<h1 id="ctl00_PrimaryContent_ArticleTemplate_Article_ctl00_Title">The Sparrow at Starbucks</h1>
<h2>by John Thomas Oaks</h2>
<p><span>Copyright Christianity Today International</span></p>
<p>It was chilly in Manhattan but warm inside the Starbucks shop on 51st<br />Street and Broadway, just a skip up from Times Square. Early November<span> </span>weather in New York City holds only the slightest hint of the bitter chill<span> </span>of late December and January, but it's enough to send the masses crowding<span> </span>indoors to vie for available space and warmth.<br /><br />For a musician, it's the most lucrative Starbucks location in the world,<br />I'm told, and consequently, the tips can be substantial if you play your<br />tunes right. Apparently, we were striking all the right chords that night,<span> </span>because our basket was almost overflowing. It was a fun, low-pressure gig<span> </span>- I was playing keyboard and singing backup for my friend who also added<span> </span>rhythm with an arsenal of percussion instruments. We mostly did pop songs<span> </span>from the '40s to the '90s with a few original tunes thrown in. During our<span> </span>emotional rendition of the classic, "If You Don't Know Me by Now," I<span> </span>noticed a lady sitting in one of the lounge chairs across from me. She was<span> </span>swaying to the beat and singing along.<br /><br />After the tune was over, she approached me. "I apologize for singing along<span> </span>on that song. Did it bother you?" she asked. "No," I replied. "We love it<span> </span>when the audience joins in. Would you like to sing up front on the next<span> </span>selection?"<br /><br />To my delight, she accepted my invitation. "You choose," I said. "What<br />are you in the mood to sing?"<br /><br />"Well. ... do you know any hymns?"<br /><br />Hymns? This woman didn't know who she was dealing with. I cut my teeth on<span> </span>hymns. Before I was even born, I was going to church. I gave our guest<span> </span>singer a knowing look. "Name one."<br /><br />"Oh, I don't know. There are so many good ones. You pick one."<br /><br />"Okay," I replied. "How about 'His Eye is on the Sparrow'?"<br /><br />My new friend was silent, her eyes averted. Then she fixed her eyes on<span> </span>mine again and said, "Yeah. Let's do that one." She slowly nodded her<span> </span>head, put down her purse, straightened her jacket and faced the center of the shop. With my two-bar setup, she began to sing.<br /><br />Why should I be discouraged? Why should the shadows come?<br />I sing because I'm happy; I sing because I'm free. For His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me.<br /><br />The audience of coffee drinkers was transfixed. Even the gurgling noises<span> </span>of the cappuccino machine ceased as the employees stopped what they were<span> </span>doing to listen. The song rose to its conclusion.<br /><br />I sing because I'm happy; I sing because I'm free. For His eye is on the<span> </span>sparrow And I know He watches me.<br /><br />When the last note was sung, the applause crescendoed to a deafening roar<span> </span>that would have rivaled a sold-out crowd at Carnegie Hall. Embarrassed,<span> </span>the woman tried to shout over the din, "Oh, y'all go back to your coffee!<span> </span>I didn't come in here to do a concert! I just came in here to get<span> </span>somethin' to drink, just like you!" But the ovation continued.<br /><br />I embraced my new friend. "You, my dear, have made my whole year! That was<span> </span>beautiful!"<br /><br />"Well, it's funny that you picked that particular hymn," she said.<br /><br />"Why is that?"<br /><br />"Well . .." she hesitated again, "that was my daughter's favorite song."<br /><br />"Really!" I exclaimed.<br /><br />"Yes," she said, and then grabbed my hands. By this time, the applause had<span> </span>subsided and it was business as usual.. "She was 16. She died of a brain<span> </span>tumor last week."<br /><br />I said the first thing that found its way through my stunned silence. "Are<span> </span>you going to be okay?"<br /><br />She smiled through tear-filled eyes and squeezed my hands. "I'm gonna be<span> </span>okay. I've just got to keep trusting the Lord and singing his songs, and<span> </span>everything's gonna be just fine." She picked up her bag, gave me her card,<span> </span>and then she was gone.<br /><br />Was it just a coincidence that we happened to be singing in that<br />particular coffee shop on that particular November night? Coincidence that<span> </span>this wonderful lady just happened to walk into that particular shop?<span> </span>Coincidence that of all the hymns to choose from, I just happened to pick<span> </span>the very hymn that was the favorite of her daughter, who had died just the<span> </span>week before? I refuse to believe it.<br /><br />God has been arranging encounters in human history since the beginning of<span> </span>time, and it's no stretch for me to imagine that God could reach into a<span> </span>coffee shop in midtown Manhattan and turn an ordinary gig into a revival.<span> </span>It was a great reminder that if we keep trusting God and singing the<span> </span>songs, everything's gonna be okay.</p>
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