"A Prostitutes Birthday Party" attributed to either Rapson or Campolo

On his first night there (Honolulu, Hawaii), he awoke sometime after three AM(a six hour time difference had confused his sleep pattern) and left the hotel in search of a place to get something to eat. Eventually he found a tiny coffee shop. He walked in and sat down. Here is his description of the events: The fat guy behind the counter came over and asked me,"What do you want?"

I told him I wanted a cup of coffee and a doughnut.

As I sat there munching on my doughnut and sipping my coffee at 3:30 in the morning, the door suddenly opened, swung wide and to my discomfort in marched 8 or 9 provocative and rather boisterous prostitutes. It was a small place and they sat on either side of me.

Their talk was garrulous, loud and crude. I felt completely out of place. I was just about to make my getaway when I heard the woman sitting next to me say, "You know, tomorrow is my birthday. I'm going to be 39." Her friend responded in a rather nasty tone, "So what do you want from me? A birthday party? What do you want? Do you want me to get a cake,and sing happy birthday to you?"

Come on," the women sitting next to me said, "why do you have to be so mean? I'm just telling you that's all. Why do you have to put me down? I was just telling you that it is my birthday. I don't want anything from you. I mean, why should I have a birthday party? I've never had a birthday party in my whole life. Why should I have one now?"

The Visitor to the coffee shop goes on; "When I heard that," he said, "I made a decision. I sat and waited until the women left and then I called over to the counter to the fat guy and asked him,"Do they come in here every night?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"The one right next to me", I asked, "does she come in here every night?"

"Yeah," he said, "that's Agnes. Yeah, she comes in here every night. Why do you want to know?"

"Because," I replied, "I heard her say that tomorrow is her birthday. What do you say we do something special for her? What do you think about throwing a birthday party for her, right here in the diner?"

A cute kind of smile crept over that fat man's chubby cheeks. He answered with measured delight, "That's a great idea. I like it. That's great. Agnes is one of those people who is really nice and kind. I don't think anybody has ever done anything nice and kind for her."

"Well, look" I told him, "if it is OK with you, I'll be back here tomorrow morning at 2:30. I'll decorate the place. I'll even get a birthday cake for her."

"No way," he retorted, "the birthday cake,that's my thing. I'll bake the birthday cake."

Two-thirty the next morning, I was back at that diner. I had picked up some crepe paper and other decorations at the store, and made a sign of big pieces of cardboard that read, "Happy Birthday, Agnes!" I decorated that diner from one end to the other. I had that diner really looking great. The word must have gotten out on the street because by 3:15 that next morning every prostitute in Honolulu was in that place. There was wall-to-wall prostitutes - and me.

At 3:30 on the dot the door of the diner swung open and in came Agnes and her friend. I had everybody ready; after all, I was sort of the informal master of ceremonies of this whole affair. It was my idea, so when they came in we all jumped up and screamed and we sang, "Happy birthday, Agnes!"

And you know, I've never seen a person so flabbergasted, so stunned, so shaken. Her mouth fell open, her knees started to buckle, her friend had to offer her arm to steady her, and I noticed she had started to cry.

When the birthday cake with all the candles was carried out,that's when she just lost it. She started sobbing. Harry, the fat guy, behind the counter he gruffly mumbled, "Blow out the candles, Agnes, blow out the candles."

Then he handed her a knife, and he ordered, "Cut the cake, Agnes, cut the cake."

Agnes looked down at that cake, and then without taking her eyes off it, she slowly and softly said, "Look, Harry, is it all right with you if I, I mean, if I don't, what I want to ask, is it OK if I keep the cake a little while? Is it all right if we don't eat it right away?"

Harry shrugged and answered, "Sure, Agnes, that's fine,you want to keep the cake, keep the cake, take it home if you want."

"Oh, could I?" she asked. Looking at me she said,"I live just down the street a couple doors; I want to take the cake home,is that OK? I'll be right back, honest."

She got off her stool, she picked up that cake, and she carried it out of that diner like it was the Holy Grail. She walked slowly toward the door, and we all stood there just speechless.

When the door closed behind her, there was stunned silence in the place. Not knowing what else to do, I broke the silence by saying,"What do you say we pray together?"

Looking back on it now, it seems more than a little strange that a sociologist from eastern PA would be leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes in a diner in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning.

But I prayed. I prayed for Agnes. I prayed for her salvation. I prayed that her life would be changed, and that God would be good to her. And when I finished, Harry leaned over, and with a trace of hostility in his voice he said, "Hey, you never told me you were a preacher. What kind of preacher are you anyway? What church do you belong to?"

In one of those moments when just the right words came, I answered him quietly, "I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at 3:30 in the morning."

Harry thought a moment, and then almost sneered as he answered, "No you don't; there is no church like that. In fact," he concluded, "if there was, I'd join it."

When the Pharisees saw this, they asked Jesus' followers,
"Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?"

When Jesus heard them, he said,
"It is not the healthy people who need a doctor, but the sick... I did not come to invite good people but to invite sinners."

Matthew 9: 11-13 (New Century Version)

OH HOW WE NEED THE EYES, EARS AND HEART OF OUR SAVIOR!!

This is NOT MY Writing, these are NOT MY WORDS, but this post was inspired by
A poem written by @lukakorba, which reminded me of this writing I'd saved many years
Ago, so I have posted it here for you all to love as much as I do.
Thanks. JES

^{These .gifs were created for me by @coquiunlimited; many thanks}