I know you’re reading the title of this blog and thinking this may be racist in some way – but don’t worry, it will all make sense.

About two and a half years ago, walking towards my car – it was pretty late at night – a car guard rocked up out of nowhere. I won’t lie – he looked bad, apparently still high from the drugs he had taken earlier, smelling like alcohol, clothes all ripped up. It was very alarming at first, but we started a conversation.

“Hi, my name is Chinaman,” he said.

I thought it was funny, so we both had a laugh – and that was the start of a very unlikely friendship.

It’s funny – I meet a ton of people on the street. I know them by name. But there was something different about Chinaman.

I would chat to him most nights of the week, even if it was only for 10 minutes. Every time I saw him, I told him that I would not be giving him money; that I was just there to chat. It got to the stage where if I ordered food, I would order and extra plate to go, just for Chinaman.

Although our friendship may have been one-sided in a way, Chinaman doesn’t know how he actually helped me: He taught me how to love; how to talk to people; he taught me how to be happy even with nothing.

There are a million stories I could tell about him, but I’ll keep it short for now. If you were to see him today, you would never say it’s the same person. You see, the Chinaman I once knew was a drunk, drugged up old man on the brink of death. The Chinaman I know now is a man clean from drugs, has an ID, is about to open a bank account, and has a great influence on the street he lives on.

I will never forget the story of Chinaman. And neither should you. Because none of us are so broken that we can’t be made whole again.

Do you have questions about Jesus or would like to know more? We would love to connect with you. Just click below to send us your questions!