Author’s Note: There are moments when the walls of the church are stretched beyond their familiar boundaries — when a life bruised by sin and sorrow crosses our threshold, and we are given a rare opportunity to truly be the hands and feet of Christ. This is the story of one such Sabbath morning, when a woman named Kristin* - broken, beautiful, and beloved by God - danced in the rain. Her story reminds us that grace often comes quietly, sometimes painfully, but always purposefully. It challenges us to put aside our comforts, our assumptions, and to embrace God’s calling to love without measure. This is a story about Kristin*, but it is also about us. It is about the preciousness of time, the unexpected workings of God, and the revival He seeks to bring to His people — one heart at a time. (*Kristin and her friend *Carla are pseudonyms used to respect their privacy).
Kristin arrived at our church on Sabbath morning.
One of our regular attendees - a non-Adventist - had seen her downtown, struggling to walk while carrying her belongings. Moved with compassion, he offered her a ride. I had just arrived to open the church when Jon shouted from his vehicle at the far end of the parking lot, “Wait just a minute, brother!”
As he pulled up beside me at the bottom of the church steps, I caught my first glimpse of Kristin — half-slumped in the passenger seat of his pickup truck. "Can you get Kristin over to the food shelf and feed her?" he asked. I said, "Of course," and he reassured Kristin that I was safe to help her.
She stepped out of the truck: messy, somewhat matted hair, a dirty sweatshirt, sweat pants, and old footwear. I said hello, and with her head down, she mumbled, "Hi." Her speech was slurred (I later learned she had suffered a stroke in 2023 from heavy crack cocaine use), and her step was unsteady, almost palsied. She was clearly anxious and restless — symptoms, I would come to understand, of both intermittent crack withdrawal and deep social anxiety around strangers.
Inside our food shelf, where we also have a kitchen for fellowship meals, I settled her at a table and began preparing some breakfast and tea. In classic addict fashion, she asked for six sugars in her tea — and a like amount for her cereal.
As Kristin’s anxiety began to ease, she shared with me that she had just started a methadone program three days prior and was struggling through withdrawal and sleeplessness. She was determined, she said, to get off crack "once and for all."
Between bites of toast and cereal, she would occasionally let out a low moan, mumbling toward me, "Abscesses" — the devastating damage crack had done to her teeth. Sometimes she would rise from her seat, pacing with arms jerking uncontrollably, needing help to calm herself. Myself, and later others from the church family, took turns sitting with her, reassuring and comforting her through each painful episode. It was, clearly, a glimpse of hell on earth for this helpless child of God.
After she ate, we tried to help her find clean clothes from our supplies for the needy, but her restlessness and anxiety prevented it. Our sweet Head Deaconess, Jody, patiently reassured her, hugging her and loving her. Eventually, Jody was able to guide Kristin to the mother's room, hoping she might get some rest. Our prayers were answered: Kristin slept soundly through the remainder of Sabbath school and the entire worship service.
After the service, one of our regular guests - a former drug addict named Carla* - recognized Kristin. They had been childhood friends. Carla*, clean for ten years now, shared that Kristin came from a good, loving home - “much better than mine” - but like many, had fallen in with the wrong crowd. Both girls began experimenting with drugs, and before long, they were addicted to crack. Carla* also shared a grim statistic: of the twenty or so friends they once used with, only five remained alive today.
For Kristin, addiction had led to prostitution to support her habit. She birthed four children, all of whom were removed by child protective services. Used, abused, cast aside, and left to survive alone, Kristin bore the heavy stigma of society.
Praise God for people like Jon — people who see the lowest of society as still worthy of a touch from Jesus’ hands and heart.
When Kristin awoke, she was in much better spirits. Church family helped her find clean clothes and provided her with some food. Jon then brought her to our home, where my wife Sue hosted a meal and fellowship with members of our church family. I am grateful that Sue has a heart for ministry through these simple but powerful gatherings.
Kristin seemed more at ease now, less anxious than when she had first arrived. She even made it a point to hug several people before Jon took her to her friend’s place for the night. Later, Jon shared that Kristin said she felt accepted — not judged — by our church family. For a few precious hours, it seemed her life of hell had abated, if briefly.
Several days later, to our deep shock and sorrow, we learned that Kristin, along with several others, had overdosed on drugs laced with fentanyl. Of the three, two died — including Kristin. The days following her death gave me time for reflection — about myself, my church, and the preciousness of time.
I won’t lie: the situation had pushed me outside my comfort zone. To have Kristin visit our campus’ in the condition she was in, on the Sabbath, notably on Easter weekend! — challenged me — and yet it is the very day God set aside for rest and restoration for all humanity — especially for Kristin that day.
I had to make a choice: to put off my prejudices and "put on Christ", in order to minister to her effectively. It wasn’t easy — but it was essential. And it's a work God is striving to perfect within His church. Too many church people want to go through the motions of church life without allowing God to work in them — "to will and to do of His good pleasure" (Philippians 2:13).
Kristin’s death also reminded us of how precious time really is. God, in His grace, gave us a window of opportunity to be His hands and feet for this woman. More importantly, I believe, He used Kristin to shine light into our own hearts — calling us again to "choose this day whom we will serve" (Joshua 24:15). I believe God was manifesting the Three Angels' Messages to His people that Sabbath morning.
After hearing of Kristin’s passing, Jody shared a memory that comforted all of us. When folks left the service that day, and after gathering food and clothes for Kristin, Jody and her husband Kevin had stepped outside the food shelf — and it was raining — and she saw Kristin, alone in the rain in our nearly empty parking lot, dancing under the falling drops. For a brief moment, it seemed, Kristin was being refreshed "from the presence of the Lord" (Acts 3:20), her damaged body being resurrected to life. Could it be that in serving the Kristins of this world on God’s behalf, we somehow become participants in that divine outpouring of refreshment? Is Kristin symbolic of our condition and is God wanting to restore us to wholeness by His presence?
I am grateful my church recognized this encounter as a message of hope — a glimpse of grace shown "for a little space" (Ezra 9:8). A reminder that God desires to "lighten our eyes" and give us a "little reviving" in our bondage. Sometimes our fears and selfishness can limit the outpouring of revival God longs to send — revival that could free our stony, enslaved hearts.
My prayer is that God will continue this work — in us and through us — as the Day approaches — the Kristin’s out there are counting on us!
