On Sunday afternoon before worship, I ran over to Gingko Coffeeshop to pick up a friend. On my way in, a trio of clerical-wearing men waved at me. Kindly smiling, they called me over. "Are you a pastor?" (Clerical collars=obvious give-away). "I am." For a split second, I became nervous. Maybe they were leading me into a trap. Maybe when they heard "ELCA," they would berate me for hanging around a church who preaches that the Gospel is big enough for all of us.Â Maybe they don't like Lady Preachers. Although I don't feel like I need to be defensive Â in situations like this,Â it does make me awfully tired. "Really, you want to spend energy on THIS conversation? AGAIN?" Â However, that anxiety was short-lived. What they really wanted to know is where I serve. And what the church is like--and to tell me how proud they are of me and of our little church. Sheesh. I wanted to cry. Three priests in a coffeeshop--giving us their blessing and promising to pray for us. Well, that's just lovely.