This morning I was in the post office mailing a book manuscript off to a publisher and the man behind the counter, Curtis, an older post office employee who has a goatee and wears purple glasses asked me what the book’s about. I told him and he said, “I am a believer, and I’ve discovered that the only way is the life in the Spirit.”
I agreed, started to say something, then didn’t really have words come to mind to add and stammered then just kept quiet. Had I lost my nerve to say something about faith or Jesus, even in front of a confessed believer? Or was I doing what my grandpa Ross taught me: when you don’t have anything to say, don’t put words in the air. Should I have had words to say, been ready to “give account”?
I had never said anything to this man except, “I’d like that priority mail” or “how much less is the price if you don’t send my package through the meat grinder before delivery?” or somesuch phrase.
He said “I write poetry, and I’d like you to read something I’ve written.” I said, “We don’t publish much poetry but sure, send it, I’d like to read it…you know my address.”
If Curtis gets the courage to mail a poem to an editor who doesn’t publish poetry, maybe I will learn more about his faith, learn something from him, find out why I had nothing to say, then perhaps we will fellowship about the savior we were talking around.