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Monday 8am - 3pm Tuesday 8am - 3pm Wednesday 8am - 3pm Thursday 8am - 3pm Friday 8am - 1pm

The Mission of Winter Haven, 180 E Central Avenue, Winter Haven, FL (2026)

06/08/2026

Today was one of those days that reminds me of the realities of ministry. Please know that this post may not be easy to read.

I was sitting at my desk looking at invoices. It seems like when it rains, it pours. Not one, not two, but FOUR A/C units need replacing. FOUR. I looked at all the other bills, and I was overwhelmed. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath. So I got up. I looked out one window and saw Monika and her crew organizing food out in the heat. It is so hot out there, but we have no space, so there they are, working tirelessly for others. I looked out another window and saw the parking lot and immediately felt overwhelmed by everything that still needs to be done. But even in that, as I looked outside, I was reminded that God has it all under control.

I decided to walk back to my office. I was about to call David over. I sat down and said, "Lord, sometimes this is way harder than I thought it would be. I am overwhelmed." People don't often see this part of ministry. They see meals being served, groceries being distributed, and stories of lives being changed. What they do not always see is the weight that comes with loving people who are hurting. Many of the people we serve are carrying the burdens of addiction, mental illness, trauma, homelessness, and deep loss. We meet them in some of the darkest moments of their lives.

Then all of a sudden, I heard David outside my office window. "Calm down," he said. I looked out the window and saw him and a staff member trying to deescalate a client. Then a loud hit. One of our staff members was punched in the face by a young man who was angry and decided violence was the answer. I saw my husband running. There was blood everywhere, and as everything unfolded, my emotions were running high. I was at a loss. I ran down the stairs. I watched as my nephew ran over and held the young man while David called the police. Then I heard words that stopped me in my tracks. The staff member who had just been hit looked at the young man and said, "Jesus still loves you."

In the midst of overwhelming chaos and despair, with blood running down his face, he said it loud and clear.

"Jesus still loves you."

That is The Mission of Winter Haven. In the good times and bad times… Jesus is at the core of who we are and what we do. The truth is that ministry can be heavy. There are days when I leave feeling sad, overwhelmed, or even angry. There are days when my anxiety is through the roof and I have seen so much pain in a single day. Days when the bills keep piling up and donations keep going down. Days when I see the heaviness our staff carries and the burdens they bear. Days when I see the wear on my husband's physical health and I can’t help but ask, "Lord, how long?" Yet even in the heaviness, Jesus keeps showing up. Miracles keep happening. Staff and volunteers keep caring and they keep believing that every person has value and that no one is beyond the reach of God's grace.

Today was hard, but it was also a reminder that sometimes the greatest display of Christ's love happens right in the middle of the mess and chaos. I am grateful to serve alongside people who choose grace when it would be easier to choose anger. Today, when everything felt overwhelming, God reminded me of what matters most.

"Jesus still loves you."

05/07/2026

Last fall, someone reported our empty lot to the city because people were parking on it. To be honest, at first it was upsetting. We were at a loss and it came at a really bad time.

What that really revealed, though, was something much bigger: The Mission of Winter Haven had outgrown its space and it was time to put a proper parking lot in place. What started as one ministry has grown into three buildings serving our community every single day. Over the last few years, the number of people we serve has tripled. More volunteers are showing up. More families are coming for food. More people are seeking showers, clothing, prayer, resources, and hope. People started parking anywhere they could just to get here.

So... What is happening with the parking lot??? That is probably the number one question we get asked.

The City of Winter Haven was gracious enough to grant us an extension while we worked through the process with engineers and planners. What we did not expect was how long the process would take or how much it would cost. After many calls, meetings, and adjustments, we finally have a plan.

So where does that leave us?

We need to raise $400,000. Yes, you read that right. $400K.

This project is not really about asphalt. It is about access. It has pushed us to do something we already knew needed to happen. We can no longer treat this as an empty lot. It needs to become a safe, official parking lot that allows us to continue serving our community well. Every parking space represents someone being able to receive a hot meal, meet with a case manager, pick up groceries, volunteer, or simply know they are not alone.

When we heard the costs, we were not sure what we would do. But God is so good! We have been presented with an incredible opportunity. A generous donor has offered a $200,000 MATCHING GIFT toward our $400,000 goal. That is HUGE. But we cannot do it alone!

That is where you come in. Every dollar given today will be doubled. That means your $5 becomes $10, your $100 becomes $200, and your $10,000 becomes $20,000.

Would you consider helping us turn this empty lot into a place of access, dignity, and hope for our community?

Click the link to give now:
https://themissionwh.org/donate-now/

Or mail a check to:

The Mission of Winter Haven
PO Box 2586
Winter Haven, FL 33883

04/22/2026

“Character is what you do when no one is watching.” - John Wooden

Today I was reminded of this quote and the fact that some of the most important moments in our work are the ones no one sees. I was working in my office upstairs and could hear Ketura, our Soup Kitchen Manager, downstairs in the Dignity Center. She had stepped out of her work zone, not because she had to, but because she saw someone in need.

A woman I will call Wandering had come in, and like many we serve, she is walking through challenges that are not always easy to understand. Her mental health struggles are visible in the way she moves through the day, often seeming distant and disconnected. Some would call it zombie like, but she does engage at times. It can be hard to witness, and it can break your heart.

Mental health touches more lives than we often realize. A 2024 peer-reviewed study published in a medical journal found that 67% of people experiencing homelessness had a current mental health disorder while the lifetime prevalence of mental health disorders among people experiencing homelessness was 75% (See link below if you would like to read more on this).

Some people carry their struggles quietly, while others, like Wandering, show just how heavy that burden can be. It can affect how someone thinks, feels, and even how they care for themselves. When someone is hurting in this way, even simple things like hygiene or choosing clothes can feel overwhelming. It is not about laziness or choice. It is a deeper struggle that deserves compassion, patience, and understanding. Not everyone gets it, and that is okay because we get it and that is what we are here for.

What stood out to me today, however, was Ketura’s response. She did not look away, run away from Wandering's smell, avoid the discomfort, or stay in her own space. She stepped in with care. She wanted to make sure Wandering could change into clean clothes and have what she needed. Recognizing that Wandering may not fully understand her hygiene needs, Ketura worked alongside Milly (our Dignity Director) to find a thoughtful and creative way to help. There was no judgment in their voices, only care. Ketura saw Wandering as a person, not a problem.

That kind of love is not loud or flashy, but it is powerful. It restores dignity in moments when someone may feel they have lost it. This is who our staff is, and I thought it was worth highlighting today. They go beyond their roles and step into the hard places with people. They choose compassion when it would be easier to stay distant. Why? Because they understand that every person matters, no matter what they are facing.

Moments like this may seem small, but they are not. They are a picture of what it looks like to truly love others, as Christ did. And I am so grateful to work alongside our wonderful team, who lead with both strength and grace.

Link for stat above:
https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC11024772/?utm_source=chatgpt.com

04/02/2026

Sometimes ministry looks like food on the shelves…
And sometimes it looks like children playing while their family finds what they need.

Yesterday, at our Nourishment Centers Choice Food Pantry, this is what ministry looked like. Monika texted this photo to the staff with no comment. But no words were necessary. Each one of us hearted the photo knowing that it was just a reminder to us all of why we do what we do. It was our reminder that it was going to be a glorious day of service to our community.

Parents moving through the shelves, carefully selecting items to take home, making decisions, stretching resources, doing what so many parents must do every day: providing. And just a few steps away, children laughing, exploring, and completely captivated by a bright rainbow activity wall. That is ministry!

There is something beautiful about that contrast. On one side, responsibility, provision and the weight that burden carries. On the other, children, simple, safe, curious, and full of joy. The colors of the rainbow caught my attention too. Each one different, each one vibrant, each one necessary to make the whole picture complete. It felt like a quiet reflection of those we serve. No two stories are the same. Every family walks through our doors with their own challenges, their own strengths, and their own journey.

In that moment, none of life’s complexities were visible on the surface. A simple photo reminded us of what matters more. Because while food meets a physical need, moments like this meet something deeper. They create space for relief, and for a parent to breathe a little easier knowing their children are okay, engaged, safe, and even smiling while they focus on putting food on the table.

This is why environment matters. It’s why spaces matter. It’s why we care not just about what we give, but how we give it. We often say, you treat people like they don’t matter, and they begin to believe it and act like they don’t. But when you treat people with care, they begin to see their own worth, and that changes everything.

At The Mission of Winter Haven, what we do isn’t only about meeting needs. It’s about creating moments where people feel seen, valued, and human in the middle of whatever they’re walking through. Yesterday, that looked like a stocked pantry, a rainbow activity set on the wall, and children who didn’t have a care in the world for just a little while. And that’s something worth holding onto.

This is the heart of what we do, serving with compassion, creating space for hope, and meeting both physical and emotional needs in ways that create lasting change in our community.

03/25/2026

Did you know that according to surveys approximately 14 percent of students report experiencing homelessness and 43-48 percent report housing instability (see link below for more on those statistics).

Two years ago, he walked through our doors with no stable place to live and no clear path.

Just fading dreams of what might have been.

Today, we call him Direction.

Direction shared that when he came to The Mission of Winter Haven, he was met with something powerful, kindness, love, and respect. Not judgment. Not labels. Just people who saw him, believed in him, and encouraged him to keep going.

And he did. He found Direction where his path seemed lost.

Direction enrolled at Polk State College and just completed his AA degree! WOW!

He told us he hopes to be accepted into the University of South Florida’s pre-med program. He wants to be a doctor.

He stopped by recently just to say, “Thank you.”

But the truth is we are the ones who are grateful. Because his story reminds us:

Hope has a direction.
Kindness can change a life.
Respect goes further than we often realize.

When someone is treated with dignity, it does not just lift their moment, it can transform their future.

Let's join together in prayer today that he can be accepted into the program. Maybe one day, we will all know him as Dr. Direction.

Link for statistic above.

https://www.lansingstatejournal.com/press-release/story/992585/national-report-highlights-hidden-homelessness-among-college-students-and-its-impact-on-degree-completion/

03/12/2026

Some people come to our Nourishment Center Choice Pantry because they need groceries.
Some come carrying burdens that are far heavier than anyone can see.

Today we met someone we will simply call Enduring.

Enduring walked through our doors carrying a grief that words cannot fully hold. Yet he still came. That alone is courage. When pain could have kept him home, he chose to step inside. When the weight of loss could have closed his heart, he allowed someone to pray with him. He reached across the counter and held her hands as she prayed, and in that moment we were reminded what bravery really looks like.

Enduring does not always look strong on the outside. Sometimes enduring looks like simply showing up. Sometimes it looks like accepting prayer. Sometimes it looks like allowing someone to stand beside you when the road feels too heavy to walk alone. And sometimes it looks like walking into a pantry for groceries and walking away with a sense of peace!

I did not take this photo. It was sent to me by one of our employees with a simple message that said, “I love this place,” and the picture attached. In that moment I understood why. Because what happened here was more than a pantry visit. It was people caring for people.

At The Mission of Winter Haven, we do not always know what brings someone through our doors. Every person has a story. Some are filled with hope. Some are filled with grief. Many are somewhere in between.

What we do know is this. When you walk through our doors, you are not alone.

If you need food, we are here.
If you need someone to listen, we are here.
If you need prayer, we will pray with you.
If you are hurting, we will cry with you.
If you are struggling, we will stand beside you.

Our mission has always been about more than meeting physical needs. It is about meeting people where they are with compassion, dignity, and love. Hope is enduring here!!!

03/04/2026

Three hundred days without a home. And this is what he sees.
Before you read another word, look at the photos.

The color spilling across the sky.
Deep blues giving way to fire lit orange.
Pink brushed across moving clouds.
The reflection dancing on the water.

The man behind the camera is someone we are choosing to call Resilient. The photos are his and we had the privilege and honor to see them.

"Today is day 300 of being homeless for me," he wrote as he emailed these photos to Emily Sheffield, our Care Manager.

About a year ago, Resilient lost his job. He was a medical coder and biller. Skilled. Dependable. He built his life around steady work and responsibility. When that job ended, the stability he had known unraveled faster than he could recover. Savings thinned. Doors closed. Before he could regain solid footing, he found himself without a home.

He is 56 years old.
He does not drink.
He does not use drugs.

Three hundred days of carrying what he owns.
Three hundred days of trying to stay presentable for interviews that never seem to come.
Three hundred days of filling out applications for jobs he is overqualified for and jobs he is not.
Three hundred days of waiting for a phone call that does not ring.
Three hundred days of fighting the quiet voice of despair.
And yet.

In the middle of that reality, he stands at the edge of a lake before sunrise and notices color. Sees hope and wants to share it with The Mission of Winter Haven.

“God gave us another award-winning sunrise,” he says.

“This one only lasted less than five minutes, so I feel very blessed to have been there to snap these shots.”

Five minutes. After three hundred days of uncertainty, he still sees blessing in five minutes of light.

The clouds in his photos were shaped by wind. Wind that shifted them. Wind that moved them. Wind that carried them. Forces he could not control. His life feels like that right now.

Unsettled.
Shifted.
Carried by circumstances he did not choose.
And still, there is beauty.

The photos matter because they show you who he is.

A man who, despite depression pressing in, still looks up.
A man who, despite unanswered applications, still sees wonder.
A man who, despite day three hundred, still believes a new day can break through the dark.

Resilient is not a statistic. He is a man quietly battling. A man who has not allowed hardship to harden his heart. He represents so many others whose stories are just as real and just as unheard.

The sunrise lasted less than five minutes.
But the light was real.
The color was real.
And so is the man who captured it.

Resilient’s story is not over. It doesn’t end at three hundred days. And he is not walking alone.

Keep capturing the beauty, Resilient. The light is still breaking through. Thank you for showing us that hope is not loud. Sometimes it looks like quietly standing at the edge of the water and choosing to see light.

02/26/2026

I arrive between 7am and 7:20am each day. We are limited in parking because of our recent parking situation, so I park in a spot where I happen to see her in the reflection of the window. The sun is just coming up. The sky is pink and orange. The buildings are glowing in the morning light. Most people are driving by and have no idea what is happening. The window reflection is blurred… but I see her.

I’ve been seeing her every morning but I try to give families space. It’s bad enough they have to live in their car and try to get to the showers early to get the kids to school and such. There is no need to disrupt them by chatting. But I do see her. I don’t like to give names on social media, so I won’t. But if I had the ability to give her a new name, it would be Arising.

Each day I see Arising open the back of her car and wake the kids up. I see her fold their blankets neatly. I see Arising smooth their hair and help them find their shoes. I see her make sure their bags are ready. I see her look in the mirror for just a second, like she is trying to be strong before the day starts.

I see Arising doing her best. I see someone who is tired but still gentle. I see someone who makes sure her family feels safe, even when life is not easy.

I don’t have to speak to Arising to see her. Arising knows she is seen when she and her family can take a shower, have a warm bowl of oatmeal, or pick up groceries. She knows she is seen when someone smiles at her kids, when someone says good morning, when someone treats her with dignity.

I see Arising trying. I see Arising pushing. I see Arising choosing not to give up.

I see Arising showing up every single morning and loving her kids the best way she can.

It’s so beautiful. It’s so powerful. I see Arising.

This is why we open our doors early. This is why the lights are on and staff are prepping things before the sun comes up. This is why the oatmeal is warm and the showers are ready. This is why we stock the pantry and fold the towels.

Because Arising deserves to be seen.

We want Arising to know she matters. Her kids matter. Her family matters. Her story matters.

And maybe the most important thing of all is this: when we see her, we are seeing Hope Arising.

Hope Arising in a parking lot.
Hope Arising in a car.
Hope Arising in a mother who refuses to quit.

At The Mission of Winter Haven, we do not just serve meals. We do not just open doors. We do not just offer showers and groceries. We do not just work a case file.

We see people.
We see dignity.
We see strength.
We see courage in the middle of hard things.

And every single morning, as the sun rises over our buildings, we are reminded why we are here.

Because hope is not gone.

Hope is not weak.

Hope is Arising.

02/12/2026

This morning, I was sitting here processing expenses. As I was scanning receipts I found myself holding a simple piece of paper and reading it. That's when it hit me....

At the top, it said: $11.00, the persons name, Transcript from HS, and underneath, Ms, Julie had written, “Going back to college for Social Worker.”

It doesn’t look like much. Just a receipt. Just eleven dollars. Just a transcript request.

But sometimes, the smallest papers hold the biggest steps forward. I blocked off her name, but we’ll call her STRIDE. Stride means a long, decisive step.

Stride’s story didn’t begin with a college acceptance letter.
It didn’t begin with a big celebration.

It began with a decisive step. A step to keep fighting even when she may have wanted to give up.

She came to The Mission of Winter Haven like many people do at first, maybe for a meal, maybe for support, maybe because life had been heavy. But somewhere along the way, something changed. She decided she wanted more. She wanted to grow. She wanted to go back to start again and become a social worker so she could help others the way someone had helped her.

But before college applications
Before classes
Before a new career

There was a decisive step forward.

Requesting her high school transcript.

Eleven dollars.
One form.
One decision.

It may not seem like a big deal, but improvement doesn’t always look big. Sometimes it looks like courage. Sometimes it looks like fighting for that step. Sometimes it looks like filling out paperwork. Sometimes it looks like Stride.

At The Mission of Winter Haven, we absolutely serve meals. We have a wonderful pantry to get groceries. We make sure people are fed and do not go hungry. But we are about so much more than food.

We walk with people.

We help them take their next step, whether that’s getting an ID, ordering a birth certificate, meeting with a case manager, applying for a job, reconnecting with family, or requesting a transcript to go back to college.

Steps matter.

A step toward healing is still healing.
A step toward education is still growth.
A step toward stability is still progress.

Stride’s story reminds me that transformation rarely happens all at once. It happens step by step. Decision by decision. Brave moment by brave moment.

And sometimes, it starts with something as simple as an $11 transcript request.

At The Mission of Winter Haven, we don’t just serve meals.

We serve hope.
We serve dignity.
We serve opportunity.

And we get the privilege of watching people like Stride move one step ahead into a future they once thought was out of reach.

Because a long decisive step forward is enough!!!

01/29/2026

There is a broken system at work, and it affects everyone. Our neighbors, our businesses, our law enforcement, and especially those experiencing homelessness.

Last night, while doing rounds for cold shelter here at The Mission of Winter Haven, it became painfully personal. We have had 45 to 50 people each night and I walked through and felt it in my chest. The quiet weight of survival playing out in real time.

A man, 76 years old, sleeping on a lawn chair with a blanket pulled over his head. That was his version of shelter. That chair gave him peace. He asked if he could bring it inside and sleep on it. I said yes. Sometimes survival looks like holding onto the one thing that feels familiar. The one thing that brings you a sense of comfort.

He is not alone.

A woman with PTSD so severe that being indoors triggers overwhelming fear. Her body shakes. The walls feel like they are closing in. She says, I cannot sleep Pastor David. I tell her it is okay. At least you are warm. For her, silence is not peace. It is a threat. Still, she rests her head again.

She is not alone.

As I continue my walk through one of the dining rooms, the noise fades and the silence begins to speak. Stories surface without words, playing out in bodies, in rhythms, in survival.

To my left, a man erupts without warning, screaming, then biting into his own arms as if pain is the only thing strong enough to anchor him. This is not defiance. Not rebellion. Not laziness. This is untreated mental illness with nowhere private to exist. It spills into public spaces because there is nowhere else for it to go. Jobs cannot hold him, not because he won’t work, but because his mind will not let him rest.

A few steps farther, I notice a man pacing. He has been moving all night, his body refusing stillness. Trauma, addiction, and loss have rewired his nervous system. Rest feels like danger. Quiet feels like a threat. The walls close in. Stillness feels too much like death. Movement is how he survives.

Near the doorway, a woman sits outside in the cold. I ask her gently, repeatedly, to come in. She refuses. Not out of ingratitude, but because every system she once trusted has failed her. Control feels unsafe. Dependence feels dangerous. Abandonment is not a fear. It is an expectation.

They are not alone.

These are not isolated stories. I can go on and on. They are human beings surviving inside a system never designed for the depth of trauma they carry. Trauma most people never see.

Homelessness has been in the headlines lately in our town. One of our greatest challenges is taking the actions of a few and applying them to all. That is neither accurate nor fair. Most people experiencing homelessness want peace, stability, dignity, and a way forward.

But we must also speak honestly.

There is a small group that repeatedly engages in destructive behavior. Hoarding. Property damage. Refusing accountability. Cycling through arrest and release. Law enforcement does its job. Officers care. But the system is broken.

Yes, some individuals do not want help, structure, or accountability. But they are the few. They should not define the many.

Every person is loved by God.
But love does not mean enabling harm.
Love includes boundaries.
Love includes accountability.
Love includes consequences.

Compassion and accountability must walk together. That is how real change begins to happen.

The streets have become a modern day asylum. There is not enough mental health care, long term treatment, or trauma informed support. This failure belongs to all of us. It impacts everyone.

But while the system is broken, Jesus is not. Jesus is present on sidewalks and in sleepless nights. He is near to the brokenhearted. He brings healing no system can. He calls us to walk in grace and truth. Compassion and accountability. Toward something better.

Hope does not begin with a policy.

Hope begins with a hand. Christ has not given up on anyone and while I am the Executive Director here at The Mission of Winter Haven… I won’t either!!!

The Mission of Winter Haven

06/08/2026

05/07/2026

04/22/2026

04/02/2026

03/25/2026

03/12/2026

03/04/2026

02/26/2026

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01/29/2026

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Monday	8am - 3pm
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Wednesday	8am - 3pm
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