Hugs on the Street

Sometimes, street ministry doesn’t come dressed in tidy church clothes. Sometimes, it wears worn-out shoes, paces in the middle of the road, or curls up with knees tucked under its chin. And sometimes, ministry smells like street dust and hugs like heaven.

When I met a man near the homeless camp, he dove straight into his life story—his mom, his cousins, and the storms that shaped him. I soaked in every word like sunlight on a chilly day. His honesty was a raw beauty, and I felt honored to listen.

Another moment later, I waved at a stranger as he wandered over slowly and steadily, sharing his burdens like laying bricks out one by one. I marveled at his openness, the kind that peels back layers and dares to trust again.