People on the Road

He stopped me on the road. “Are you a prophet?” “No” I replied, “I am just a small man trying to serve a big God.” His name was (still is I suppose:) Thaddyeus Thompson, pastor of St.Mary’s Christian Church. I liked him right off. Not many pastors stop me as a rule. He gave me his card and I told him that Lucyah and I would be worshipping at his church Sunday morning. Not sure if he viewed that as a promise or a threat but he did drive off in a happy mood.

It took a little doing but we found St. Mary’s. As we were driving in, Pastor Thompson was headed out. He has a 30 minute radio program every Sunday morning before church. We got there in time to take in Sunday School at 10:00am though. Worship started at 11:00 and ran to 1:30pm…..there was some great worship. I can’t tell you the name of the songs or the tunes but the thoughts behind the words still sing in my heart. Give glory to God, you saints, give glory to God! And always remember to never forget what Jesus has done for me!

There were a couple things I liked about Pastor T’s church. The music, the straight forward preaching and when it came time to take the offering…the ushers stood at the altar and the people got out of their seats and brought their offering to the altar of the Lord! Do I hear an “Amen!”

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She walked up to me as I was walking through town and put some money in my hand. She said that Jesus told her to give it to me. I am always amazed when folks do that…not because of the money. God always provides for us in some amazing way but because of their obedience.

Angela was a young woman in her twenties. She told me that she wanted more of God than just an hour on Sunday morning. For the last three years, she was working on a more intimate relationship with her Savior. When she saw a little guy dressed up like some guy in the Bible walking down the main street of her town, instead of getting away from the crazy little dude, she obeys an impulse that says, talk to him; sow some seed into his work.

When I asked her if I could pray for her, she said she’d like a prayer for her mother. I inquired if the need was for something physical. She looked down and slowly shook her head. “My mother is lost” she replied. After we prayed and Angela wiped away a solitary tear, we talked. She was so young and yet so sensitive to the nudging of the Holy Spirit; wise beyond her years. How blessed am I to walk the back roads of America and find God’s children disguised as ordinary people.