If missionaries could reach everyone with the good news of Jesus’ grace and love, our jobs would be easy. But sometimes we cannot. Recently, at the end of a cold and rainy day, a friend led a young man, new to the streets, to see me. He was looking for a safe place to spend the night; as I laid out several options, he found reasons to decline each one. He didn’t look like an addict, but I could tell he was affected by a mental condition. I asked about his family and friends. His mother was dead, he was estranged from his dad, and his sisters lived out of state. He considered his friends “evil.” I asked about his faith, and he identified as a Christian but doubted he was truly a beloved child of God. We prayed together for safety, deliverance, comfort and guidance. He finally thanked me and left, intending to call a friend who offered him a tent. I prayed that he stay safe, find a way to surrender and accept grace, find the peace that surpasses all understanding. It was all I could do as we just stood, in the cold and the rain.
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