(I know you are reading this on Thursday, but I wrote it on Monday, so back off.)

I’ve never used illegal drugs, but the way I feel on most Mondays is the closest thing to coming down that I’ll (hopefully) ever experience. Perry was explaining to me the other day how much adrenaline is released into your system when you speak in front of a large crowd (he’s smarter than me, and I didn’t understand the terminologies he was using, but it was a lot), and how, when you multiply that over multiple services in just a few hours, it wreaks havoc on your body.

Then there’s the mental triathlon of trying to bring the same focused intensity to the task of preaching three times back to back. Trying to remember whether you’ve already covered a certain point in a certain service, and trying to reconstruct the same sermon for 3 different crowds and stay fresh in your delivery… it’s mind bending, for me.

Add to that the after effects of the spiritual battle that you must fight through to be able to preach the message, and it’s a recipe for near meltdown come Monday morning!

On Sunday afternoons, my state of mind is somewhere between exhilarated and exhausted, over-energized and over-depleted. My body is dog tired, but I usually can’t fall asleep for a nap because my mind and my spirit are wide awake. I have the annoying ability to replay everything I said in all three services in slow motion, and the even more annoying propensity to wish I could go back and say it all better.

The privilege of preaching takes all you’ve got: body, soul, and spirit.
There’s nothing like it in the world. It’s the highest of highs. And the psychological aftermath sometimes results in very low lows.

But I’m addicted… and there’s nothing I’d rather do.