I’ll ’fess up. I plain didn’t like Terence (can’t tell you his real name, of course). I didn’t like the way he walked or talked. I couldn’t stand the way he moved around with a swagger, swinging his arms confidently and looking left and right as if he ran the whole church. I didn’t like the way he spoke like he knew better than any of us. Even his questions seemed to smack of condescension, as if our answers would never satisfy him completely. At best, he’d nod as if to say, “It’s not the best answer, but I’ll have to do with whatever you can give.” [Click here to read].