On Wednesday our team wanted to do something different. Our plan was to go to the night market, play some songs, and hold up signs saying “Free Prayer,” praying for anyone who asked for it.
I did not want to.
I didn’t want to practice songs on my mandolin because the mandolin is hard. I didn’t want to play worship music because I’m tired of hearing it all the time. I didn’t want to have signs saying “Free Prayer,” because people would just stare at us and laugh and be creeped out. I didn’t want to play music badly in a public place. I didn’t want to out because I was tired.
I said I didn’t feel like doing it, and my team said I didn’t have to. If I wanted to pray or do something else, that was fine. So I stared at the floor for a long time and said I’d just do it, because it felt like one of those times you’re supposed to cowboy up and stop complaining.
We went and sat on the steps to the mall around 8:00 and played the two songs we’d practiced: This Little Light of Mine and Lean on Me. Then we played other songs. Our guitar, mandolin, and ukelele weren’t always together and we didn’t sing very loud all the time, but we did play. We sang worship music, Adele, and Katy Perry. We sang songs we learned in Africa. We banged on stuff and sang When I’m Gone like Anna Kendrick in Pitch Perfect.
It was awkward and a little unpleasant. Jinnae and Courtney held up the “Free Prayer” signs and no one asked to be prayed for. We were seven white girls making noise on the steps to the mall and it was weird.
But it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was pretty cool, because even if we didn’t amaze people with our talent or bless people with prayer, we saw God show up in the humor of all that happened.
Two Malaysian women stopped and asked if we were World Racers. One of the women had a World Racer as a roommate and they both were worship leaders. They prayed for us before dashing off to a massage and told us to call them up when we got to Malaysia in November.
Tara took her straw hat and set it in front of us. “Put some coins in!” someone said. “Let’s see if we make money.” We laughed and laughed at that, because at this point, we were singing along with songs on my computer. But guess what? We made 60 Baht! That’s about two dollars, and enough to buy three roti, or two if you want Nutella on them.
A Chinese couple approached. The wife saw us and broke into a delighted grin. She just stood in front of us and stared for a few minutes. Her husband took a picture with his big camera. She sat down next to Jinnae and posed for a picture. She motioned to us to keep singing and her husband took a video. She put money in the hat. I do not know why she was so happy to see us.
A man came and asked us for a song and we played Lean On Me. He stood and listened to the whole thing and put money in the hat and thanked us.
We had been at it for an hour and a half and were putting away our instruments when a boy in an orange safety vestrode up on his bike. The bike was decorated with duct tape, and a Hot Wheels box was tied down in back. The boy–let’s call him D–had a stack of papers with a picture of him and something written in Thai. He handed one to us, and we asked what it said. But he didn’t answer. Instead, he elbowed his way into the middle of our group and motioned for Tara’s ukelele. He strummed it and gave it back and asked for Stephanie’s guitar, which he flipped over and started drumming on. He started singing, and stopped when we didn’t join him. We couldn’t figure out what he was saying, until we heard the familiar chorus:
“Oh! It’s Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” we exclaimed, and started singing along. But then D stopped us and indicated we were to start from the beginning. We didn’t know the words to the verse, so we sang, “na, na, na, na, na, na, na, I know! Blah, blah, na, na, na, na… I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?”
He had us sing several songs. Then he would take a break to show off a bewildering mastery of English profanity and strum the guitar, and then he would start up another beat. Then he sang a few solos, and all the while, people were stopping to photograph us. He had the strongest stage presence of any of us that night. He had to have done it before.
“Today,” said D, “is happy birthday for me! I am thirteen!”
We cheered for him. A rousing rendition of Happy Birthday commenced. Then D sang it again, and again.
After a half hour or so, D decided it was time to go, and said good night. We gave him our earnings for the evening and told him to have a happy birthday. Then we split up ourselves, some of us to bed, others of us to the market.
Do you know people that have the guts to do the kind of things that others just talk about? I admire people like that. I don’t even mean the big things like living in a teepee or buying a horse. I mean things like talking to strangers, and singing on the street corner. Instead of saying “Wouldn’t it be funny if…” they do the funny things. Or the spontaneous things. Or the hard things. Or the awkward things. Or the loving things. I like people like that. I aspire to be that person.
This story isn’t very dramatic or memorable compared to some of the stuff we’ve seen on the Race. But it is an example of one of those times where I was surprised by things turning out differently and better than I expected, and that’s what I mean when I say “God showed up.” When we set aside our pride and preferences and are willing to get a little awkward, God can elevate our clumsy, half-hearted (for me) actions to something better: tourists get excited. Passersby get a laugh. A kid gets a birthday present. We get blessed.
