I stepped into the drizzle knowing exactly where I was— and who I was there for. This wasn’t a casual stop or a quick hello. This was the lot beside two shelters, the streets where our homeless friends gather, wait, and watch. I arrived first, the rain light but persistent, the kind that doesn’t rush, it just lingers. Before long, the group from Rock Creek Baptist Church pulled up, ready to hand out Christmas bags, packed with care and purpose. I wasn’t the bag lady that morning, I was the hello, the I see you, the you matter more than you think, gal.
He came running up first, a tall, lanky man I hadn’t seen in years. No hesitation. No distance. Just recognition. Then a small, thin woman stepped up quickly and announced, like she was sharing the best news she’d ever owned, “I’ve been off drugs for two years.” I celebrated her as if she’d just rung a victory bell, because she had.
Another woman dressed in layers decided the moment required a group hug. Not a request, a declaration. Four of us pulled together, laughing at the awkwardness and loving every second of it. Sometimes joy doesn’t ask permission.
