The first time Lena really noticed him, the sky was streaked pink and gold. The man stepped into a narrow band of sunlight on the street and stopped, as if he’d reached an invisible line. Then he turned and walked slowly back and forth, staying within the light like it was something precious.
From her window, Lena watched with curiosity. The small radio in his hand crackled softly, playing music she didn’t recognize. Sometimes he sang along. Other times he simply closed his eyes and let the warmth rest on his face. Whatever that sunlight stirred in him, it loosened his shoulders and softened his pace.
One afternoon, Lena stepped onto her porch just as he passed. He smiled, lifted his hand in greeting, and pointed up at the sky with a thumbs up. No shared language, no conversation — just a moment of understanding. This is good.
After that, Lena began timing her coffee breaks around 3:45. She still didn’t know his story, but she could see what that slice of sunlight did for him. And quietly, it began to do the same for her.
Standing there, mug warm in her hands, she realized how often she rushed past small gifts. The warmth. The pause. The reminder that God still shows up in ordinary streets and quiet rituals.
Sometimes faith looks like simply stepping into the light and letting it remind you that you’re still held.