Last week I also wrote an article for a clergy magazine (how boring is that??) about leading through the tough times. Not that I know anything about that, really, but the editor seemed to consider me some kind of an expert. Of course, we all know the only true expertise I have is when it comes to telling the difference between a Krispy Kreme donut and some Wal-Mart knock-off or wanna-be.
Still . . . it's fun trying to write something that might contain an air of authority. I approach these kind of articles in much the same way I would approach trying to convince a fifteen-year-old boy that he should wash under his armpits. I arch my shoulders while I write, deepen my voice, and give the page a real whoopin'. I shout at the armpit ('er page) and tell the article that, if it doesn't shape up, I'm going to reach inside and pull out its liver with my bare hands.
But its tough writing as an authority. My wife always sticks her head into the office at midnight, bleary-eyed for lack of sleep, and asks, "What in the world are you yelling at?"