05/11/2026
For various reasons, some people stop in to share that they are living outside. They are certainly homeless, but not actually living outside. There's a way about someone when the ground is their bed and clean, running water is not available. The family that just stopped in is definitely living outside.
I was out in the yard yesterday afternoon working off some Mother's Day brunch, digging up some old flowers, pulling weeds and spreading mulch. My hands look clean now but they feel a little rougher from yesterday's digging around. They were still recovering from an afternoon in the yard.
Her hands, roughened by weather and time outside, were split white at the knuckles, with chipped and uneven nails. Even while she rested, her fingers bent slightly inward against the cold. She sat in the chair across from me, curled into a bit of a ball, rocking slightly, her body conditioned to always conserve heat. It's going to take time for her body to adjust to having a home again.
It feels almost insulting to offer the kids Skittles from the machine and some bubbles from the counter. They obviously need so much more.
We do as much as we can and then we hope. We hope for that future phone call where we hear her voice again. She's telling us they found a home. She's hoping we still have the furniture and everything else we promised.
Those are the best calls we ever receive.
