Far from Home Stories from the Road

Tyson's Story Looking around the bus, I picked out the faces of my fellowband members. Jeromy was sitting with his head back on a pillow; his wife,Jennifer, was nestled in close to him; and both were fading into a quiet sleep.Brian had on his headphones, listening to his Discman; and Allyson, his wife andour sound technician, was keeping herself busy reading a magazine. I leaned backcomfortably, listening to the sounds of Shane Bernard coming through myheadphones. I eventually decided to try to take a short nap, so I took off myheadphones and laid my head against the edge of the window. But sleep would not come. My mind refused to shut off. It wasfilled with thoughts of the reason for our trip and the night we had decided tocome. After a concert just a few months ago, we had gathered inside the bus and,as usual, taken our places in the front lounge. We looked over the prayerrequests from that night and began to pray for those who had gotten saved at theconcert. After we finished praying, Jeromy looked up and said that wehad been asked to fly to California to sing for a man named Tyson, who hadcancer and wasn't expected to live very long. He told us that Tyson enjoyed thesong "One of These Days" and had requested that we sing it at church one Sundaymorning. I had only been to California one time and was pretty excited just togo and see the place again. Everyone else was in favor of the trip as well, sowe all agreed to go as soon as possible. After the excitement of the idea of a California trip woreoff, I began thinking about what I would say to Tyson when I saw him. I havenever been around someone who was so close to eternity, and I wasn't quite surehow I would handle the awkwardness of that situation. What was I going to say tohim? How could I pretend to be happy, knowing that this man had a wife, kids,friends, and family members who were going to miss him greatly when he was gone?Lying in my bunk that night inside that old, black Prevost bus, I began to get alittle nervous about the trip to San Jose. And now, with my head leaning against the bus window, I beganto think about Tyson. What would I say? How would I react? Would I cry? Icouldn't cry. I had to be strong and supportive in these situations, andbesides, they just wanted us to sing a few songs; they weren't asking us to getpersonally involved with a man we didn't even know.We stepped off the bus and headed straight to the church so that we could set upour equipment and do our sound check before the service started. As usual wemade sure all the acoustic guitars worked, then following what has becomesomewhat of a tradition for us, Brian and I played a verse of "Power in HisBlood," Jennifer ran through a tiny bit of "I'm Alright," Jeromy picked up hisguitar and sang the scat to "Big Fish," and finally, we checked our tracks. Itseemed to be a routine day, and we walked off the stage about thirty minutesbefore the service started. Then suddenly the wooden doors to the sanctuary opened, andwe saw a fragile man in a wheelchair slowly rolling toward us. It was Tyson.Immediately, my heart began to race and my palms began to sweat. I had decidedto let my fellow band mates make the first move. They didn't let me down, andsoon we engaged in a "get-acquainted" conversation with Tyson. I quickly foundmyself feeling comfortable with Tyson -- almost as if I'd known him for a longwhile. Even though only a few minutes had passed, we knew that something specialwas about to happen between us and Tyson. As we talked with him, his voice beganto lose power as he tired simply with talking. He reached out his weak hand to[read more]