Marion and I are northbound on the downtown connector. It is a quarter ‘til four in the afternoon. Not my favorite place on the planet.

There’s about three feet between me and the box truck to my left. Maybe a six-foot cushion between me and the black Mercedes on my tail. And some little squirt-box car manages to nudge into the 10ft space in front of me.

If you know anything at all about Atlanta traffic, you are currently reliving some of your worst nightmares.

“I used to do this every day,” Marion says.

I say what I always say, “I don’t know how people drive in this mess day in and day out.”

The pace is slow. I have plenty of time to move over for the exit at 10th Street. Georgia Tech is right across the interstate from us. At the traffic light, techy looking young people are crossing the street in front of us. I assume they all have IQs that are above my pay grade.

It’s been a minute since I have been on the campus of Georgia Tech. The last time was 1971. I was just shy of 15. My folks were trusting enough to allow me to tag along with some friends barely old enough to drive. We went to a Steppenwolf concert at the Tech Coliseum.

Born to be Wild. Screaming amplifiers. I wasn’t there for the academics.

“I still have my acceptance letter from Georgia Tech.”

Marion didn’t take them up on the offer, but she is pointing this out to me 46 years later because it’s one of those things you hold on to. I don’t blame her. If I had gotten a letter from Georgia Tech, it would have said, “We looked for your GPA, but we don’t have a magnifying glass big enough to find it.”

At the second light past the bridge, we turn left, right into the heart of the campus. Large buildings named after generous donors. Most of them are probably Tech grads who put their degrees to good use.

We wiggle between closely parked vehicles on the side of the street, and wind our way up narrow lanes. Bicycles and electric scooters zoom by us at every intersection. Serious students with large backpacks and earbuds appear to be on their way to important destinations.

Up ahead, we see Jonathan standing on the sidewalk waving us down. Jonathan is a stout man with a long beard and a clean-shaven head. He could pass for Russian, or maybe eastern European. In fact, he spent a good portion of his life in Ukraine, which, in my opinion, is why he has that look.

Today, however, he is the campus minister at CCF, Christian Campus Fellowship, on the campus of Georgia Tech. He is reaching kids for Jesus. In the middle of high-tech academia, he is peddling compassion and hope for the future. Our future.

Tonight, however, is simple. We are here to feed the kids. In the back of the truck are two coolers holding three metric tons of smoked chicken, 400 gallons of homemade coleslaw, 400 gallons of sweetened baked beans, and enough peach cobbler to feed an army.

This is a big deal for these students. Final exams start tomorrow, and most of them have been surviving on crumbs. They also have bottomless pits for stomachs. Noodles, crackers, and leftover pizza don’t cut it. I suspect, even the onion rings from The Varsity get old.

Who am I kidding? I love Varsity onion rings.

We pull up to the back door. There’s a handful of interns there to help unload. The commercial kitchen inside the campus house is perfect. Marion is right at home. I await instructions.

We’re expecting about a hundred kids for supper tonight. That doesn’t seem like much on a campus of 53,000. A small pack of Jesus followers afloat in an ocean of incredibly smart kids who probably think they have life all figured out.

But think about it. The global population in Jesus’s day was around 300 million. He took twelve guys against the tide of the entire world, and that seemed to work out just fine.

Mealtime is approaching. The gathering room is filling up. The students are excited about the prospect of a good meal.

“This reminds me of home,” one says.

“Something smells so good.”

Clint is in the kitchen with us. He is making sweet tea and lemonade by the barrel full. Ivy is cooking up some special hamburgers for a handful of students with specific dietary needs. One of the interns lets me borrow his GT cap for a photo opp. I tell him, “Go Dawgs.”

The serving table is spread with all the food trays. An army of interns take their places with tongs and spoons to serve up the plates. The line begins to file by.

One of the guys says, “You mean, I can have a whole quarter chicken!”

Marion and I stand back and watch. There are maybe 20 low tables scattered around the room. Students sitting on the floor devouring chicken and slaw. Drinking gulps of tea. The laughter and conversations are non-stop.

When the call for “Seconds” goes out, the floor trembles from the thunder of feet that scramble back to the serving table.

There is something incredibly satisfying about being a part of this night. The food is great. But mostly, it’s the fact that we are witnesses to a room full of young adults who know that there is more to life than a degree and a career.

Some of them are just getting started. For others, this is their final week of college. To all of them, this campus ministry represents everything that is ultimately important in life, and it draws them into a shared experience that they will remember for the rest of their lives.

One young man, Paxton, is standing up front. This group has changed his life. His family has driven over from Suwanee to be here tonight. A group of friends gather close around him. They pray for him. College kids, unafraid of what they believe. Paxton is about to be baptized.

Out front of the campus house, on the side street, there’s a pickup truck. Inside the bed, there’s a blue tarp liner, the excess cascading over the sides. The bed is filled with non-heated water.

Words are spoken. Paxton goes under. He comes up soaking wet, and the smile on his face makes it hard for an old man to keep his composure.

The Frat houses across the street and next door must be thinking that Tech just won the National Championship. The uproar of cheers is deafening. It’s a high-five kind of night.

I know that our world is in trouble. It always has been. But tonight, I am encouraged. I am inspired by a group of college students who are going to take with them, wherever they go, a confidence and boldness that will change their world forever.

It might even change mine.

Back inside, the room is electric. The music is blaring. Peach cobbler is waiting to be served for dessert.

An eager student says to me, “You are gonna leave the leftovers, right?”

“We sure are.”

Besides, what we’re taking home tonight is far better than mere food.