Alone on Christmas Eve, I Found Him Under the Streetlamp…
It was Christmas Eve. Snow fell thick and heavy as I left my husband’s grave. My son called—he and his family couldn’t visit. The house felt painfully empty.
Then I saw him. A young man, shivering under a flickering streetlamp, thin jacket, hands stuffed in pockets.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“I… don’t have anywhere to go,” he said quietly.
I opened my car door. “Get in. It’s freezing.”
At home, I gave him hot cocoa, some of my son’s old clothes, and a warm blanket. His name was Eli. No dramatic story—just pain and loneliness.
That night, he tiptoed into my room. I panicked, but he explained: he heard me crying in my sleep. He wasn’t dangerous—just scared and alone.
Over breakfast, he shared his story: foster care, lost job, no family. I gave him food, money, and my number.
Months later, Eli found work, a small apartment, and still calls every Christmas Eve.
That night reminded me: even in our loneliest moments, we can be someone’s light.
