Back in the middle of March, this year, Tatenda, a Facebook friend of mine who lives in Zimbabwe asked me an odd question. He asked if I could possibly get him a trumpet. I told him that I am poor, but if it was possible, I would do it. He said that he wanted it so he could play in his local Salvation Army band, and I found out later that they share one trumpet between five people. I knew I was on a mission.
At the Temple
God sends me out to do these funny little things, sometimes. I don’t ask why, I just get it done as best as I can. I started by asking another dear friend, Wendy, if she knew of anyone who might have one that wasn’t being used, because her son, Landon, is in band at school, and I thought that they might just maybe know of one. Wendy said she would have Landon ask his music teacher if she knew of any,  so I let that rest.

I next asked several other friends for it, but got no results. I checked back with Wendy, only to find that the music teacher had given all her extra instruments to others, just before I asked. Around this time, I got to speak to a youth group at a Church in Ashland 15 miles away. They graciously gave me 25 dollars for speaking, but I just knew that this money wasn’t for me. It had to go toward sending the trumpet. God was just starting to teach me patience, at this point, so I waited. I didn’t know what else to do, but I knew that if God wanted this done, nothing would stand in the way. It would come on His timing, not mine. March ended, then April went by. And then it happened.
Wendy sent me this picture showing the cornet that the music teacher had forgotten about, tucked away in a corner (a cornet is a slightly different kind of trumpet). I was blown away. It looked so beautiful I could hardly believe it. When I actually held it in my hands, I knew that God was behind this whole thing, and I could not fail to see it through. The next part was hard, though. Money for postage. I tried asking several friends that I knew were rich, and got crickets. Dead silence. Nothing. Two more weeks of patience lessons.
And then, again, it happened. Mark, a friend that lives in a van and comes to the park where we get food to survive on gave me 5 dollars. He told me a friend of his had given him money when he needed it, and he was just paying it back by giving it to me. He had no idea whatsoever that I was trying to do this project at all. It positively had God’s fingerprints all over it. After that, the money came in pretty quickly. Within two more weeks, we had it. I had checked with Zimbabwe Customs, and because it was a gift, it was duty-free. This was a big concern, at first, because it could possibly have doubled the money we needed to get it done.  Monday, May 14, we shipped it.
On the scaleYou can see that I put crosses all the way around the box, for extra insurance. Then, yet more patience lessons. A week went by, then day after day we waited for word from Africa. Two weeks. More days. Then God Taught me another lesson. The Doubting Thomas lesson. It seemed to me that somewhere in the 8,000 miles between us, it just got swallowed up. Gone. I told Wendy that she might as well go to the Post Office to try to get her insurance money back, because it was lost. This woman had more faith in God than I did. She told me to let her send the package number to Tatenda, so that they could track it from there. The next morning, first thing that showed up on my Facebook page was this:
You could have knocked me over with a feather. I cried my heart out, and then I cried some more. I was speechless with joy for over an hour. I had a very hard time trying to type up the schedule of those good people who come to the park, for the tears. And there it sat, in the sun, in Zimbabwe.
The very next Sunday Tatenda had the cornet dedicated to God. It will be used to praise Him, until it is more worn out than I am. May it bring more people to praise His name. It has taken until now to write this because I still had one more lesson to learn. Miracles still happen.

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