Wednesday, July 20, 2011


I was in Nashville the weekend before I left the East Coast. A burling looking, tattooed, and bearded fellow approached me during the closing worship songs of a church service I had joined my friend in attending. This fellow was Irish; his hair, skin, and freckles betrayed him and his eyes twinkles merrily above his cracked, toothy smile. “You have something big coming up don’t you? What is it, I am supposed to listen to you and pray for you as you head into this thing,” he explained. I was quite taken aback at this verbiage, naturally. How could he have such boldness in approaching a perfect stranger? What compelled him to climb over chairs and rustle through a crowd to find me, only to put such a strange set of words before me? What if I had responded, “Get away from me, you lunatic!”? This fellow had noticed me enter the building, and from that point had determined that I required a hearing and prayer. Nothing would frustrate his plans to reach me. Nothing would deter him from obedience.

Retroactive post.


I’ve come back to the word over and over these past few weeks. Perhaps it is simply a nice word choice for “anxious”; I hope not. There is no concern regarding the choice, or the decision to go. It is the unknown, the fear of failure, the desire to be genuine in the face of hypocrisy that causes said apprehension.