I believe the majority of officers who wear the badge do so with pure intent to serve and protect.

Officer Jeff “Brady” of Provo Police Department is a family man, a Christian, and an exceptional cop. Before joining the force, he spent two decades in the US National Guard, and another 18 months as a nursing home administrator. He took the oath four years ago, eager to uphold the greater good in our iconic, American town. Today, he arrives at work holstered with a warm smile and a welcoming nature.

One week after our interview for this article, Brady called with heartfelt condolences. The body of an unhoused man was found in Provo’s Pioneer Park early that morning.

“Lorenzo” was my friend. When he wasn’t incarcerated, the 37-year-old haunted public benches and the Provo City Center Temple grounds. Sometimes, he stood at the intersection of University Ave and Center Street holding a sign that read “HELP.” Other times, he swayed on the sidewalk – his eyes vacant – lost in a bottle of gold Listerine. It’s no surprise that he was well acquainted with the police, or that his possessions were frequently confiscated. He had no more than the shirt on his back.

From the looks of him you’d never guess that Lorenzo played football for Payson High School, or that he was an accomplished painter and organist. Unlike most grade school students, he’d studied Latin and Ancient Greek. He was sensitive and struggled to understand social cues – prime bully bait.

The way people treated Lorenzo revealed their character – too often they were unkind. He drank to numb the pain of the suicidal depression that plagued him since childhood. Isolation fueled his alcohol addiction – Listerine powered the jail’s revolving door. All the same, my friend was the kind of man who planted avocado seeds on the County Courthouse grounds in the summertime, and patiently watch for them to grow.

We last time spoke on the temple lawn. Lorenzo told me that although he didn’t care for religion, he was praying for angels to take him. I felt compelled to give him the cross I wore around my neck. I gave him a hug and asked for permission to tell his story.

At the end of the call, Brady said, “Lorenzo was vulnerable, and winters were especially challenging. He didn’t do well in the warming centers, and when temperatures dropped he drank more and more to stay warm.”

Last winter, Brady patrolled the grave shift. He remembers it as icy cold, and because it was the middle of the night his interactions were primarily with Provo’s unhoused. On the night I met him, Brady entered Utah County’s Red Warehouse followed by a gust of bone-chilling wind and a hunched figure in tattered clothes limping behind him. I remember this man’s blue eyes. He peered from under a dirty hat that was pulled over his matted hair. His mouth turned up slightly at the corners, frozen in a smile. I retrieved a blanket and he chose a patch of concrete to lay his mat.

When I returned to the warming center’s volunteer station Brady was preparing to leave.

“I’m sworn to protect and serve,” he said. “My job is all about public safety, so where does the service come in? Shouldn’t we be out here doing just this? Isn’t this what the Savior said to do-love thy neighbor as thyself?”

Brady learned where to find people, and by the end of the season he’d chauffeured 60 chilled people. An officer has due diligence to enforce felony warrants, he said – and he did. But in certain situations the arrest is at the officer’s discretion. In those cases, Brady stayed true to his personal Christian philosophy of policework.

“I was never out to hunt them down,” he told me. “I’d say, ‘Hey, don’t sleep here. I don’t want you to get trespassed. Get in and I’ll take you.'”

When Brady offered a ride to a man he found shivering not far from Genesis Project, the man declined, fearful of being arrested.

“I told him I wasn’t asking for his name,” Brady said. “I said, ‘Let’s get you in the car and get you warm.'”

It was December – temperatures in the single digits – too cold to be in a t-shirt, mittens, and a thin blanket at 2 a.m. It didn’t take much coaxing before he jumped into the patrol car. Others, however, flat-out refused the help. The colder it got more people packed the centers. January arrived and the congestion ushered in illness.

“A couple of guys said no because they’d get sick,” Brady said. “They told me, ‘Nope, I need the fresh air. There’s too much snoring, it stinks. Nope, I want to be alone. I’m fine. I’m used to it.'”

Undaunted, he remained resolute in his mission to rescue as many people as he could. One evening a volunteer asked him, “Brady, do you know how many you’ve brought in tonight? That person was No. 8.”

Some evenings he brought in twelve unsheltered residents, and at the conclusion of the warming center season Provo Police Chief Troy Beebe commended Brady for his heroic efforts.

“He said he was so proud,” Brady said with a smile. “He said that’s what Provo is all about. That’s what policing is all about.”

I second Beebe’s praise. As long as homelessness persists, compassionate law enforcement protects both the community and human dignity.

“I try,” Brady said. “I make mistakes and I misjudge people sometimes. With a badge, a gun, and training, special trust has been placed on every police officer. You’re given responsibilities and you’re tasked with obligations that average citizens don’t have to worry about. But it has to be monitored and controlled, and I’ve found the best way to do that is by applying my faith. I ask for a steady mind and a clear objective. This is one of Your children, what needs to happen?”