Meet Vernon

I met Vernon on a cold December evening, sitting alone under a tree in a parking lot. He wore a thin, worn‑out jacket over a T‑shirt, sweatpants with holes, and tennis shoes so damaged I could see his toes through the split sole. He wasn’t wearing socks.

After introducing myself, I asked if there was anything I could pray for. He paused and said quietly, “That I make it through the night out here.”

I handed him one of our drawstring backpacks and explained what was inside. As I spoke, he held the bag tightly against his chest, eyes closed for a moment as if steadying himself. Then he looked up and asked, almost shyly, if he could look inside. I smiled and told him, “Of course — it’s yours.”

Vernon immediately pulled out the socks and began putting them on. When I left, he kept repeating “thank you,” not loudly, but with a sincerity that stayed with me long after I walked away.