Paul Jenkinson sets up in parks with two foldable chairs and a sign: “You are not alone. I will listen.”
That’s it. No agenda. No judgment. No clock running. Just an invitation to sit down and talk to someone who has decided that listening—real listening, the kind where you’re fully present and not waiting for your turn to speak—matters enough to dedicate his life to it.
He’s been traveling across the country for years now. Canada, mostly, though his mission has taken him wherever people need to be heard. Parks, street corners, anywhere there’s foot traffic and people carrying weights they haven’t been able to put down. He offers them a chair, and if they take it, he listens.
Not advice. Not solutions. Not the kind of listening that’s really just waiting to fix or correct or redirect. Just listening. The kind that says: your words matter. Your story matters. You matter.
When was the last time someone really listened to what you had to say?
For most of us, the answer is uncomfortable. We’re surrounded by people, but real listening has become rare. Everyone’s distracted, rushing, half-present. Conversations happen in fragments between notifications. We talk at each other more than we talk to each other. And somewhere in all that noise, we’ve forgotten what it feels like to be truly heard.
Paul Jenkinson remembered. Or maybe he never forgot. Either way, he decided to do something about it. He took his foldable chairs and his sign and his willingness to be present, and he turned it into a mission: reminding people that no matter what they’re going through, there’s always someone willing to listen.
The sign includes something else too: “Don’t wait, just bow your knee and come to Jesus anytime you need. He won’t just listen, but will answer your prayers.”
For Paul, listening is both a human act and a spiritual one. He believes that connection—real connection—is sacred. That when we listen to each other, we’re participating in something larger than ourselves. That the act of being heard can be healing in ways that go beyond what we can explain.
You don’t have to share his faith to understand the power of what he’s doing. Because at its core, this isn’t about religion—it’s about humanity. It’s about recognizing that we’re all carrying things, and sometimes the most powerful thing another person can offer is just… presence. Just the willingness to sit with us and let us speak our truths without fear of judgment or interruption.
Paul has heard stories most of us can’t imagine. Grief, trauma, loneliness, despair. But also hope, recovery, gratitude, joy. He’s sat with strangers who became less alone simply because someone finally stopped and listened. Who walked away lighter, not because their problems were solved, but because they’d been witnessed. Because someone cared enough to hear them.
There’s no cost. The sign says it clearly: “No cost listening.” Because listening shouldn’t be transactional. It shouldn’t require insurance or payment plans or explanations. It should be freely given, the way all essential things should be.
We need more Paul Jenkinsons. More people willing to slow down and make space for others. More chairs set up in parks with signs that say “you are not alone.” More reminders that in a world obsessed with speed and productivity and optimization, sometimes the most valuable thing we can offer each other is simply our attention.
If you’re struggling, if you’re carrying something heavy, if you’re wondering whether anyone would care to hear what you have to say—the answer is yes. Paul Jenkinson would listen. And so would countless others like him, people who understand that listening is an act of love, a form of service, a way of saying: you matter. Your story matters. I’m here.
And if you’re not struggling right now, if you’re in a season of relative peace—maybe you could be the one setting up the chairs. Maybe you could be the one offering to listen. Because there’s someone out there who needs exactly what Paul is offering: presence, attention, the simple gift of being heard.
When was the last time someone really listened to you? And when was the last time you really listened to someone else? The answer to both questions might reveal something important about the kind of world we’re living in—and the kind of world we could create if more of us were willing to slow down and pay attention.