By: Korinne Harris

50 years ago, there was a door that was opened for hope to walk in.

But the road leading to that entry consists of stories marked by scars scratched deeper than anyone can see, pain inflicted by fists that are supposed to protect, and neglect that has left muffled cries echoing back unanswered far too many times.

It's the same story that I could tell you a thousand different ways.

So what do you do when your heart breaks for every child who is hopelessly walking through life in search of someone who will care?

Well, that's when you begin to build.

You start by acknowledging that you will never understand the pain, the trauma, and the fear that comes from walking a day in their shoes, but that you will stack brick on top of brick because you refuse to be the one that walks in the other direction.

You build 4 walls to show that security should no longer have to be a fight, but it is a right to rest in the comfort of stability every time they close their eyes.

You furnish a kitchen table because wondering if the clock would once again skip past meal time is no longer a threat, and there are seats at the table that aren’t going anywhere.

You plant flowers outside, because life should no longer look like broken windows and torn-up carpet, and there is a beautiful shift when a little boy can see that he is worthy of an environment that actually feels like home.

And lastly you add a door, because something powerful is carried with them when walking out. Every conversation started, every hour invested, and every skill taught are moments where hope seeps through the cracks. And it’s easy to pass them off as ineffective, but they plant the potential for growth in a young adult who is searching to know what love looks like. 

Anyone can build a house, but if you’re only objective is to complete a construction project, then you’ve missed the mission.

If you want to build a home, then you anchor it in love 

We say yes to building not because we’re experts, but because we serve a God whose heart is deeply moved to reach the one that the world looks past. He sees the 13-year-old boy curled up in the corner, sobbing softly night after night, too scared to take up space and too familiar with being told he’s easy to replace. 

So when we ask God to break our hearts for what breaks his, his response is to tap us on the shoulder and point us towards that cry that needs attention. As His body, we are tasked with having a heart tethered to his mission of meeting needs in the messiness, while his love compels us to pick up the tools. 

Because how can we not? 

50 years ago we started to build and we’re still building today because we are anchored on our foundation of changing lives by restoring hope.