Granted, I’ve never been to a Billy Graham crusade and I am probably a terrible Christian for even admitting I don’t know that much about them to validate if this actually happens or not.

However, as I’ve had the opportunity to speak at several churches in a variety of services, I’ve noticed how easy it is to get caught up in how people are responding and thinking it has something to do with me.

(Case and point: My Encounter with Church Sleeping Man).

Recently I spoke at a college and young adult service about the freedom that comes with confession; the healing that takes place when we share our brokenness with others (James 5) and at the end, I turned the service over to the pastors and leaders at this church to pray with anyone that needed it.

I walked off the stage, sat in a chair, and buried my head in my hands praying for the people at the service while trying to overcome the temptation to look around.

I assumed that since I was a guest speaker, the people at the service would feel more comfortable praying with the pastors they knew, but a few moments after sitting down, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I sat up, expecting to see a staff member or maybe someone to take my mic but instead was met by the tear-stained face of a beautiful young woman.

Instantly, I leaned over to hold her for a moment and her body began heaving in my arms as she wept. Her tears rolled off her face and landed on my jeans, one by one. I could feel them as they drenched the denim and melted onto my skin.

Pulling back from her, I asked her what her name was and if there was something I could pray for her. Given the story I shared from stage, about the addiction I faced when I was in my teens and twenties, I assumed she needed to confess something about that.

But what came out of her mouth surprised me.

“I just don’t feel like I’ll ever be good enough.”

I had to catch my breath just a little.

I’ve been healthy enough for a few years to talk about addiction but the feeling of insecurity and worthlessness is a chain of mine that I wonder will ever break.

Inhaling deeply, I leaned back in, silently begging for words of truth. Scriptures I don’t even know by memory began to flow out of my mouth and my heart. I felt as if I were praying them not just for her – but for me.

When I confessed the lies she said were in her head (Not good enough, not worthy enough, will never be enough) I discovered I was confessing them for me as well.

The passage in James says, “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed.”

Interesting.

I was supposed to be there to help other people confess…to help other people take a step into freedom.

It just goes to show how powerful confession is.

Here I was with a complete stranger, and we were both confessing, praying, and were beginning a path of truth together.

Together, whole and healed.

——-

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*Even though the crazy-eyed freeze frame implies it, I will not eat you.

Or, if you’re lazy and don’t watch videos…

3100 miles + 2 months in the Summer + Bike + Raising $$ for Water in Africa = Me on the Ride:Well 2010 Tour.

Learn more or come on the trip with me.

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To celebrate the fourth printing, I’d like to offer you guys a chance to buy an autographed copy for just $10. The book is normally $16.99 (or around $14+ shipping if you buy it online) so I figure with Christmas coming up, maybe it would be a great idea to give to your staff or ministry team or parents or children or a friend.

This offer won’t last forever. If you want to get the $10 price, you’ll need to purchase it by November 14. They will ship a few days later.

If you want to buy 20 or more copies, I’ll discount it even deeper to $8.50 per book. If that’s you, email me.

To order, use the PayPal form below!

Name to be Autographed

–

If you don’t want to wait to get the book, you can always just get it on Amazon here. Or read some reviews if you’re not sure if it’s for you!

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My flight got in after dark on Saturday night because of some delays, and being on my own plus the torrential rain storm that hit the Northeast, I decided that paying a little more for a cab instead of taking two trains and two subways would be a safer way to get to my hotel.

I’ve ridden in cabs in pretty much every major US city (and Delhi, India for that matter) and each experience is remarkable in some way.

This trip was no exception. After hearing I looked like a movie star (it must have been my no-make up face and airplane-frizzed hair), the driver asked if I was married.

“Yes. Six and a half years. To a very good, very protective man.”

“That is a long time,” he said. “You must get bored of him. Do you ever cheat?”

“No. He’s a very funny guy, so I don’t get bored. Plus I love him. Are you married?”

“Yes. Three years. We just had a newborn. We don’t have the sex now. So I cheat on her with a customer. I am bored. I have no choice.”

Oh. Expletive.

“You don’t have a choice?”

“No. Men are different. We see a beautiful woman and we have to have the sex. Even if we watch the movie with a beautiful woman. It warms us up and we need to have the sex. I don’t want to cheat, but I can’t stop myself.”

Oh. Expletive. Expletive.

“How long have you been driving a cab?” I ask, changing the subject and wondering if I jumped out of the cab if I could run to the 34th street station without him chasing me.

“Five years. That is how I met the girlfriend. She knows I’m married but she doesn’t care. She’s 42. I’m only 29. I like the older women. She says they are called cougars.”

“I’ve heard that. How did you meet your wife?”

“It was arranged marriage.”

“Do you love her?”

“Oh very much. She is very beautiful. But I am bored.”

“Does she know you cheat on her?”

“No,” he laughs. “She would get very mad. So you never cheat. Your husband, does he cheat?”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t.”

“All men cheat. They just lie about it. They keep their actions the same so you don’t know. Even priests.”

“Really?”

“All the time.”

I glanced around to see where we were.

Madison and 34th.

We still had a long. Way. To. Go.

I tried to redirect the conversation several times, but this guy had his mind set on one thing. Even though it was extremely inappropriate and unprofessional, I still felt safe. But more than that I felt heartbroken for him.

I mean after all, he said he didn’t want to cheat.

He felt like he didn’t have the strength to say no.

Somehow we got on the topic of smoking. He said he smoked. I asked him if he ever wanted to quit and he said he did. Sometimes for months, but he’d always go back. I told him that if he had enough will power to stop smoking, maybe he was strong enough to not cheat too, if he really didn’t want to.

“I believe you can be strong.”

He didn’t believe me.

“The sex is different,” he said.

And I know smoking and sex - the sex – are different. I don’t work in a church anymore, and I try to spend more time now in conversations with people who don’t go to church much (or at all) or that go to different types of churches than I do.

I thought I was out of the bubble, but the truth of the matter is these ninety minutes in a cab showed me how much I still live a very sheltered, very southern, very bubbled life.

My cab driver is the world outside of my safe little sanctuary.

My cab driver needs hope.

And faith.

And strength.

And truth.

We arrived at my hotel. I gave him a huge tip and thanked him for driving me in the rain so safely. He told me I looked like a movie star again and then he drove off.

Saturday night, the ninety minutes outside the bubble had a profound effect on me.

Just how much am I open to serving in uncomfortable, awkward and maybe even unsafe situations? How many times do I pretend I’m doing good simply by being good or protect myself by keeping to the same, safe people all the time?

From my hotel window, I keep staring out at the galaxy of city lights & feeling so very tiny yet so very determined to make every moment & every word count for love, regardless of where I am, or who I’m with, or how uncomfortable it may be.

—–

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Really quiet.

The manuscript for Permission to Speak Freely is due in a couple of weeks, and I’m traveling to six cities (from San Diego to NYC and everything in between) and speaking while trying to finish writing the book…so…it’s been a bit hectic, but wonderful and stretching at the same time. I am looking forward to some much needed down time over the holidays!

Last night I spoke at The Walk, which is the college & young adults ministry at Sevier Heights Baptist Church in Knoxville, TN. It was an honor to hang out with these students (have I told you lately how much I love college students? It’s a lot.) and share with them a bit about what God has shown me during my trips to Uganda and India and what the Bible says is our responsibility for caring for the poor as an act of worship and transformation.

Something very cool they did to launch the series last night (It’s called A Message that Sticks), was make a mural out of post-it notes. This mural has around 30,000 post-its on it (each post-it representing one of the 30,000 children that die daily from starvation), and the little boy is named Moises and he lives in Haiti.

—

—

I never knew that so many random, seemingly trivial things could be put together to make something so beautiful.

Or, wait.

Maybe I did.

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