When a Nashville Christian book store manager headed to Florida to man a booth at a Reformed University Fellowship event, I volunteered to help a day at the store in his absence. It was an interesting, gratifying day, as I did my best to assist his wife, performing a variety of tasks—breaking down shipping boxes for recycling; calling folks to let them know their special orders were in; helping load a bulk order into a customer’s trunk; shelving books in the right sections.

As I was loading flattened boxes into the back of my dear old 2012 Ford Escape (270,000 miles), I noticed a window washer at work on the store’s front, and I enjoyed the acoustical guitar music playing on his phone. They reminded me of the Andrés Segovia recordings I’d heard years ago. I remarked on the numbers he’d selected and asked if he was doing just that store’s windows. (And no, he was available to others who might pay him.)

Thus began a conversation that blessed me big time. (And no, we didn’t talk that long since I had a job of my own to do, but long enough for the blessing.) He could see my Christian connection from the establishment I was serving, and he was ready to give me his testimony, one which started with his high school graduation in 1970. He lived in Mount Vernon, New York, but as soon as he got the diploma, he hit the road.

His plan was to hitchhike across the country to seek out a hippy commune in California. But, out on the New Jersey Turnpike, he found a ride with someone heading to Kentucky. The driver told him there was a commune he might like in Lexington, so he agreed to try it out. I believe he said it was located downtown, was comprised largely of grads from Cumberland College (since 2005, University of the Cumberlands), and bore the name, “Christ is the Answer.” Anyway, in short order, they led him to the Lord, and he’s never looked back. God’s blessed him and his wife with fine children and grandchildren, and he’s happy to fill you in on those.

His demeanor and readiness—even eagerness—to talk about the Lord testifies to his walk and, again, is a blessing to us who spend even a little time with him.

The next day, Sharon and I drove down to Auburn to see relatives, and we found ourselves in Wednesday night prayer meeting at the city’s wonderful Lakeview Baptist Church, where my son and his family are members. At one point in the hour, the leader invited folks to stand and give praise updates, prayer requests, and such. Though a visitor, I thought I’d pitch in a one-minute version of my Nashville encounter, and it turned out to prompt a follow-up story from one of the regulars. He runs a rescue-mission ministry, and he told the prayer gathering of the sad task he had before him—performing funerals for two of his contacts who didn’t make it. But after the meeting, he was pleased to recall to me the fellow who ran that Lexington ministry. Of course, I was struck by the way in which, within a three-day period, I’d gotten “random” reports in cities hundreds of miles apart on the fruitfulness of a very-specific gospel work in a city hundreds of miles in the other direction.

All in all, a strong reminder that the slightest witness and invitation, e.g., a comment to a hitchhiking kid on a Yankee turnpike, can make all the difference in this world and in the world to come.