The Presence of God

It was a quiet afternoon. Angela and I were praying with a man named Chris, with whom we had just shared a deep and uplifting conversation. The air felt still and sacred, as if God had pressed pause on the world for a moment to listen in. We bowed our heads together, letting the noise of the city fade away.

Then a gentle voice broke through the silence. “I don’t want to interrupt,” the man said softly, “but seeing you three pray made me happy.” He smiled, introducing himself as Happy Henry. And right away, I understood why he called himself that—there was a light in his eyes, a real and undeniable joy that seemed to come from somewhere deep within. It wasn’t the kind of happiness that depends on comfort or circumstance. It was the kind that can only come from God.

At first, Henry didn’t plan to talk for long. He just wanted to thank us for what we were doing, for praying openly and letting others see faith alive on the streets. But when we asked where he lived, he paused. You could see him thinking, almost wrestling with whether to say it. Then he looked at us honestly and said, “I can’t lie to you. I live in my car. I’m homeless.” There was a flicker of nervousness in his face, but also relief. It was as if a heavy burden lifted from his shoulders the moment he told the truth.

His honesty and vulnerability spoke volumes. It reminded me that sometimes, the truth sets us free even before anything else changes. As we stood there together, our conversation deepened. Henry shared his story about growing up, being raised in the church, learning faith from his mother, and the love he still carries for his own children. He spoke with such sincerity and warmth that you could almost feel his memories in the air around us.

Then, the light in his voice dimmed just a little. His tone shifted, and he said quietly that just two days before meeting us, he had thought about taking his own life. The words hung heavy between us. His eyes filled with tears, and you could see the pain that comes from feeling unseen and forgotten. For a moment, the bright spark we had seen in him, that unshakeable joy, seemed to flicker.

And then, right there in the middle of that pain, Henry began to call out to Jesus, saying His name over and over again, not out of desperation, but love. “Jesus is my best friend,” he said. “He’s someone who will never leave me.” Those words hit me deeply. In that instant, I could feel God’s presence so clearly—not as an idea or something far away, but as Someone real, standing right beside us. Henry’s relationship with Christ was so pure, so unfiltered, that it filled me with awe. He wasn’t preaching or trying to sound holy. He was simply speaking the truth of his heart that even in his lowest moments, he was never alone.

We prayed together right there on the sidewalk, hands joined, voices lifted. Henry thanked Jesus for life, for forgiveness, and for the simple blessing of meeting us that day. His prayer was raw, powerful, and full of gratitude. It reminded me that faith isn’t about where you are or what you have—it’s about trusting that God is with you, no matter what.

As we finished and said our goodbyes, I couldn’t help but think how perfectly God weaves moments like this together. Henry thought he was interrupting our prayer, but I truly believe he was the prayer, God’s way of reminding us of His nearness, His mercy, and His light in the middle of darkness. That encounter with Happy Henry has stayed with me. It reminds me that the presence of God isn’t just found in churches, worship songs, or perfect moments. God shows up in people. In conversations on the street. In strangers who carry both pain and hope in their eyes. Henry had lost his home, but not his faith. He had wrestled with despair, yet still clung to the love of Jesus. And that day, his honesty and his joy reminded me that God truly walks beside us, and sometimes through the very people we least expect.

~Alan Scott