He Wrote the Date

He Wrote the Date

(for the lad who once lived in the car park opposite Leeds Uni

— a true story framed poetically)

He slept beneath stars—

not the poetic kind,

but the cold blink of CCTV,

the flicker of a dying lamp

in a car park that forgot his name.

A heroin addict,

A hungry ghost,

Bones hollow,

Eyes flightless.

The dragons had done their work.

He was all aftermath.

Across the road,

minds awakened,

as his body and mind

folded in on itself.

Leeds Uni lectured on progress;

he revised survival.

Lesson one:

how to disappear

without dying.

Then one day—

just a Tuesday,

no trumpet,

no script—

he crossed the road

& walked towards hope.

Not to detox.

Not to court.

But to St George’s Church.

He hadn’t heard the rumours—

that dragons are slain there.

He just knew

he was tired of hurting.

They called it Lighthouse—

a place where the light of Christ

doesn’t flinch at brokenness.

Where wounded saints

pour tea like benediction,

and mercy arrives,

often cloaked in grace.

And the Wild Goose

did her work.

Someone prayed.

Someone stayed.

Someone handed him a Bible.

And he—

with trembling hands,

called out to Jesus &

wrote the date.

Not prophecy.

Not poetry.

Just biro and breath:

This is the day.

He never touched heroin again.

“If you see a brother in need

and do nothing,

how can the love of Christ be in you?”

So we did something.

No council forms.

No funding stream.

Just this:

Not one night without a roof.

Not one night without dignity.

Ten years on—

he still wears a baseball cap

like a crown.

Still carries scars.

But now he laughs.

Smiles.

Sleeps safe.

The Wild Goose

has done her work—

through care and compassion,

through mercy and grace,

through love that bleeds and stays.

And he prays—

sometimes in Hebrew—

reading from a creased scrap of paper

tucked in his wallet.

Not to impress,

but because the blessing

burns like

divine fire

and tastes like

holy truth:

Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha’olam,

she’asani b’tzalmo...

Blessed are You,

Lord our God,

King of the Universe,

who has made me in His image.

Now he speaks it over others—

tattoos visible,

cap low,

an image-bearer

blessed

to be a blessing.

And he is.

Blessed.

And a blessing.

- Rev'd Jon Swales, 2025