I woke up on a cot in the gymnasium with butterflies in my stomach. I’d brought a sleeping bag with the intent of sleeping on the hard floor, but after suffering from an awful case of indigestion, I was offered one of the few available cots. I seemed to be feeling back to normal, except for the butterflies.

A group from my university spent our Spring Break on a mission trip in downtown Dallas, partnering with a ministry who served families in need. We had a full day of service planned and I hoped I was up for it.

I also hoped it wouldn’t be too obvious I was out of my comfort zone. I grew up in a small country church where I was related to half of the congregation. I’d never been to Dallas and didn’t know a thing about witnessing to strangers who had nothing in common with me. I rubbed my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans as I walked quietly to the van.

The first stop that morning was the sanctuary of the church where the mission did its work. We worshiped with the people we would minister to that week. Following the service, they’d go downstairs to visit the food pantry and clothing closet before getting a free lunch. The Bread of life served up with a side of our daily bread.

Our group received a commissioning prayer near the end of the service, which helped ease my nerves. Afterward, we mingled in the sanctuary and a few went outside to witness on the street, inviting people to join us for lunch.

That’s when I met Tom... Click here to head on over to the Mudroom Blog and read about my memories of the time I received grace from a recovering alcoholic fresh off the streets of downtown Dallas.