I was looking for front-line credibility for this book, I needed someone punk rock.  I needed someone from the front lines, someone who is more comfortable sharing Jesus in a bar than in a cathedral, someone who knows the homeless man on the corner and has seen Jesus restore addicts and businessmen, prostitutes and pastors.  If I could describe in human terms what such a man looks like in the spirit, he would have an eye patch and smoke a pipe.  He would carry a chainsaw in a sheath on his back next to a pistol grip shotgun.  As he entered a room, Rage Against the Machine would play automatically to put demons on notice.  He'd be the kind of guy that you were at once scared of and safe with.  His tears are made of moonshine, and his arms are made of oak.  Of course, in the physical realm, such a man would be kind and unassuming.  He would lift Jesus up and rely on the Holy Spirit.  His love for people would be be supernatural, and his trust in God would be unmeasurable.   He would be relentless in his effort to make disciples and little else would matter.  That's the kind of guy I needed to write this foreword.