I surprised Clint this weekend and showed up at church right before the service started. He looked at me like he didn't really believe I was there but would play along anyway. Then, as I grinned and wrapped my arms around him, he laughed and called me a punk. He still looked stunned after I had taken my seat in the pew. I felt satisfied and happy--more so than I thought I would. He told me later that he was glad he saw me before preaching. "Otherwise," he said, "there would have been a lot more awkward pauses, and everyone would have wondered why I wasn't making any sense." It's nice to know I have that effect on him.