The Quiet Guy at the Coffee Shop

Five years ago, I was in the thick of building Live Oak Lake and a spec house ten minutes down the road - a speculation to help cover the cost overruns that came with building during the frenzy of 2021.

Whenever I wasn’t on a job site, I was usually at our community coffee shop, designing buildings one step ahead of the crew, chasing down bank loans, and ordering, ordering, and ordering some more materials.

There were a handful of regulars, and one was a quiet young man about my age, his headphones on, head down in his laptop. I could tell he was on a mission.

Then came the curveball.

Right after we opened live oak lake, Airbnb suspended us without warning. Overnight, I had to learn how to promote the business myself, so I got on Instagram.

That’s when I started seeing that young man’s videos online.

His music sounded unlike anything else out there, and I loved it. But even more interesting was the way he shared it. Every video felt so fresh, humble, joyful. He was bypassing the labels and building a direct connection with people.

Live Oak Lake took off on Instagram, and we hardly needed airbnb anymore. His music took off even more. A lot more.

His name is Forrest Frank. One of the biggest touring artists in the world today. His testimony and music have profoundly influenced me.

So when the most recent tour was announced in December, I immediately bought tickets, knowing they’d go fast. As life goes, we ended up here in Mexico. I decided to give mine away, so I made a video. Several hundred people wrote in with stories. Picking was extremely hard (you can read some of them here). I wish I had a hundred more.

A few days ago, it was time to pick, and my first call was to a woman named Bernadette. She’d nominated a boy named William, the best - and only - friend of her late son, Zach, who’d battled cancer for four years after being diagnosed at five years old.

William had faithfully prayed over him, sat with him, even called him his brother.

She was overjoyed. I sent her three tickets for William and his parents.

Then I called Michelle, who’d sent in another of my favorite entries, and gave her a ticket for her nephew, who’d been through a lot this past year.

With one ticket remaining, I called Jenny.

She’d nominated her eight-year-old son, who’d recently lost his grandpa, watched his mom undergo a hard surgery, and still found ways to care about and pray for the people around him.

I told her about the other children I’d given tickets to and explained I only had one left. My heart sank a little, knowing he probably couldn’t go unless his parents could afford the outrageous resale prices for tickets of their own.

She went quiet.

Then she asked, “Did you just talk to Bernadette?”

Jenny was William’s mother.

Out of nearly four hundred entries, I had picked the same boy twice, completely unaware.

Two nights ago, at the final stop of a sold-out tour, Jenny sent me a few clips of William worshipping God, hands in the air, alongside his mom and dad, and 40,000 others. Makes me wanna cry.

I'm so glad Zach's mom put his name down.