Ten years ago in West Virginia after a long day of leading the project, Eric Retterbush said to Clint, "We've got to go running before we go to sleep tonight."

It was 1:30 in the morning, but Eric put on his flip flops, and decided to run down the dark, windy streets of Panther anyway.  They were running along when all of a sudden, a wild-looking man jumped out of the bushes and began to spew vile language at them.

Clint was winded from the run, but boldly demanded, "Do you want to see the Father?"

"We can't see the Father," the man replied.

"Do you want to see the Father?!"  This time, Clint was yelling at the man.

"Show me the Father!" The man replied.

"Then look into my eyes."

The man stared into Clint's eyes and his spirit became calm, "I've never felt the peace I'm feeling right now," he declared.  "What is this?"

"It's the Father," Clint said, thinking of the time when Jesus said, "Have I been with you so long.  You've seen me, you've seen the Father." Clint wasn't equating himself with God, but he knew that God's light was reflected through his eyes. He knew that as a child of the most high, he carried God's presence and authority with him.

After they'd talked some more, the man said, "Do you want to come to my house?"

So they went to house, where, sitting on the tailgate of his pickup, the man offered to get his guitar and play for them.  He didn't want them to go; he didn't want the peace to go.  The man sat playing songs on his guitar and after a while noted, "The voices in my head have stopped talking to me."

Clint asked, "Do you want them to go for good?"

They stayed with the man for three hours before heading back home. And when they left, the authority they carried with them lingered.

Clint's story leaves me with this question: Whose authority do I carry with me? Do people feel the presence of the Father because they've been with me? How would you answer that question?