Nashville.

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.