This last season has been wild in the best way. What started as a simple Reddit post somehow turned into over a hundred new donors. That momentum carried into a feature in Westword, then a story on Fox 31. Things have been moving fast, and we’re grateful for all of it. Truly.

But if we’re being honest, that’s not the part we can’t stop thinking about.

The moment that’s stuck with us didn’t happen online or through a headline. It happened quietly, at the end of a church service. We’ve had five church Sundays in the last 30 days, and you can feel something building. Churches are showing up. People are leaning in. New volunteers are stepping forward.

After one of those services, a woman came up to Dr. Jim. She told him she was a retired RN and just wanted to help. No big speech, no spotlight—just a simple question: “How can I serve?” Jim mentioned something we used to do years ago. There was a nurse who would come down and wash the feet of people experiencing homelessness. Not a program or an event, just a quiet act of care. Before he could finish explaining, she said, “That’s what God put on my heart.”

So now, every Tuesday, she’s coming. No attention, no recognition—just showing up with a basin and a towel, ready to wash feet.

And if you’ve never really thought about that before, it’s easy to miss how powerful it is. Feet tell a story. Where someone’s been, what they’ve walked through, the miles, the pain, the nights out in the cold, the days with nowhere to go. Most people don’t even want to look at that, let alone touch it. But every Tuesday, someone is choosing to kneel down and care for that part of a person’s life—the part that’s been worn down the most.

There’s something about that kind of love that hits different. It’s not loud or performative. It doesn’t try to impress anyone. It simply says, “You matter. You’re not invisible. You’re not untouchable.”

And the truth is, that moment isn’t rare around here. It shows up in smaller ways all the time. A volunteer remembering someone’s name when they come back a second time. A cup of coffee handed out like it actually matters. A quiet prayer off to the side. A conversation that doesn’t feel rushed. A hug that lingers just a little longer than expected.

This is what happens every day at 850 Lincoln. Yes, we serve meals. Yes, we give out clothing. Yes, we offer showers and outreach. But underneath all of that, it’s this—people choosing to show up for each other in real, tangible ways.

Five church Sundays in a month. New volunteers stepping in. People coming back again, not just once. That’s where the change really happens. Not in one big moment, but in the decision to keep showing up.

And sometimes, that decision looks like bringing a towel. Sometimes it looks like kneeling down when no one’s watching. Sometimes it looks like loving someone in a way that costs you something.

We’re watching it happen right here. And it’s something special.