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   My articles are usually about the more serious side of gospel song writing. I thought, for a change, I would write something a little lighter for this issue. Everyone who sings and travels has funny road stories. As a gospel singer/song writer I have one as well. I’m going to share it with you. It is kind of a convoluted story that stretches over the course of a few years and intertwined with it is the story of how God inspired me to write a particular song.
   It really started in 2006 with our first trip to the National Quartet Convention. We went as

gospel songwriters hoping to make contacts. We booked our trip through the Convention and stayed at a particular hotel. We came in for the Sunday night concert. We had been traveling since the early hours of the morning and had only enough time for supper before running off to the concert. Pressed for time and unfamiliar with the area, we chose to have supper at the hotel at which we were staying. My husband ordered the hotel’s signature dish, which he enjoyed immensely. The waiter gave us a copy of the recipe for the dish.

   Flash forward to 2009. We went to the National Quartet Convention, again purchasing their package. We were booked into a different hotel this time. We had arrived after a long day of travel and we needed to find a place to have supper before the Sunday evening concert. We were more familiar with the area this time, so my husband, Paul, suggested we go back to the hotel we stayed at in 2006 so he could have that particular dish he liked so much. I agreed and off we went.
   At the hotel we found the restaurant seemed to be closed as they are setting up for a banquet of some sort. While we were standing in the hotel hallway outside of the restaurant discussing where we should go, a gentleman behind us said, “May I help you.” We turned around and realized it is the maitre d’ from the restaurant directly across the hall from the one at which we hoped to dine. I explained that we had come to the other restaurant so my husband could have a particular dish but the restaurant appeared to be closed. He replied they serve the dish at the other restaurant and he would be happy to seat us there, if we would just wait a minute. We agreed.
   While we were standing in the hall waiting for the maitre d’ to return, I noticed the podium on which the reservation book rested. I commented to Paul, “That looks like a pulpit!” I went around to the front of it and, sure enough, it was a pulpit! This put my mind into overdrive, wondering how an old oak church pulpit wound up in a hotel.
   The maitre d’ returned and seated us in the restaurant, which was by no means packed. The white napkins on the table were quickly whisked away and replaced with black ones. Paul and I assumed it was because we were wearing black and we exchanged a look that said, “Boy, are we in the wrong place!” The waiter was extremely ingratiating. I chatted with him happily as we order our meal, explaining how Paul had the dish three years earlier and how I was given the recipe. I told how I now cooked the dish every Thanksgiving and Christmas using leftover turkey. I explained how I made a slightly healthier version as I used whole wheat or multigrain breads, light cream and cheese, etc.
   Before the meal arrived, the waiter came with a small plate holding special bread which was “compliments of the chef.” We thanked him and we ate it. He returned to ask our opinion. We told him it was “lovely.” Later he came with a small plate bearing a small piece of prepared tuna for us to try, again, “compliments of the chef.” We commented quietly to each other that they certainly were treating us well. We looked around and noticed none of the other patrons were receiving this kind of attention and we wondered what was going on.

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