His name is James.
He had presence, this boy of the streets.
His teeth were in disrepair; he had the wary look of the survivor. But his manners were impeccable… as he ate the pizza provided, nor did he allow himself to gorge, though It wasn’t certain when he’d eaten last.
There was sharp intelligence in those brown eyes as he read the inscription on the inside of his new bible. He stayed much longer than the others in the comfortable conference room, thoughtfully turning pages and listening to the live music.
This morning I pray for him. James. Just another one of the lost boys roaming our streets, disenfranchised from the system for a myriad of reasons.
But now this one is different. He belongs to another Kingdom now. He is not alone. Ever again. How thankful I am that God cares for His own.
James has my card in his bible for a bookmark. Maybe he will call. Maybe he will not.
Maybe he will take advantage of the pancake breakfast I invited him to; maybe he will not.
But his Father in heaven will call on him. Of that I have no doubt. And I am deeply grateful for the love and power of our Risen Savior, Who saves and redeems and restores and renews.
Still, my heart hurts knowing he is not planted safely in a family right now. So, may I reach into your busy day for a moment and ask you to pray for this new believer?
His name is James.