NYC: Part 1 of 8

This is one of an eight-part series about a  Southern man and his journey to New York City in 2001, sent there by God’s calling. These writings are based off his personal journal.

It was the summer of 2001 when the Lord spoke to my heart to go to New York City.  Admittedly, I was not very excited about the thought.  A friend of mine suggested that I go visit first before I committed to any extended period of time, just to test the waters.

So I did.  I decided to go for a weekend.

Thursday morning, my daughter took me to the Clarksville, TN bus station where I would board one of several buses that would take me to New York City.  On my way to the city, I changed buses five times.  I only rode with one other man.  He didn’t say a word throughout the entire 27 hour trip.  I assumed he either could not speak English or had some type of impairment.  So, I just prayed for him.

After arriving to New York City on Friday morning, I left the bus station and walked 13 blocks to the Times Square Church.  With luggage in hand, I arrived at the church.  I assumed that the main entrance would be on Broadway since that was the address that was given to me.  I was wrong.  After about 10 minutes outside of an annex of the church, I realized that I was at the wrong place and that I needed to be on 51st, where the main entrance was.  There was a man at the front who showed me where I could place my bags for the time being.

After setting down my bags, I decided to take a look around the city, though I did not go far.  I smiled at the people who passed by me, as is my usual custom, but only received one smile back the whole day.  Most chose to not even look at my face.  Oh well, I just prayed for the Times Square Church’s ministries and for the service that was to be held that night.

At 5:00 pm, I picked up my bags and went into the sanctuary.  An elderly African-American lady sat behind me.  I heard her speak to some other ladies, but it was not in a language that I could understand.  I think it was French.  As I was sitting there, singing softly, the same lady commented to me in English that I sang well.  Just as I thanked her, another man came over to me and asked if I could write down some things that God was speaking to him.  I was not sure of the man’s intentions, but I agreed anyway.  He wanted to pray first.  So we did.  Then he started speaking things out, and I wrote them down.  All of it was Scripturally based, and I enjoyed it.  He left and then returned to borrow my pen.  That was the last time I had an encounter with him.

The service started at 7:00 pm.  It was tremendous.  The pastor spoke on Corinthians and also alluded to Isaiah 54.  It was good stuff.  The woman behind me was very fruitful with the “amens.”  During the service, I could not find my Bible so I figured that I had lost it.  It just disappeared.  At the end of the service, I got up, and the lady behind me handed me my Bible.  Thank God!

As I was leaving the church, I asked around if there were any outreaches on Saturday.  Someone led me to the young adults group.  They were going to hand out tracts at a park around 11:00 am.  I would have to take the subway, I think.

After church, I figured that someone would just walk up to me and ask if I needed a place to stay.  That didn’t happen.  But I trusted that God would take care of me.  So, I went outside the main entrance and stood there, watching people talk to one another.  There was a woman sitting nearby asking people from money as they walked by.  A man talked to her for a little bit and came back with food from McDonalds.  It was a sight that encouraged me.

Pretty soon I was the only one standing in front of the church.  I walked across the street and sat on a wall next to the sidewalk.  At about midnight, I decided to look for a room.  The first couple of places had “no room in the inn” for me.  I went to another place and asked the man at the motel’s desk,

“Do you have any rooms, and how much are they?”

He replied, “Unda 15 dollars.”

He had a thick Indian accent.

“Is it a private room?”

“Yes,” he responded.

I slapped down a $20 bill.  Boy was that the wrong thing to do.  He started ranting and raving and saying,

“Are you crazy?  What is this $20 for?”

“You said under $15 didn’t you?”

This time he said more plainly, “I said one hundred and fifteen dollars!”

“Oh, I am sorry.  I misunderstood you.”

But he was not finished.

“Don’t you have a brain in your head?  You knew it would be more than $15!”

“Well, I thought that was awful cheap, but I wasn’t going to argue.  It sounded great to me.”

I apologized again and told him that Jesus loves him.  He told me that I needed to go next door.  I already knew they were full.

I decided to go back to the bus station.  This turned out to be a good move since I fit in with everyone waiting for a bus.  I found a bench, sat down, and tried to sleep.  About 1:00 am, a man told me that I had to move because that part of the building was closing.  I walked up three flights of stairs and found a place where a lot of people were waiting on buses.  Between people rolling their luggage next to me and a man telling me that they were going to clean the area around 3:00 am, I did not get much sleep.  But I still believed that God wanted me to be in New York City, and that He was going to do something good if I just kept my faith.

About 7:00 am on Saturday, I decided to go back on the streets and look for a place to stay.  I walked about seven blocks to 46th Street and found a Comfort Inn.  I asked if they had any vacancies.  The clerk laughed and told me that they were completely booked.  But he checked his computer anyway, just in case.

“Wait a minute.  Somebody just cancelled,” he said.

I looked up and noticed that check-in was not until 3:00 pm.  The clerk confirmed that it was too early for me to get into my room.  Then as woman arrived at the desk and said,

“I am here to work at 8:00 am.”

She was a maid.  The clerk looked at the time.

“You sure are lucky.  I will have your room ready at 8:30.”

I replied, “I think I have somebody watching over me.”

He laughed and gave me a coupon for a free breakfast.  After breakfast, I took about a two hour nap.  I then got up to go to the outreach in the park.  When I walked outside, it was pouring rain.  The outreach was cancelled.  I though about going to see some type of show, but they were asking up to $85 per ticket so I decided to go back to my hotel room and sleep some more.

I woke up Sunday morning around 7:00 am.  I made my way to a Starbucks that was right across the street from Times Square Church and had a cup of coffee.  A guy came and sat next to me and asked,

“What time do you usually get a seat?”

“This is my first time.”

“Well, in about ten minutes you won’t be able to get a seat in the main sanctuary.”

“When do you go?”

“I am in the choir.”

I finished my coffee and hurried across the street.  I sat down close to where I sat teh time before.  This time, I sat next to a lady named Lilly.  She drove from Brooklyn every week and was a wonderful, Godly lady.  She was facinated that I had come all the way from Tennessee.  For the next three services we sat, stood next to each other.  They were all amazing.

After the Sunday evening service, I met a lady from Romania.  We talked at Starbucks ’till about 10:00 pm.  I had ordered a regular decaf coffee, but somehow ended up with an espresso.  I had never had one before.  Do I add something to it or not?  There wasn’t much there, but man, it was strong!

At about 10:30 I walked the Romanian lady to where she would catch the subway by herself.  Somehow she thought nothing of getting on the subway late at night, all alone.  We said our goodbyes, and then I went back to the hotel and crashed.

I would soon get on the bus and head back to Tennessee.  I felt that God wanted me in New York City, at least for a little while.  Little did I know that my commitment to following God’s call would place me in a city where, shortly before my arrival, a single tragedy would dramatically change the landscape of American culture.