Brendon slowly pushed open the front door of the hotel where he had spent the night and stumbled out onto the sidewalk, still half asleep. His hotel room was comfortable enough, and for the few hours that he’d been able to sleep he had slept like a rock. But unfortunately he had been up a little past midnight signing autographs, and by the time he got back to the hotel it was just hitting one o’clock in the morning. Not that big of a deal really. He’d been up later before, but the concert had really taken a lot out of him and he’d been all too eager to collapse onto that soft hotel pillow. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed performing at the concert . . . it had been a blast! Singing and dancing on stage in front of a crowd of thousands of screaming fans! The best part was that he could point them all to Jesus through his music. That was his prayer for every song that he sang. Fans coming up to him in the autograph line after the concert was evidence enough that God was honoring that prayer in ways he never would have thought possible. People would bring up one of his CDs for him to sign and ask for pictures, and a few would take time to tell him a short story of how his music had touched their lives. He lived for those moments when he could catch just a glimpse of God’s hand working through his talents . . . the talents that he had surrendered for the Lord’s use.
But for now he was trying to catch a glimpse of the trolley that would take him to meet his band buddies at a nearby diner. All the various band members on the tour had planned for a 7:30 breakfast together that morning, and although Brendon was dog-tired, he didn’t want to be late. He knew that he shouldn’t have talked so long with the sound tech guys before heading for the hotel last night. He was jolted out of his heavy slumber that morning when the obnoxious ring of his cell-phone launched him out of bed and onto the carpeted floor. Still groggy, he quickly fished the cell-phone out of yesterday’s jeans pocket and flipped it open. It was the lead singer of one of the other bands.
“Hey Brendon, it’s Tony. Morning man!” Tony’s enthusiastic voice danced its way through the speaker. “Sleep well?”
Brendon groaned and stretched his phone-free arm, “Could use a little more of it, but I’m fine. What’s up with you?”
“Just remindin’ ya about our breakfast meet this morning. Thought you might try to doze on us! Ha! Ha! Sounds like I might’ve been right!”
Brendon peeked at his watch. “Opps! It’s seven twenty! Thanks Ton’, I’ll be dressed and over there in a flash!”
“Okay, just don’t hurt yourself! Zombies don’t function so well in the city.”
“Ha. Ha,” Brendon said dryly, “I’ll be right there.”
Now Brendon thought that Tony might have been right about zombies. He picked up his dragging pace when he spotted a string of passengers boarding a trolley at the end of the sidewalk. In his haste he bumped into a few fellow pedestrians.
“Opps! Sorry . . . excuse me! . . . I’m so sorry!”
After dodging a few more people on the crowded sidewalk, he made it to the trolley just before the driver closed the doors. What a relief! Maybe he’d get to the breakfast meet on time after all. Besides, the guys wouldn’t mind if he were a few minutes late. Now to find a seat. Usually he preferred standing, but in his currently exhausted state, he felt that his legs would soon melt beneath him. Glancing around, he found a spot next to an elderly man.
“Mind if I join you, sir?”
The man shot him a puzzled look, but then waved his hand to the seat beside him.
“Thanks!” Brendon gratefully plopped down next to the old man.
The man continued to look at him curiously.
“You got asthma, sonny?”
“Huh? No, I’m just a little out of breath from running to catch the trolley.”
“Oh. You got a prosthetic leg?”
Now Brendon was curious. Why was this man asking him such weird questions?
“No sir. Why?”
“Well,” he replied, “I was just tryin’ to figure out why a healthy-lookin’ kid like you is sitting in the handicapped section.”
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