As my dad and I were walking down the dimly lit street, I couldn't help but notice the rustling and banging. At first I couldn't tell what was making the noise, but did notice that it was coming from a dumpster placed just to the side of the street. As we got closer I looked around the corner and saw an elderly man rummaging through the garbage. His gray beard was thin and ragged, his face worn, his body frail.

I caught myself staring for just a moment, but then turned away and kept walking. Sights like this were unfortunately all too frequent here in the city of Maputo, Mozambique.

We were meeting a friend of ours at a local seafood place that had been recommended to us by the concierge. As we approached the restaurant I could see that it provided the type of ambiance every visitor loves: a quaint dining room with colored lights strung from the ceiling, modest but comfortable wooden chairs and tables, and a $3 lobster meal. It was the perfect end to a long but historic day in Maputo. When we walked in, a quiet waiter (whose name we later learned was Ernest) came to greet us, and then led us to our table.

We took our seats and then began to rehash the day's events.

We were in town for the annual African Union summit, with presidents and kings from the entire continent in attendance. For the first time since the summit was established, they opened their conference with a prayer breakfast. As the morning began, these world leaders arrived one after the other, each with his or her own entourage. The breakfast tent filled with the continent's leaders, some notable and some notorious. The entrance to cause the greatest stir was that of the Secretary General of the United Nations, Kofi Annan. It was exhilarating to be in the presence of individuals whose decisions affected millions.

My dad and I had been asked to be a part of this impressive event, and that morning I listened along with hundreds of leaders to a message of the wisdom of building a life and nation on Jesus Christ.

It had been a historic morning, and the three of us sat in this small restaurant discussing what we had witnessed. We were both tired and excited as we reviewed our time in Maputo. Throughout the day we had heard story after story of how various leaders had responded to the morning's breakfast. The Lord truly seemed to have moved in some hearts, and only history will tell what will come of the event that morning.

As we enjoyed the last bites of lobster, the conversation turned to the long flight that awaited us the next morning. As exciting of a trip as it had been, we were ready to be back home in Atlanta.

We finished dinner, and a few minutes later Ernest gave us the bill. He laid the check down on the table and quietly waited as we pulled out our payment. Ernest was a young man in his early 20s, dressed neatly in his waiter's uniform of a clean white shirt, black dress pants and black shoes. As he waited patiently he asked kindly if we had enjoyed our meal that night. If our pleased stomachs could have answered him they would have, but instead we had to resort to assuring him in unison that the meal had been delightful. Ernest then hesitated for a minute, and asked us another question.

"Are you from America?" he asked.

"Yes, we're from the state of Georgia," we replied.

Ernest nodded in response, and then began to hesitate once again. Ernest was soft-spoken and possessed a genuine and admirable humility about him. And as such it was evident that he was very nervous to ask his next question.

I, for one, am glad that he did.

"Do you know when you are going to return to Maputo?" he inquired.

We thought out loud about where our travels were going to take us in the near future, but eventually had to come to the conclusion that we would most likely not be back in Maputo for a long time. A look of disappointment came across Ernest's face as he heard our response.

"I was hoping you could bring me something back from America," he responded sheepishly.

In the travels I've been fortunate to take in my lifetime, I've often found that American items are quite popular overseas. It's usually an item related to American culture or an item that has an American brand on it. When we asked Ernest what he wanted, I expected to hear something along those lines. But his answer stunned me.

"I was hoping you could bring me some shoes, Sir."

He went on to explain that his feet hurt from working long hours as a waiter and walking several miles to and from work each day, but that good shoes are hard to find in Maputo if they are to be found at all. He lifted his foot to show us his current pair of faded and worn shoes, which had several large holes in the sole that went straight through.

Moved by his request, we asked if we could mail him a pair instead. He sadly shook his head and said that he would probably never see them as the package would most likely be stolen during shipment. My dad then asked him what his shoe size was, in hopes that he could give Ernest a pair of his shoes. Ernest did not know what his size was, so he placed his foot up against my dad's, only to see that the sizes did not match.

It appeared as if we had no way to grant his request. We took his name and the name of the restaurant, and said that if our paths ever led us to Maputo again, we would bring him a pair of shoes.

As we walked out the door, our friend went his way to his hotel, and my dad and I began our walk to ours. Almost instantly I caught sight of the green dumpster I had seen before. But this time the elderly man was gone. In what must have only been a matter of seconds, I had a long conversation with myself in my mind. Earlier that evening I had passed up the opportunity to help a man who was sincerely in need.

I stared at the now empty space where the man had stood, and I began to think of the poor attitude I had been holding in life. Just days earlier when I was still at home, I thought of the countless things I had probably complained about. The traffic light that was too long, the poor service at our favorite restaurant, or the game my favorite team had lost. And now here I was, thousands of miles away from my annoying traffic light in Atlanta, realizing just how foolish I had been.

Here, in a city that so vividly displays what much of this hurting world is going through, a young and unassuming waiter rocked my perspective with a simple request for a pair of shoes. In the moments after I exited the restaurant, I thought of the shoes on my feet.

And then I thought of the two additional pairs I had packed away in my suitcase. The black dress pair was new, they were very comfortable, they were durable, and they were the same size as Ernest's.

I stopped in my steps and wondered why it had taken me even 10 minutes to realize that I could help Ernest. I looked at my dad and confessed that I was pretty sure my shoes would fit Ernest, and that I wanted to give them to him. Being just steps away from the restaurant, we went back in and told Ernest that we had found a way to help him out, and that we would be back shortly. A big smile surfaced on his face and he nodded excitedly.

As we walked back in silence my mind continued to race with what God was teaching me that night. My dad, seeming to know the thoughts going on in my mind, just put his arm around my shoulders as we walked. As he did that, I said softly, "It sure changes your perspective, doesn't it?" He agreed.

When we arrived back at the restaurant, Ernest was waiting eagerly. Only this time, all of the other waiters were there with him. We placed the new shoes in his hands, and the smile in Ernest's face got even bigger. He didn't know exactly what to say. Neither did I. He humbly bowed his head and simply said thank you over and over. As we walked out of the restaurant, the other waiters crowded around Ernest to examine his new shoes.

When I left Atlanta I wondered if I really needed three pairs of shoes for this trip. But as we left the tiny seafood restaurant that night, I found myself wishing I had brought 10 pairs.

Ernest had unknowingly provided a mirror for me to look into my own heart and attitude. In a day when I had brushed shoulders with kings, God used a humble waiter to change my heart. We have to turn to world leaders to help ease the pain of a hurting world through their influence. But I learned that we have a part to play as well. Christ showed us that we each have the power to offer a helping hand and minister to the masses — one life at a time.

I had gone to Maputo expecting to see the lives of presidents and kings affected by a historic summit and prayer breakfast. How many hearts were changed, I don't know. But what I do know is that I was affected not so much by these national leaders, but by the life of a humble man who brought us our dinner.