Only on Tuesdays

Almost three weeks ago, on Monday, August 28th, I woke up to two alarms at 3:30 AM, and to an additional phone call from my parents immediately following that, to get up and get ready to take a two-hour shuttle from my apartment building to Denver International Airport, to fly to visit my parents at their new home in Jonesborough, TN.

Normally, I do not get up that early. Part of the downside of having schizophrenia and severe depression and anxiety is that I require a full night of sleep. My nightly meds work in helping me sleep and in managing my schizophrenia and additional issues, but the danger of waking up too early too often means that my mind could end up in an unpredictable state and just not function. That is why I rarely miss my meds and do not test myself too often with early morning trips, meetings, or other related things.

Thankfully, because of the prayers of family and friends, and also a Redbull on the trip down to Denver, I did get to the airport on time, make it to my gate, and not lose any meds or mobile devices. I was tired but I functioned ok, and had no triggering social interactions. Yet, I did manage to bust a second Redbull I bought on the floor near my gate, and also spill a strawberry smoothie all over the carpet too, just to keep things interesting before I got on the first plane to Atlanta.

When I arrived in Atlanta, I exited gate B14 as I walked out into Concourse B, and saw immediately a Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen right in front of me.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a huge fan of both Chick-fil-A and Popeyes. While I have gone to Chick-fil-A many times in my life, I still can’t physically drive to a Popeyes on my own, because most are too far away, which is why I always want to get some Popeyes when given the chance.

While the prospect of having some Popeyes fried chicken was exciting, I had to consider something else: dinner that evening, or rather, “supper.” Knowing what is for “supper” for Southerners is always something worth knowing if possible so you don’t get or have something for an earlier meal your family wants to make or pick up for you later.

“What are y’all wanting to do for supper?” I asked my Mom on the phone as I stood across from Popeyes. It was then I told her I was thinking of getting Popeyes for lunch. I proposed that I would do something else if she was planning to get Popeyes for supper that night. Before ending our phone call, my Mom encouragingly said, “You should get Popeyes.”

After hearing those words, I grabbed a number, and got in line, with businessmen and women, to wait to order some good fried chicken.

As I got nearer to the check-out counter, and prepared to pay, I looked over towards the exit area and saw a man with a distinctive red beard with some others. Doubting at first, I texted my Mom and said, “Oliver Anthony is at Popeyes!” The extra seconds before I paid for my meal felt like forever, as I was determined and hopeful, that the man I suspected to be Oliver Anthony truly was who I thought him to be.

After paying for my food, I grabbed my meal in one hand, and then fueled by my one-track mind, I shouted, “Sir, are you Oliver Anthony?” To which he responded, “Only on Tuesdays.”

I was so tired that I did not even ask for a selfie. I just got out my phone and took a selfie with Mr. Anthony. He went along with it and didn’t mind my awkwardness. After saying, “Thank you,” to Mr. Anthony, he said, “You’re welcome, buddy.”

If I had just gotten out my phone to randomly take a selfie with someone else at an airport, another celebrity perhaps, may not have responded as nicely to someone disabled who clearly needed a nap. Yet, I have found that over the years anyone who is not a close family member or friend who calls me “buddy” is someone who understands on a basic level that I am “special” and not like everyone else.

This random encounter can only be explained as an intervention of God.

To those who do not know, Oliver Anthony is an independent country singer, who rose to stardom this summer with his anthem, “Rich Men North of Richmond.” He currently has the no. 1 selling song on iTunes, millions of streams on Spotify, including 9.3 million monthly listeners on Spotify as well. His song “Rich Men North of Richmond” was discussed at the first GOP 2024 Republican Debate and he even has been a guest on the Joe Rogan Experience podcast.

And I got to meet him, Oliver Anthony. My doubtful, anxious, mentally ill self got to meet for less than a minute with one of the most talked about people in America today.

As I have thought about this the past few weeks, I have pondered over what I believed God wanted to tell me that day. I will share what I believe that to be with you all now.

1. God makes all things possible.

There are many barriers for all mentally ill and disabled people to fight, overcome, manage, and attempt to just break through. For much of my life, I have had family, friends, doctors, counselors, and teachers assist in many battles in numerous areas. If for some reason they could not help, I often sought to find ways to make things happen on my own, even though such attempts rarely brought any meaningful outcomes.

My greatest longing, which I have had since I was little, was to be a lyricist and write Christian songs. Yet, because of my disabilities, I can only write words and cannot compose music or play any instruments. There have been a few times I have sent some lyrics of mine to a couple of well-known Christian music artists, in hopes they would make them into real songs. As of now, that still hasn’t happened.

Getting to meet Oliver Anthony, and meet at Popeyes as well, I feel, was like God was wanting to show me that He knows my greatest dreams, He even knows my favorite foods, and that I do not have to beg and plead for others to help me make my dreams come true, or to travel to get certain food or experiences. He can supply. He has and He always will. If He allowed me to meet Oliver Anthony, I should not put any limit on what He can do.

2. He knows my deepest worries and He cares.
There is one detail about my encounter with Oliver Anthony at the Popeyes at the Atlanta airport that I did not mention previously that I will share now. It concerns the number 17.

When I was in line at Popeyes, the ticket number I grabbed was the number 17. I posted my picture with Oliver Anthony on my almost nonexistent Instagram page. It was my 17th post.

In certain circles, the number 17 is used to refer to Qanon, “Q posts,” and the vast related conspiracy theories concerning former President Trump fighting a secret battle against a global deep-state cabal that supports child sex trafficking and a desired New World Order. This phenomenon has gone all over the place talking about conspiracies in every area of our world and existence.

Over the last three years, I have become obsessed with all kinds of news, conspiracy theories, prophecy, and the end times as well. At my weekly counseling sessions, the first 30 or 40 minutes of my 50-minute sessions are usually spent talking about all that I am worried about. My counselor barely even gets a chance to speak.

I mention all of this to tell you what I believe God wanted me to know after seeing the number 17 twice that day at the Atlanta airport. Whether it’s right or wrong, founded or unfounded, partially true or not at all, God knows all that paralyzes my mind with worries. Like Yolanda Adams used to say, “In the midst of it all,” He just wants me to trust Him.

In conclusion, that is why I have told you this story and why I have shared all of this. It is to remind you and me that God makes all things possible and that He wants us to trust Him with everything. He wants us to trust Him each and every day, “even on Tuesdays.” As hard as it is to do sometimes, there is no better privilege than to trust God and watch Him move daily in ordinary and extraordinary ways.


Until Next Time,

Jacob McGowen