God Sightings
God Sightings are the moments, big and small, when our community has seen God show up at The Lamb Center.
Two Days Late, Right on Time
Late on a freezing Friday afternoon a woman walked through our doors afraid and unsure where she would sleep that night. She was fleeing an abusive situation and had never experienced homelessness before. Everything felt unfamiliar and overwhelming.
Our case managers sat with her and listened, then they began searching for safe options. They reached out to a domestic violence shelter hoping to secure immediate placement, but because she had not filed a police report, she did not meet their intake requirements.
She shared that she could stay with a family member out of state, but another obstacle stood in the way - her driver’s license had expired just two days earlier on her birthday. Two days. That was all. A small technicality with enormous consequences.
So our team jumped into action. They went straight to the DMV. There were complications. There were questions. There was resistance. But they advocated, explained the urgency of her situation, and stayed with it and walked out with a renewed license in hand.
A few days later, we received a call. She had arrived. She was safe.
Most of our work doesn’t look dramatic. It looks like listening carefully and refusing to give up. It looks like solving one urgent problem at a time.
Sometimes, the difference between danger and safety is smaller than anyone realizes.
And sometimes, it is simply a matter of not giving up.
When Guests Come Back
One of the most disheartening parts of this work is seeing a guest return after they have lost their housing.
We celebrate when someone moves into housing. We celebrate the apartment, the keys, the fresh start. But the more I do this work, the more I realize that getting housed is only one part of the journey. Housing brings its own responsibilities and challenges. There are landlords and leases, bills and routines, neighbors and expectations. There is a new kind of stability to learn and maintain.
And sometimes, despite all of the work we have done together, a guest loses that housing.
Sometimes it is because of decisions they have made. Other times, it is because of circumstances completely outside of their control. Either way, it can be painful to see someone come back through our doors. As a case manager, I sometimes find myself questioning all of the time, energy, and resources that went into helping that person become stable and housed.
But I am also reminded of something important about our faith: God gives us autonomy. God allows us to make choices, even when those choices may not be the ones others would make for us. We cannot make decisions for our guests. We cannot guarantee their outcomes. We can offer guidance, resources, encouragement, and support—but ultimately, their lives belong to them.
That is one reason I am so proud that we are beginning a Housing Readiness Support Group at The Lamb Center. We want to do more than celebrate the moment someone gets housed.
We want to help prepare guests for what comes next—to build the skills, knowledge, and support they need to navigate the realities of having a home and hopefully be successful in maintaining it.
Because housing is so much more complex than simply having a place to sleep.
And yet, even with all of that preparation, we cannot control what happens next.
So perhaps the God sighting is not in watching every person we help remain housed. Perhaps it is in recognizing that we are called to walk alongside people, not control their journeys.
And maybe it is in the moment when a guest comes back through our doors.
Because even after months or years, even after losing something we worked so hard together to achieve, they still come back to us. They still trust us. They still believe that this is a place where they will be welcomed and where someone will walk alongside them again.
That can be hard for me to see as anything but heartbreaking.
But maybe it is also grace.
Maybe our work is not measured only by the outcomes we can see. Maybe it is measured in the relationships we build, the dignity we protect, the tools we provide, and the reminder that no matter how someone’s story unfolds, they do not have to walk it alone.
We cannot choose for our guests. We cannot guarantee that they will succeed. But we can keep showing up. And that is where I see God.
She Needed Them More Than I Did
One of our new guests shared something during intake today that stayed with me long after our conversation ended.
She had been telling me about the hardships she’s faced recently — including having her blanket and shoes stolen by another guest while she was sleeping outside. I expected anger or bitterness. Instead, she simply said, “If he took them, then I guess he needed them more than I did.”
Then she smiled gently and said, “Jesus didn’t have a perfect life, and He didn’t promise one to us either.”
What struck me even more was what she said next: that one thing homelessness has taught her is that God always provides something better after hardship. Again and again, she has experienced loss, uncertainty, and disappointment — yet she continues to trust that God has not abandoned her.
In a place where many people might only see scarcity, she still sees provision. In circumstances that would harden many hearts, hers remains soft, generous, and faithful.
Sometimes God sightings happen in big, obvious ways. And sometimes they happen quietly, sitting across from someone during intake, hearing faith spoken with honesty, humility, and hope.
Of Course You're Still Here
This week, we witnessed a powerful reminder of how much simple consistency can mean.
A client who had not been in recently was matched to a housing opportunity. By chance, another staff member saw her out in the community and encouraged her to come in and connect with case management as soon as possible. Late Friday afternoon, she walked through our doors.
When she saw me, she smiled and said, “Of course you’re still here—because you’re the best and you care.”
In that moment, it was clear: showing up matters.
Her words also reflect a deeper truth—many of our clients carry the belief that no one truly cares about them. After being bounced through systems filled with barriers, delays, and broken connections, it’s easy to develop service-related trauma and mistrust.
Trust isn’t rebuilt through words alone—it comes through consistency, presence, and follow-through over time.
Her comment was a small but powerful reminder that when we show up—again and again—we begin to challenge that belief. We show our clients that they are seen, valued, and not forgotten.
Each moment of consistency helps restore trust, dignity, and hope.