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 HE FIRST TIME I SAW HIM HE WAS lying on the grass in his own vomit. We had started the “park ministry” a few months before. Our Sabbath school class, “The Young & the Rest of Us,” had accepted the challenge to do some kind of outreach together. Now we took turns preparing hot meals and sack lunches and handing them out to people on Sabbath afternoons. We set up at Locomotive Park by the bridge that crosses the Columbia River from Wenatchee to East Wenatchee, Washington, in the heart of apple-growing country.
There he lay, oblivious to what was going on around him, pants wet from having too many beers. He couldn’t even accept a plate of food or a sack lunch.
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