What a beautiful day in Phoenix. The historic event was filled with speakers, big with ideas, and full of energy. What I want to tell you about is a special human moment: not email threads, not the social-media back-and-forth, but real people, face-to-face, making real connections - the kind of conversations Charlie taught us to cherish.

I originally thought about telling the story of that event in a strict chronological order. I tend to organize life that way - my brain loves timelines. Instead, I’ll tell it by milestones of the day, because the last one of the day was the most meaningful.

After a day of inspirational speakers quoting Bible verses and music about Christ's love, sharing moments in a crowd that felt, honestly, like a kind of revival, I hopped into an Uber to get back to my hotel. The first thing I noticed upon entering the vehicle was a simple metal cross hanging from the rearview mirror. Small detail - but when he asked how the event was, I said what I’d been saying all day: “It was all love. All Christ.” I told him about the conversations I’d had, the sense that something powerful is stirring in people across this whole world.

He listened. Then he shared.

His name is going to be withheld for his own safety. He left Iran years ago and came to the United States searching for a better life - not fully sure what he was searching for. After several ups and downs trying to make ends meet, a back injury left him bedridden for several days. With nothing to do while the healing process kept him immobile, a Christian friend placed a Bible in his hands. He read, he wrestled with what he learned, he prayed.

This stranger told me about a moment of real spiritual struggle. He spoke of how he went to his old, Muslim prayers and found no peace. Then he read Matthew 6:24 — “No one can serve two masters.” That verse landed in his heart. He described falling to his knees and asking for guidance. In his words: “The Holy Spirit opened the door of my heart.” In an instant he felt lighter - as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He thanked our Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son. He told me, with tears and a smile, how he also felt gratitude for those who came before him in faith. He spoke humbly, honestly, about the new life he felt entering him. It wasn’t theatrical. It was tender. It was real.

On the drive, with his story still ringing in my ears, I thought about the whole day: the big speeches, the songs, the new friends in the crowd - and then this quiet confession between two strangers. That moment reminded me why we gather: to be seen, to be heard, to share evidence that God is at work in the everyday.

Revival doesn’t arrive in grand gestures, historic political speeches, and performances by famous musical artists though those are a nice catalyst to bring people together. Real change arrives in a tired driver’s tearful, grateful voice; in a cross hanging from a mirror; in two people sharing the truth that changed their lives.

I'll continue to use my web site and podcast here to tell the human, the holy, the humble stories between strangers - how God opens doors when we least expect it.

May we keep listening to one another. May we keep meeting face-to-face. And may we keep leaving room in our conversations for the Holy Spirit to do what only He can do. In Jesus' name. Amen.