Wooden roadways in Montana (Photo credit: N Vision Photos)

I was walking into town one day, in Troy Montana.  As I came into a straight street, I saw a man walking toward me.  He looked dirty.  His beard was long.  His clothes were rag-tag.  And his hair was long.

I crossed over to the other side of the street, as if I would cross the rail yard.  But before the terrain would let me cross the yard, he and I passed by each other.

I was busy trying not to be there.  I didn’t want to talk to him.  All I wanted to do was what I had come to town to do.  But he had no respect for my fear.

“Don’t be afraid of what you don’t understand”, he said to me.  I just looked at him and nodded.  Going on my way as fast as subtle feet of panic could take me.

Are you afraid of what you don’t understand?  Do you fear what the Lord has graciously given me to write?   Do you think that behind these words there lurks a monster of a man?  Or are you irritated that I just refuse to disappear?  I may not be as hideous as you think.  And the words I am given to write may just taste pretty good after all.

By His Grace.