Earlier today my cell phone bellowed out the UGA fight song. Since I was busy facebooking, I decided to let my voicemail pick it up. An hour later, I listened to my caller’s message.

“Scott, I got a distressing call today about a situation I think you may be right in the middle of.” Or I think that’s what the voice said. Hard to tell as it was breaking up a bit. No, I think that’s exactly what he said.

My heart skipped a beat. Why the constricted chest? I asked myself. Are you feeling guilty?

No. Not a bit. I have no bones hidden away, no corpses buried. Been faithful to my spouse. Handling of money has not been an issue. So why did I gulp for air? Probably the same reason our hearts race when a police car swerves in behind us. We can be driving the speed limit with our seat belt on and up-to-date tag, no open containers in the seat beside us, and still—still—expect those blue lights to start pulsating.

I punched in my friend’s number and got his voice mail. “Hey,” I said after the customary beep, “got your message. It kinda broke up on me. Call me.” I tried not to sound too edgy.

An hour felt like infinity, but finally my friend returned my call. But during that hour I imagined all kinds of nefarious reasons for the delay. Perhaps he is calling others asking for prayer as he has to confront me with some (unimaginable) sin issue. Perhaps he is gathering more concrete evidence. Those minutes dragggged by. Continue reading »