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This series will be more than just articles—it will be a journey into the souls of the broken, the abandoned, and the lost. It will introduce you, the reader, to the world of the homeless through their own voices, their own pain, and their own search for hope.
Each installment will focus on one person’s story—a doorway into their life, their struggles, and the battle they face daily, not just for survival, but for worth. These aren’t just people without homes. These are God’s children, fighting an invisible war between despair and redemption.
Through this series, you will be confronted with hard truths:
Heavenly Father,
We come before You in thanksgiving, acknowledging that every good and perfect gift comes from You. You are the God of justice, mercy, and restoration. We lift up our hands—not only in worship but in surrender, offering what we have so that Your lost children may know their worth.
Lord, as we read these words, open our hearts to see the unseen, to feel the pain of the forgotten, and to respond as Your hands and feet. May we give generously, not out of obligation, but out of the abundance of Your love poured into us. You have called us to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and welcome the stranger, for in doing so, we serve You.
Let this be our act of worship—not only lifting our voices but emptying our storehouses so that others may be filled.
Jesus, You left the glory of heaven to walk among the broken, the lost, the rejected. You touched the untouchable, called the unworthy by name, and restored those whom the world cast aside. As we enter into these stories, may we not simply read them, but may we be moved to act.
Break our hearts for what breaks Yours, O Lord.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?"
—Isaiah 58:6-7
James sat hunched against the cold concrete wall of an abandoned gas station, his once-proud posture now bowed beneath the weight of time and regret. The scent of stale cigarettes and damp cardboard lingered in the air, mixing with the distant, greasy aroma of a fast-food joint just beyond the alleyway. It had been weeks since he’d stepped inside a restaurant. Maybe months. Time blurred when survival swallowed up the minutes.
He adjusted the fraying collar of his jacket—one he had found draped over a city park bench, left there either by accident or as an act of charity. It had been his for three winters now, though the holes in the sleeves whispered that it wouldn’t last another.
“I used to be somebody,” he muttered to no one in particular, his voice barely rising above the rustling of discarded newspapers skittering across the pavement.
And he had been.
Once, James had a corner office with a nameplate that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. A title that carried weight. A salary that meant something. He’d walked through life with purpose, shaking hands with decision-makers, signing contracts, making things happen.
Now, his hands trembled—not from power, but from cold. From hunger. From the slow, gnawing realization that the world had moved on without him.
“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light.”
—1 Peter 2:9
James never thought he’d end up here. That’s what everyone says, isn’t it? No one chooses to be homeless. No one wakes up one morning and says, I think I’ll lose everything today.
For him, it started with a layoff. The company downsized, and in a moment, his years of service became nothing more than a footnote in a corporate report.
"You’ll bounce back, James," his colleagues had reassured him.
"With your experience? You’ll be fine."
And at first, he believed them.
But rejection after rejection chipped away at his certainty. The first few months, he polished his résumé, networked with old contacts, went to interviews where he smiled a little too hard to hide the fear that clawed at the edges of his confidence.
Then came the bills. Mortgage payments turned into final notices. Savings drained like a slow leak in a sinking ship. His wife held on for as long as she could, but stress corrodes love faster than time ever could. The night she left, she took their two boys with her.
The day he lost his house was the day he stopped looking in the mirror. He couldn’t bear to see himself anymore.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
—Psalm 34:18
Now, James lived in a city that had forgotten him. People passed him every day, their eyes skimming over him as if he were part of the concrete. A fixture in the landscape. The invisible man.
And he had learned the rules of being invisible.
Never beg too aggressively—people don’t like desperation.
Never make eye contact for too long—it makes them uncomfortable.
Never talk about the life you used to have—it only makes the loss heavier.
But sometimes, on nights when the wind howled through the alleyways and loneliness felt like a living thing wrapping its hands around his throat, he allowed himself to remember.
His son’s laughter as they built Lego cities on the living room floor.
The way his wife used to trace circles on his palm absentmindedly while they watched TV.
The scent of coffee brewing in his kitchen—his kitchen.
And he wondered if God remembered him.
“Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?”
—Luke 15:4
James never considered himself a religious man. He had believed in God once, in the same way a child believes in Santa Claus—distant, kind, but ultimately detached from the real world.
But one night, as he sat beneath an overpass, rainwater pooling around his feet, he did something he had never done before.
He prayed.
"God… if You’re there… if You even see me… help me."
And then, silence.
No voice from the heavens. No sudden warmth in his bones. No divine intervention. Just the sound of rain and the distant hum of traffic.
And yet… something shifted.
The next morning, a stranger walked up to him, a man with kind eyes and calloused hands. He handed James a sandwich and, more importantly, he spoke to him. Really spoke to him.
That moment changed something. Because maybe—just maybe—God hadn’t forgotten him after all.
“So he got up and went to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.”
—Luke 15:20
James’ story isn’t unique.
Every day, men and women just like him sit in the shadows of our cities, carrying stories of loss and heartbreak, waiting for someone to see them.
Will that someone be you?
Jesus didn’t wait for people to come to Him in fine clothing and clean hands. He went to them. To the sick, the outcast, the broken. He walked into their suffering and met them where they were.
So the question is simple: Will we?
Closing Prayer of a Servant
Heavenly Father,
You are the God who hears, the One who bends low to listen when Your children cry out in faith. You’ve promised that when we humble ourselves, pray, seek Your face, and turn from our wicked ways, You will hear from heaven, forgive our sins, and heal our land (2 Chronicles 7:14). Today, I come before You with a heart laid bare, ready to surrender all, trusting that You are a God of restoration, purpose, and power.
Lord, I bring my life, my desires, and my plans before You. Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts (Psalm 139:23). Break the chains of selfishness, excess, and comfort that hold me back from fully living in Your purpose. I pray against the spirit of Mammon and the lure of this world that promises satisfaction but leaves only emptiness. Strip away the false idols of money, possessions, and worldly success. Replace them with a deep longing for Your presence, a wealth not of this world but of Your Spirit.
God, You are my strength. You have rescued me from the depths of depression, lifted me from the dirt, and breathed life into me. Remind me again that I am Yours and that no darkness can extinguish Your light. Crush the doubts, fears, and frustrations that rise up within me. Let me walk boldly in the path You’ve set before me, knowing You go before me, behind me, and surround me on every side (Psalm 139:5). I rest in the truth that You will never leave me nor forsake me (Deuteronomy 31:6).
Father, I pray not only for myself but for Your children, those You are calling in these end times. Awaken our hearts to Your kingdom purpose. Stir in us a spirit of generosity, freeing us from the grip of excess and empowering us to use our blessings for Your glory. Remind us that our wealth and possessions are temporary, but Your kingdom is eternal. Teach us to store treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust can destroy (Matthew 6:19-20).
I surrender my plans to You, Lord. If there is anything in me that does not align with Your will, crucify it. Break me in the places where I still cling to the world so that You can heal me and make me whole. Reduce me so that You may increase (John 3:30). Let my life be a vessel for Your glory, a reflection of Your love and purpose to those around me.
I trust You to complete the good work You’ve started in me (Philippians 1:6). You have never abandoned me, and You never will. Let Your Spirit guide me through the darkness I’ve invited in and replace it with Your marvelous light. Cover me and Your people with Your presence and peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7).
Father, in faith, I ask for freedom—freedom from financial bondage, from doubt, from sin, and from every lie that opposes Your truth. Let Your Spirit move mightily in my life and in the lives of all Your children. Break the chains that ensnare us, and lead us into the freedom of living for You alone.
Thank You, Lord, for Your faithfulness. Thank You for hearing my cries and answering me. I rest in Your promises, trusting in Your unfailing love.
In the powerful name of Jesus, I pray,
Amen.
