The Nervous Rebel

So, I've got this conference we will be promoting fast and furious real soon. In about 70 days, we've got a big show to put on, and we've got friends, and fames travelling from other places to speak, and the conference is another pushing the edges kind of thing. We've named it "God for People Who Hate Church." Some people love the name and the idea of the conference, others are freaked by the word "hate."

As a new endeavor, and something bigger than we've done before I am quite nervous. As an event which challenges the way, and the spirit in which we do church, I am happy to be a part of it, and all the more nervous as well. As someone who typically hates Christian conferences - for leaders especially (because they never treat leaders like leaders - they only set up talking heads, and ignore people who might have far more to say), I am fearful of setting up another silly talking heads event - oh Lord save me from that - Please!

So once again, as has been the model of my life - I am the nervous rebel.

Is this What a War Veteran Feels Like?

I wrote my e-mail response quickly, and nervously. I glanced over my left shoulder with a quick, jerky movement. Over my left shoulder is where I can see people coming in the front doors.

Although I wrote quickly, and nervously, it took me a long time. The more hurried I became the longer it took. I always mess up my typing if I am going too fast, and words like "concern" look something like "cnecrn."

I glanced over my left shoulder again.

I finished the first paragraph, and stopped. I reread it quickly to look for places which could possibly be misconstrued. I decided that I did not like what I wrote. I deleted a sentence, and changed the other 3, but then I removed 1 more sentence, and quickly added a new one, which I removed as soon as I had finished it. I reread it slowly trying to concentrate on the words, but they went past my eyes like tracer rounds in the night sky.

I rubbed my forehead and eyes with my hand. I twisted my head and neck trying to release the tension, and there were little cracking sounds, but they were not fully satisfactory.

I glanced quickly over my left shoulder.

After repeating the same process for four short paragraphs, I saved the e-mail as a draft.

"Should I send it to Jeff?" I asked myself. I am getting tired of sending everything to Jeff, but who else can I ask for advice on how to say this?

I did not send it to Jeff this time. I just saved it to think about it.

I will come back and read it again, and send it to Jeff after I have my thoughts together more clearly.

Is this what a war veteran feels like? I have heard tales of men coming home from war, and walking around the perimeter of a parking lot, to keep their backs against a wall. It's safer to walk around the edges, that way you only have to monitor 180 degrees of vision, and nothing can come up from behind.

I glanced nervously over my left shoulder again.


(In dealing with a series of false accusations, I have had many vacillating emotions. This is a part of considering how those emotions mess with the human psyche. Otherwise, I suppose I am as messed up as I sound. Well, not really, I'll survive. No, wait, I do believe in the sinfulness of humanity - though not in the strict Calvinistic sense, so I guess I am really as messed up as I sound, but don't get big headed over it. So are you.)