Mythos, Logos, Ethos.

This is a paper I had to write for English. It is supposed to focus on Mythos, Logos and Ethos. The part I've included is supposed to appeal to Ethos or emotions, so to speak.
The lights are off but my mic is “hot.” There is no escaping what is to inevitably come next. I walk out on the stage, hit my mark and wait, for what seems like an eternity as the overture that has been playing since I stepped foot onto the stage ends and the part where I’m supposed to magically make music from my mouth begin. I’m waiting in the dark, but definitely not the silence. You can hear the audience whispering, a buzzing that never gets old. Heavenly Father, please help me to remember. Please help me to use the talents you’ve given me. My throat is tight and my saliva glands, which two seconds ago were as dry as the Atacama Desert, have turned into the Pacific Ocean, drowning me. This is my, what, twenty-sixth play in my life. Why in the world do I still feel like I don’t know what I’m supposed to do once the curtain opens? My mom’s voice rings through my head again, “You can't give up, it's a talent God has given you and it's not yours to waste." Everything is perfect, the costumes, the scenery, the make-up, the props…but there is something missing. My heart feels like it’s trying to escape out my throat and I’m shaking so badly that I think I might fall apart. And here it comes, the curtain opens and the stage lights are up. That something that was missing just a second ago is somehow there now. There is an overwhelming energy that flows through my body from the second I open my mouth, overpowering the shaky knees and sweaty hands. It’s like magic! There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s from the audience. Their energy is so addicting! The play goes on for another two hours, I know because we timed it twice during dress rehearsals, but I feel like it’s over too soon. During the curtain call, I’m handed a small but beautiful bouquet of roses. My Dad is smiling up at me. The tears come easily but not heavily to my eyes as the night ends. Closing night for another show, and to think I was afraid. I stand on the stage one last time before leaving and it’s just me. All alone on a stage where fright could’ve made me paralyzed but where God gave me strength. It’s like that every time. Because I have been given much I too must give. I have been given the talent to perform and so it’s my job to share it, despite my chronic stage fright. As the lights’ timer ends the room goes dark. The small aisle lights lead me to the open door at the back of the room. Thus shall my thanks be thanks indeed.

So what did you think?