I didn’t fall in love with preaching right away.

If I’m honest, I still resist it.

For a long time, I described myself as “a great number two.” I said it half-jokingly, but I meant it. Preaching feels like something other pastors were made for. People with natural confidence, clear voices, and an ease in the pulpit that I could never seem to find. Fear taught me how to stay small, and I listened.

Preaching has always been a struggle for me. Not because I don’t love the Word of God. Not because I don’t love God’s people. But because standing up there week after week, opening my mouth, and trusting that something faithful will come out feels like offering up my insides.

It’s taken me about two and a half years to find my voice, if “find” is even the right word. Maybe it’s more accurate to say I stopped trying to borrow someone else’s. But somewhere along the way I began to realize that comfort wasn’t the goal, faithfulness was.

There have been plenty of weeks when the text didn’t cooperate. Weeks when I stared at the screen, waiting for something brilliant that didn’t come. Weeks when the sermon felt unfinished as Saturday night arrived. And still, Sunday came. It always does.

That’s one of the most humbling truths of this calling. Sundays don’t wait for my confidence. The calendar never pauses because I’m stuck, tired, grieving, or afraid. The people gather. The Scripture is read. The pulpit stands there, asking me yet again, “Will you trust God enough to speak anyway?”

I believe that preaching is one of the most gut-wrenching acts of faith I know. Not because it’s more important than walking with people through weddings or divorces, hospital rooms or gravesides, but because it asks me to believe that God will meet me in my inadequacy publicly, every week.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve stepped into the pulpit, legs trembling, thinking, “I don’t think I can do this.” But somehow, grace has a way of showing up in the places I try to hide. A conversation after worship. A quiet “thank you, I needed that.” A reminder that God doesn’t require brilliance, only honesty and trust.

Preaching has taught me that my voice matters. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s humbly and faithfully offered. I’ve finally realized that God doesn’t need me to be fearless or perfect, just willing. Even my trembling hands can carry good news.

I’m still learning. I’m still growing. Most Sundays still scare me. But I no longer call myself “a great number two.” I call myself a preacher who keeps showing up, trusting that God will, too.

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Published in the July 2026 issue of For the Messengers.

Rev. Tawni Garcia serves as Senior Pastor of First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Mesa, Arizona. She is passionate about preaching that is honest, hope-filled, and shaped by God’s grace. You can find her on Facebook, on Instagram @tawnigarcia, and on YouTube @FirstChristianChurchofMesa.