingly and find it relatable.
And maybe we do nod. Maybe we've even said it ourselves.
But can we talk about this honestly for a minute?
When you're asked to speak in sacrament meeting, you're not just being asked to fill 15-20 minutes of airtime. You're not a commercial break between musical numbers. You've been given something sacred—a stewardship, a trust, a moment that the Lord has orchestrated for reasons you might not even understand.
Because here's what we don't see from the pulpit:
That young mother in the third row who almost didn't come today because she's drowning and wondering if any of this even matters anymore. That teenager in the back who's questioning everything they've been taught and is here out of obligation, arms crossed, but still... listening. That recent convert sitting alone, hoping to feel something that confirms they made the right choice. That brother who lost his job and is wondering where God is. That sister whose faith is fracturing and this might be her last Sunday for a while.
They're all there. And they're all listening.
Your twenty minutes might be the only thing that reaches them. Your words might be the only ones the Spirit can use that day to whisper, "Stay. Keep going. You're not alone. This is real."
But that requires preparation. Real preparation. Not thrown-together-Saturday-night preparation. Not scanning-Gospel-Library-in-the-foyer preparation.
The kind of preparation where you've prayed about your topic. Studied it. Wrestled with it. Let the Spirit teach you first so He can teach through you second. The kind where you've asked yourself:
"What does my ward family need to hear? What has the Lord been trying to teach me that might bless someone else?"
We know D&C 38:30: "If ye are prepared ye shall not fear."
We apply it to food storage, to emergency preparedness, to temporal things. But what about spiritual stewardships? What about when we're literally standing as a representative of Christ's doctrine in front of His people?
The Spirit can magnify preparation. We've all felt that—when you've done the work and then something extra comes through, something you didn't plan, something perfectly tailored for someone you'll never know needed it.
But the Spirit shouldn't have to compensate for laziness. He shouldn't have to perform miracles to make up for our lack of effort when we had time, we had resources, we had noticed.
"To whom much is given, much is required" (D&C 82:3). And being given the pulpit? That's much.
Maybe it feels humble to admit we didn't prepare. Maybe it feels less intimidating, more casual, more relatable. But humility isn't the same as lack of effort. True humility is saying: "This calling matters so much, and these people matter so much, that I cannot take it lightly."
So the next time you're asked to speak and you will be asked, remember: You're not just speaking to a room. You're speaking to individual souls, each carrying burdens you can't see, each needing something you might be prepared to give.
Do the work. Say the prayers. Open the scriptures. Write it out. Edit it. Refine it. Prepare.
Because somewhere in that congregation, someone needs you to have taken this seriously.
And the Lord didn't waste the opportunity to put you behind that pulpit.
Don't waste it either.
-Felmore Flores
And maybe we do nod. Maybe we've even said it ourselves.
But can we talk about this honestly for a minute?
When you're asked to speak in sacrament meeting, you're not just being asked to fill 15-20 minutes of airtime. You're not a commercial break between musical numbers. You've been given something sacred—a stewardship, a trust, a moment that the Lord has orchestrated for reasons you might not even understand.
Because here's what we don't see from the pulpit:
That young mother in the third row who almost didn't come today because she's drowning and wondering if any of this even matters anymore. That teenager in the back who's questioning everything they've been taught and is here out of obligation, arms crossed, but still... listening. That recent convert sitting alone, hoping to feel something that confirms they made the right choice. That brother who lost his job and is wondering where God is. That sister whose faith is fracturing and this might be her last Sunday for a while.
They're all there. And they're all listening.
Your twenty minutes might be the only thing that reaches them. Your words might be the only ones the Spirit can use that day to whisper, "Stay. Keep going. You're not alone. This is real."
But that requires preparation. Real preparation. Not thrown-together-Saturday-night preparation. Not scanning-Gospel-Library-in-the-foyer preparation.
The kind of preparation where you've prayed about your topic. Studied it. Wrestled with it. Let the Spirit teach you first so He can teach through you second. The kind where you've asked yourself:
"What does my ward family need to hear? What has the Lord been trying to teach me that might bless someone else?"
We know D&C 38:30: "If ye are prepared ye shall not fear."
We apply it to food storage, to emergency preparedness, to temporal things. But what about spiritual stewardships? What about when we're literally standing as a representative of Christ's doctrine in front of His people?
The Spirit can magnify preparation. We've all felt that—when you've done the work and then something extra comes through, something you didn't plan, something perfectly tailored for someone you'll never know needed it.
But the Spirit shouldn't have to compensate for laziness. He shouldn't have to perform miracles to make up for our lack of effort when we had time, we had resources, we had noticed.
"To whom much is given, much is required" (D&C 82:3). And being given the pulpit? That's much.
Maybe it feels humble to admit we didn't prepare. Maybe it feels less intimidating, more casual, more relatable. But humility isn't the same as lack of effort. True humility is saying: "This calling matters so much, and these people matter so much, that I cannot take it lightly."
So the next time you're asked to speak and you will be asked, remember: You're not just speaking to a room. You're speaking to individual souls, each carrying burdens you can't see, each needing something you might be prepared to give.
Do the work. Say the prayers. Open the scriptures. Write it out. Edit it. Refine it. Prepare.
Because somewhere in that congregation, someone needs you to have taken this seriously.
And the Lord didn't waste the opportunity to put you behind that pulpit.
Don't waste it either.
-Felmore Flores
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