It was one of those biting January afternoons when the cold seemed to seep into your very bones. I had just finished running errands—groceries, dry cleaning, the usual checklist—when something compelled me to stop by St. Peter’s Church. Perhaps it was the need for a moment of quiet amidst life’s constant noise. What I didn’t realize was how that single decision would change not only my life but someone else’s, too.
As I climbed the church steps, I saw him—a young man, no older than thirty, sitting hunched at the base of the stairs. His coat was worn thin, his fingers raw and red as he fiddled with shoes held together by bits of string. His head was bare to the bitter wind, and his slumped shoulders spoke of defeat.
I paused. A dozen questions ran through my mind. What if he didn’t want help? What if he reacted badly? But when he looked up, his hollow eyes stopped me in my tracks. They held a quiet vulnerability that melted my hesitation.
I crouched beside him, the cold stone seeping through my knees. “Hi there,” I said gently. “Can I help with your shoes?”
His eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face. “You don’t have to—”
“Let me,” I insisted, my tone firm but kind. Carefully, I untangled the knotted string holding his shoes together and adjusted them as best I could. My fingers stung from the cold, but it didn’t matter.
When I finished, I pulled off the thick gray scarf around my neck—a gift from my husband, Ben, years ago. It was my favorite, but in that moment, he needed it more than I did. Draping it over his shoulders, I said, “Here. This should help.”
He looked at me, his lips parting as if to object, but no words came. Instead, I darted across the street to a nearby café and returned with a steaming cup of soup and tea. Handing them to him, I scribbled my address on a scrap of paper.
“If you ever need a place to stay or someone to talk to,” I said softly, “come find me.”
His hands trembled as he took the paper. “Why?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because everyone needs someone,” I replied simply. “And right now, you need someone.”
Tears glistened in his eyes as he whispered, “Thank you.”
I walked away, glancing back once to see him sipping the soup, huddled against the wind. I didn’t ask his name, and I didn’t expect to see him again.
A Decade Later
Life moved on, as it always does. Ten years passed in a blur of family, work, and everyday moments. My husband and I celebrated twenty-two years of marriage, and our children, Emily and Caleb, grew quickly—Emily preparing for college and Caleb navigating the chaos of high school.
Continue reading on next page…