karin dancy

Content Warning: This post addresses suicide prevention and encourages help-seeking. If you or someone near you needs support, please contact the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988 or text HELLO or HOLA to 741741 to reach the Crisis Text Line.

Our family’s to-do list stays filled to the brim with errands. And, as a general rule, most errands are humdrum and predictable.

But not last Monday. A simple errand only about a mile from our home turned into what we can only describe as a God moment.

Heading toward our errand, Joel and I spotted him at the same time: a man trying to climb a railing above a very busy highway, 16 feet below.

He was barely five feet tall, middle age, golden skin kissed by the sun, his left arm wrapped in a bandage. We saw him put one foot on the railing, then back on the ground. He did it again, placing both feet on the railing instead, standing even higher.

By then, I’d slowed our minivan down to a crawl, hazard lights on, saying over and over, “No, no, no, Lord.” And before I could even come to a complete stop, my sweet husband hopped out our van to help.

Joel didn’t rush up on him. Instead, he stayed calm, raising both palms toward the gentleman, simply repeating, “Are you okay, sir? Are you okay?” The gentleman stopped in his tracks, slowly returning both feet to the ground. He just stared back at Joel, in stunned silence. And then he started to cry.

My eyes were so glued on the gentleman that I didn’t see another van stop behind us. A young man about our daughter’s age hopped out, offering a large beverage cup to the gentleman.

The young stranger smiled and greeted him gently in Spanish. Now, this may sound strange, but the young man had one of the most angelic faces I’ve ever seen. Light and joy beamed from his countenance, a warmth that was soothing and peaceful.

Joel remained steady in place, ready to help, and I stayed put behind the driver’s seat. While the young man talked quietly with the gentleman, I looked over my shoulder to see the other van. Its slightly tinted windows blurred the driver’s face. But he must have seen me, because he offered a reassuring thumbs-up through his window, as if to say, “Everything‘s okay.”

“Wait . . . what?,” I questioned out loud, slightly confused, mind still racing. Why is he giving me a thumbs-up? Should we call 911 for help? Who can help this man most, and not harm him? (These are very strange times , y’all, so calling 911 gave us pause. And at the time, I didn’t know about the crisis lifeline. Now, 988 is saved as one of my phone contacts.)

A little time passed, maybe five minutes, perhaps more. The young man returned to his van, and Joel talked a bit with the gentleman, offering to provide him with a meal. Wiping a few last tears, the gentleman insisted he was okay.

The other van pulled up next to me and two young men greeted me in Spanish. Their faces were calm and bright. I can’t exactly describe why, but their countenance made me feel that all really was, and would be, completely fine.

By the time they slowly drove away, Joel was returning to our minivan. We talked quietly for a few moments, checking back with the gentleman a couple more times. He insisted he was okay, but we still drove away at about two miles an hour just to be sure he would move on. And he did.

Eventually, I turned off our hazard lights and we ran our errand nearby. While driving home a short time later, both of us scanned the road ahead. Neither of us had to say a word to know we were doing the same thing – looking for the gentleman.

And Joel saw him first: he was now on the other side of the road, walking steadily and still sipping from the cup given to him by the young stranger. The despair on his face had disappeared, and he seemed to walk with hope.

Joel and I are still processing the many layers of that brief Monday moment. We don’t know the gentleman‘s name. We don’t know his story.

We just sincerely pray that he now knows something that the enemy of our hearts clearly made him question before: that God loves him, that his life matters, that others – even strangers – care about him. And that help is near. May we all know and remember this when life weighs us down, too.

And those young men who seemed to appear from nowhere – and were exactly what the gentleman needed? Well, to God be all the Glory.

P.S. In last month’s post, I shared that “. . . Joel still has more living and praising God and blessing others to do” as he still heals from major health challenges. Witnessing him hop out of our van to help last Monday? One of the best “told ya’ so” moments ever. 🤎