hotel.
it was hot
and every window was rolled down.
and i asked him,
“what is the one word
that describes your life?”
“can i give you two?”
he said.
he was old and gnarled,
about as beat up as his cab.
“yes,” i said.
“what are they?”
“bored
and unhappy.”
“sir,
why are those the two words
that describe your life?”
“i don’t know.
i guess ‘cause
i got nobody in the world.”
“nobody, sir?
no wife, no children, no family?
no one in the whole world for you?”
“no.”
“tell me, sir,
how did you get to be an old man
and have nobody?”
“ ‘cause i never got a good job
and no woman wanted me.”
“sir,
can i sing you a song?”
“sing?”
“i don’t have a very good voice,
but i know you’d like my song.”
“just a minute, please”
he rolled up his window,
then he nodded at me.
and i began to sing:
something beautiful,
something good.
all my confusion
He understood.
all i had to offer Him
was brokenness and strife.
but He’s making something beautiful
out of my life.
“sir,
do you know who i’m singing about?
Jesus Christ, He’s the Lord of my life
He laughs with me
and cries with me—”
“i’m a jew.”
“sir, He’ll walk with you
He’ll laugh with you.
He’ll be your friend.”
and just then we pulled under the portico of the next hotel
and i was fumbling in my purse for my money
when i saw this old hand reach out
and i let loose of the money in my purse.
i reached out and took his hand
almost afraid to look him in the eye
because i didn’t know what he would say.
i lifted my eyes to his
and he was crying.
“lady,
when i got in this old cab tonight
i was the loneliest person in the whole world.
i never heard anyone talk like you talked tonight
and i want your God.
He and i could ride together.”
and i crawled out of that old cab
knowing that somewhere in miami beach
an old, gnarled, wrinkled man
drives a beat up old cab.
but he doesn’t drive alone.
and i can hardly help but sing
when i know that the eternal God
is willing to invade an old cabbie’s life
and love him.
homesick gi
i boarded a plane in san antonio
and i had been speaking to 500 teenagers that week
and i was exhausted.
i asked the stewardess,
“would you mind if i had a seat by myself,
i’m just so exhausted.”
she said she understood
and she put me by a window
with the whole row cleared of everybody else.
i looked out the window,
i was going home,
and i love to go home.
i was going home knowing that 500 teenagers in texas
believed with me for my world.
and the sky was yellow and orange
and the sun was setting.
there were other people on board
but i just started to sing:
this is my story
this is my song.
i really felt like singing.
praising my Saviour
all the day long.
oh Jesus,
i want to sing about you.
i want people to hear me
sing about you.
this is my story
this is my song.
praising my Saviour
all the day long.
and out of the clear blue sky
i heard a man’s voice say,
“uh, ma’am,
do you hate to leave san antonio?”
and i turned around
and there was a young kid
and i wondered where he came from.
“uh-uh,
i don’t mind at all.
do you sir?”
“yes, ma’am, i do.”
his face got sober.
“you see, i just got back from viet nam
about two weeks ago
and i saw two of my best buddies
murdered