06/19/2026
💜 Growing Up at Helping Hand Rescue Mission
People often ask me why Helping Hand Rescue Mission means so much to me.
The answer is simple.
I grew up there.
Not because I lived there, but because I spent so much of my childhood there that it became part of who I am.
Six days a week, the Mission was woven into our lives. While other children were spending weekends at the mall, at sporting events, or relaxing at home, I was often at the Mission with my grandmother, Florence E. Meringola, my parents, Rev. Jim and Rose Marie Gaines, and many members of our family who helped build this ministry.
My Aunt Jennie and Uncle Bill worked alongside my parents for many years. In those early days, everyone worked hard. They weren’t just operating a ministry—they were building one. They were laying a foundation, establishing programs, serving families, raising support, and trusting God every step of the way.
Helping Hand Rescue Mission wasn’t just where they served. It was where life happened.
As a child, I watched people come through our doors carrying burdens that seemed impossible. Families struggling to put food on the table. Mothers worried about their children. People searching for hope, guidance, and a reason to keep going.
I watched my parents pray with them, encourage them, and do everything they could to help.
I also witnessed the sacrifices.
The long days.
The late nights.
The interrupted dinners.
The phone calls that couldn’t wait.
The holidays when someone needed help.
The reality that serving people often meant putting the needs of others before your own comfort.
Like many ministry families, we didn’t have a lot of extras. I wore hand-me-down clothes. My parents worked hard to provide for us, and we were blessed to attend Christian school because they made it affordable for our family.
As a child, there were times I wished things were easier. Times I wished my parents had more time. Times I didn’t fully understand the sacrifices they were making.
But I was also witnessing something many children never get to see.
I saw generosity in action.
I saw faith lived out every day.
I watched my parents trust God when there wasn’t enough money.
I watched prayers answered.
I watched miracles happen.
I watched people walk through our doors feeling hopeless and leave with renewed hope.
Without realizing it, those experiences were shaping me.
The Mission taught me compassion. It taught me gratitude. It taught me that every person matters. It taught me that faith is more than something we talk about on Sunday morning—it’s trusting God every day of the week.
Looking back, I realize the greatest gift my family gave me wasn’t material things.
It was a front-row seat to God’s faithfulness.
Today, when I walk through the doors of Helping Hand Rescue Mission, I don’t just see a building or an organization.
I see a legacy.
I see the sacrifices of my grandmother, my parents, Aunt Jennie, Uncle Bill, and so many others who gave their time, energy, and hearts to make sure this ministry would continue serving our community.
I see the prayers that built this Mission.
I see the lives that have been changed over the past sixty years.
And I see the little girl who spent six days a week at the Mission, learning lessons she didn’t fully understand at the time.
People often ask why I care so deeply about this work.
The answer is because this Mission helped raise me.
Somewhere between the long days, the hand-me-down clothes, the answered prayers, and the countless lives touched by God’s love, God was shaping my heart for the calling I would one day embrace myself.
For that, I will always be grateful.
— Kim 💜
If you have a memory of Helping Hand Rescue Mission please feel free to share it in the comments.
