I’ve been doing T-Shirts for Turkeys for about as many years as I’ve been in radio. And it is -without a doubt – my FAVORITE promotion. It has all the right ingredients . . . fun, fellowship, (church word for hanging out), and food for those in need.
Last night, however, was my most memorable stop. And it wasn’t because of what happened during the stop. It was what happened afterwards. After the stop, Abbey & I delivered turkeys to River of Grace, a homeless mission in Tampa. Abbey has never been exposed to a shelter, and she was really eager to go. Her eyes lit up when I told her that we were delivering them that night. She asked a thousand questions on the way down there, and sat on the edge of her seat not knowing what she was going to see. I think there was a degree of curiosity, but that was outweighted by her child-like faith and desire to help.
When we arrived, we were greeted by what you would call the “least of these”. But the least of these were some of the most grateful, kind, and sweetest men I have ever met. In their brokeness, a simple frozen turkey was a blessing. At least a dozen men helped unload the turkeys . . . so many that no one had to make a second trip. As I looked at them in their tattered and dirty clothes, I was thrilled that I could ask them if they’d all like a new shirt. It instantly became Christmas morning. They lined up and received their new JOY FM T-shirt, as if they’d just been handed the new keys to a car. Abbey had jumped in the back of the van to personally see to it that they all had the size they had requested. (Tho, they would’ve taken anything that we would’ve given them).
As Abbey & I drove away, my heart was overflowing . . .
- I was grateful that God had let me be a small part of His story.
- I was proud of my daughter and her tender-heartedness towards the poor.
- I was embarrassed at the things I fret over.
In Isaiah, chapter 1:17 , we’re told to encourage the homeless and oppressed. Defend the cause of the orphans, and plead the case of the widows.
Jesus, help me to be about my Father’s business. Not my own.