Another unusual incident happened one day when we were in Nashville. Plenty had managed to scrape together a couple hundred dollars to send to David and Michelle. It wasn’t as much as they wanted, but it would help. We were in Nashville solely to wire the money to them. As we walked through the business district toward the Western Union office a limousine pulled alongside us and stopped. One of the darkly tinted windows rolled down and an older man extended his hand toward us. In it was an envelope.
“Here,” he said, “take this. I’m not sure why I’m giving this to you, but God just told me you’re supposed to get this.” I could understand his puzzlement over this directive from God. My wife and I were two full-blown hippies with all the trappings: long, braided hair, unkempt beard, tie-dyed tee-shirt and patched jeans for me, and what might be described as Russian peasant attire for her. He probably ruefully thought his gift would be used to purchase drugs.
I looked in the envelope and saw a fifty-dollar bill. “I know why you gave it to me,” I said to the man. “We’re on our way to Western Union to wire money to our friends in Bangladesh who are helping to save the lives of destitute people living on the streets. This money is for them, not for us.”
Hearing that, the man smiled, rolled up his tinted window and drove away.