Mission Trip 2

I was sitting on a counter playing my guitar. This was not that shocking of an activity. I play guitar all the time. It is what I do. But this was different. This was monumental. This was defining. Everything that had happened in my life all lead me to this exact spot at this exact time. It was a perfect moment of God's will, His questionless plan in action. And I was at the center of it. Me and my guitar. On a counter. In the Jesus to the World Soup Kitchen. I played my guitar for homeless people as they ate their soup.

What's the big deal you ask? What could be bigger. I wasn't just playing. I was serviving. I was playing my heart out. I sang my songs with every ounce of feeling I could manage. I played on and on. No breaks. I played till my fingers bleed. I sang till my voice cracked. I played on. I served. I served with everything I had.

I am reminded of the Christmas song, the Little Drummer Boy.

Little Drummer Boy

Katherine K. Davis, Henry Onorati and Harry Simeone

Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum
A new born King to see, pa rum pum pum pum
Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

So to honor Him, pa rum pum pum pum,
When we come.

Little Baby, pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum
I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
That's fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum,
On my drum? Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum
The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum

I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my drum.


I was that boy. I was playing my heart out... not just to homeless people, people of the streets, the lost and forgotten of Denver, but I played also for Jesus. I played as if He was there at the stable. I played as if he were there thirsting in desert. I played as if He were there dying on the cross. And I played my best for him.

I looked into their eyes. Some where repelled by my words of Jesus and forgiveness and unconditional love. Others were indifferent, just wanting to eat their soup and listen to the sound of guitar. But in a few, in a very select few, I saw the fire of the Spirit burning in their eyes. It was amazing. There is a girl that I know that when she worships the light of the Living Lord blazes in her eyes. She worships with a hand held high and her held tilted to the side. I saw that same fire in the eyes of a man with a Desert Storm hat. I heard it in the words of encouragement from the men and women as they left, and one very special man thanked me in a way I'll never forget.

It was the end of my last day at Jesus to the World. I was finishing up a four hour session of playing. A homeless man, an ageless man of the streets, came to me and said, "Thank you brother for blessing us with your gift of music."

I thanked him. As he approached me he held out his hand and I shook it only to find a crumpled dollar hidden in his palm. He said, "That is just my small way of saying thanks for blessing us with your gifts."

I tried to argue. I wasn't going to take money from a homeless man! I was there to serve not to get rewards. But then he said that he had been a musician and he knew what a sacrifice it is to give your creativity to others and how blessed he felt to have eaten there that day.

I thanked him for the dollar and patted him on the back as he turned to leave. As he left he turned and said, "That was my last dollar." and he slipped out through the door.

I wept. I played my best for him. I played my best for Jesus. I was used by the Lord that day. I touched a heart. Thank you, Jesus.

I felt at home with these people. No longer were they scary. No longer were they poor, homeless, dirty, dangerous. They were my audience. Children of God. And I served them. I want to be the vessel again.