The homeless man got in Tom’s face.  Threats shot through his red whiskers like poison from a cobra.

“I told you to leave!” the man shouted.

People in the gazebo turned around.

Part of me wished we’d never left the conference.  Two hours earlier, we sat in our cushioned chairs, enjoying the new air conditioning of Glen Eyrie’s stone castle.  The Summit of Christian Educators had been everything my wife and I had hoped for—amazing worship, authentic sharing, and great food.

But then it got hard.

David Schmus, the president of Christian Educators, challenged us to get lunch and, along the way, try initiating life-giving conversations with strangers.  So much for my introvert’s dream of enjoying a comfortable castle.

That’s how we found ourselves in some park enduring the heat of not only Manitou Springs, but also of a man who seemed completely out of his mind.

“We’re just trying to have a normal conversation with this young man,” Tom said to the homeless man.  His experience as a principal showed.  He was calm.

The boy Tom and Luis had been talking with hid behind them in tears as the threats from the homeless man continued.

Until Tom pulled out his phone.

Maybe the irate man would think he was being taped.  Or maybe he’d think the police were being called.  Either way, Tom hoped it would drive him away.

And it did.

The grumbling man left, and the boy sat on the bench, obviously relieved.

“What do you love to do?” Luis asked, trying to cheer him up.

The boy talked about playing sports and riding his bike.  He told them about his love for his family.  And eventually, the two men prayed for him.

When they said “Amen,” Tom and Luis said goodbye and joined Jim and I.

We walked out of the park shell-shocked and famished.  That’s when some friends from the conference found us.

“Guys, you have to try this burger place down the street,” they said.  “There’s one guy doing it all, but he’s great.”

They led us to the spot, and when we walked in, the one-man show greeted us.

“Sit any place you like,” he said.  Jim asked how long he’d been running the diner, and he said ever since his parents died.  He figured he had one more summer left in him

He went into the kitchen to grab our drinks, and an older woman walked in with her middle-aged son.

“Sit anywhere you’d like,” Tom said, looking up at them.  “He’ll be back pretty soon.”

The two of them looked at Tom, a little surprised, and we all laughed.

They sat at the table right next to ours.

“Where you from?”  Jim asked.

“We’re on vacation from Texas?”  the man said, looking around.  “We used to come here when I was a kid.  Wow!  This wood paneling hasn’t changed.”

A conversation started about Texas—the weather, the politics, the people.  The owner added his own commentary as he took our orders.

He disappeared back into the kitchen again, and just after he left, another couple walked through the door, taking off their sunglasses.

Everyone looked up at them.

“Sit anywhere you’d like,” Tom said again, a little more boldly this time.

Everyone in the restaurant laughed even harder, including the new couple.  There were plenty of tables toward the back, but like the older woman with her son, the newest arrivals chose to sit right by us.

“Did I hear you say something about Texas?” the woman asked as she sat down.  “We’re from Texas too.”  And just like that, they joined the conversation.

Our burgers and meatloaf arrived, and someone asked us a question.

“So what brings you guys here?”

“We’re at a conference for Christian educators,” Jim replied.

“That’s great!” said the woman sitting with her husband.  She was smiling, gaining interest.  “We’re Christians too.”

Another woman walked through the door.

“Hey Charley,” she shouted to the owner.

“Go ahead and have a seat, Michelle,” he said, passing out glasses of water.

And then something incredible happened.

Instead of going to the back where she could be alone, she sat at the last remaining table next to ours.  We were surrounded!

“You sound like you’re from around here,” I said.

“No, not really.  I just moved here.”

Tom and I started talking with her while Jim and Luis talked with the Texans.  She was telling us about following her daughter to Colorado and about living alone in a hotel nearby.  Then, a thought struck me.

Maybe we should pray for her.

I needed twenty more seconds of insane courage.  Anxiety pulsed through my body, but I went for it.

“We’ve been praying for people today,” I said.  “Do you have a prayer request?”

She took a minute to process my question.

“Uh, yes,” she finally said, “You could pray I find a place to stay.”

So we did.  The diner was bustling with conversation from one table to the other, but in the midst of that holy noise, we prayed with Michelle.

Eventually, the owner walked up to take her order, so Tom and I joined the Texas conversation.

At one point, the woman who said she was a Christian explained how her friends in college told her about Jesus.

“I’ve never been the same since,” she said with a smile.

I looked at our small circle of tables.  I had never experienced anything like this.  Everyone in the restaurant was talking to each other, lingering in conversation.

When we finally got up to leave, the woman who talked about Jesus got up with us.

“Can we pray for you guys?” she asked.

What? I thought. Weren’t we supposed to be the ones reaching out? 

Everyone in the diner closed their eyes, like what she was about to do was totally normal, and then she prayed right there in the middle of those tables.  She prayed that we’d have wisdom, that we’d be a light in our schools, and that God would protect us.

When she said “Amen,” there was a flurry of handshakes and hugs.  We were saying goodbye to people we’d probably never see again, but we shared a couple of hours together we’d never forget.

Someone told us later, “You had church in that diner,” and I think he was right.   There were no stained-glass windows, but I felt like I was experiencing the kind of sacred moment only found in cathedrals.  We left the comfortable stone walls of a castle and watched the Holy Spirit create life-giving community out of a bunch of strangers.  God had completely transformed that diner, and with just a little insane courage on our part, He had transformed us too.

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