Meeting Hope


My husband, Tom, always walks me to my bus stop. That morning, a homeless man was sitting on the covered bench. A couple of bags held his personal belongings, and a thick blanket shielded him from the cold.

The three of us were the only ones waiting in the darkness. Across the street, Christmas lights twinkled in the store windows —bright reminders of comfort and celebration.



Tom wandered over and gently asked the man how he was doing.

“I’m homeless,” he replied,—as if stating the obvious.

He didn’t ask for money. He didn’t ask for pity. He didn’t even ask for conversation. He didn’t know my husband.

But Tom introduced himself anyway.

The man’s name was Steven, a Navy veteran who had served our country during the Vietnam War on a nuclear submarine. He might not have a place to live now, but he had once lived a life of sacrifice and service. 

Steven explained that alcohol had played a large role in his struggles. He had lost hope.



I watched as Tom sat down beside him. Steven listened as Tom shared what had given him hope throughout his life—Jesus.

Jesus didn’t enter the world as royalty. He was born in a stable. His parents were poor and powerless under ruthless rulers. They faced homelessness themselves as they fled to Egypt to escape the slaughter of infant boys in Bethlehem. Desperate times—yet filled with divine purpose. 

Jesus came to bring hope to a hurting world, to hurting people.


Steven said he wanted the hope Jesus offers.


Now, no matter where Steven goes, Jesus will be with him.


Hope often comes quietly, and sometimes, it simply sits down beside us.


1 Timothy 1:1 — “Christ Jesus our hope.”


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