I’ve only written a handful of songs in my life. Ten days ago, God began swirling lyrics around in my mind. I whipped out my journal and wrote these words to God, “For some reason I can’t shake these words about pain from my mind. I feel You giving me lyrics for a song. God, I’m nervous. But speak to me, give me lyrics that will touch hearts.”
After I wrote these words, my team left for a prayer walk around the city. I stayed behind so I could give my injured toe a rest. With my journal in front of me and a pen in hand, I quickly began writing the words that were consuming my brain. My hand was shaking as I wrote because I knew the lyrics were not from me, and I knew they were meant to be shared with many people; this song was for prostitutes and for the men who came to use the prostitutes.
Once my teammates returned an hour later, God had given me all the lyrics, the melody, and the chords for the song. I waited a few days to tell my team members about it merely because I was afriad. I didn’t want to sing it in front of them, let alone in front of a bunch of men and women in prostitution.
For the next several days, God kept speaking the word “bar” to me. He reminded me of the second time I walked down Walking Street and my team member Carmen looked me in the eyes and said, “We should play in a bar.” While I considered it for a moment, I quickly brought myself back to reality. The Christian band, Blue Tree (who wrote the song “God of This City”), was able to play in a bar on Walking Street, only under the condition that 100 people would come with them to buy drinks from the bar. I told God that I didn’t know 20 people in Pattaya, let alone 100 people that would commit to going to a bar while I played a song. Regardless of how many people I knew, God would not let up on the bar idea.
So on Wednesday night, my team walked the length of Walking Street, praying for God to reveal which bar He wanted us to pursue. Once we reached the end of the street, we discovered that none of us had felt any specific leading. My teammate Nikki suggested we ask every bar that had an area for a band to play. So that is what we did. 
The first bar worker we asked told us they had a house band that played every night, so we wouldn’t be able to play. After we left the bar, the woman came running after us and gave us the owner’s number. We all looked at each other and started laughing, excited that there was a possibility this could actually happen.
The second bar we asked didn’t give us a number, but gave us an audition on Friday at 10pm.
All I could do was drop my jaw in complete shock! The bar owner had just given us an audition at the busiest time on Walking Street. In our minds, this was no audition; we had just been given the opportunity to worship God in a bar on the most heavily populated street of prostitutes in the world. 
A few short hours before our audition, my team gathered together to practice for the first time. We played each song through a couple times and then prayed for some divine musical talent. Considering it was most of my team members’ first time playing their instruments, we desperately needed the Holy Spirit to take over.
At 9pm we grabbed our instruments – a guitar, three bongo drums, a pair of drum sticks, and a shaker – and headed to our audition. As we made our way through Walking Street, my stomach became more and more anxious. Feelings of unbelief, shock, excitement, doubt, and nerousness flooded me all at once. All I could think was, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Once we arrived at the bar, Utopia Rock House, I stood across the street and stared. It was as if my feet were planted to the ground. I froze in place . . .
