Before we go much further, I probably ought to let my close followers know how the radio show went. It went great. And not only that, but a couple of very interesting events occurred immediately before and after the interview.
Not having done a radio interview since 1987, I was extremely nervous. I was so nervous, I had a hard time praying before the show. I was grabbing a bite to eat at the Courtyard, when I prayed: “Lord, please let me run into another believer who will pray for me, because I cannot pray.” (Ironically, when I said, “I cannot pray,” I was praying.)
I believe that prayer was heard. I had barely taken one step out the door of the Courtyard, when someone locking their bicycle said hi to me. But I didn’t recognize her with helmet and haircut. As she took off the helmet, I realized she was Amanda from my church.
So I explained the situation and asked her to pray. Then I got to the studio right on time, and the entire event flowed beautifully. It wasn’t perfect, of course. But it was a lot better than I’d feared!
Immediately after the three hour event was over, I went to the bathroom and thanked the Lord. Then I asked Him what I should do next. (I’ve been doing that a lot lately, because I’m such a space case I often don’t know what the next logical thing to do is.)
The still small voice clearly said: “Relax and rejoice.” I’d never heard that combination before. But it sounded right to me.
As I left the studio, an incredible peace came over my entire being. It was the most peace I had felt in my spirit since the day when I played the entire score on the piano of Dan Bukvich, the noted composer and percussionist. His reply had been: “We gotta get this thing staged!”
After that, I was at peace for about six hours. I’m not a person who ordinarily experiences that depth of peace. (In case anyone hasn’t noticed, I’m one of those “high strung space cases.”)
This time, the peace was not quite so enduring. But while I was immersed in a blissful peace, approximately five minutes after I had left the studio, I saw a fellow with a backpack, and I heard a familiar phrase.
“Hey, you dropped your smile!”
This expression was used a lot by panhandlers in Berkeley, during the years when I was homeless there. Sometimes people were offended. In this case, the young woman merely smiled. You see, we have only one visible homeless person in this entire town. So it’s very unusual to run into a homeless chap up here.
Smiling, I asked him: “Did you just say, ‘you dropped your smile?””
“Yeah! Are you homeless?”
“Me neither. I just got myself a small house on the edge of town, after being homeless in Seattle for years.”
After a brief but warm conversation, we parted ways. I then reflected on how this sudden radio show had come about. I had played a song at the Open Mike which we hold on the last Friday of each month in the quiet little Art-positive hamlet in which I dwell. Then I found myself shooting the breeze with one of the other participants in the event, and it turned out he needed somebody for his radio show the following day.
The song that he heard, by the way, was this:
“Simple Love Song” © 1976, 2019 by Andrew Michael Pope
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