10 Years of the Village: Everyone Can Do Something
From those early days, as the needs increased, the yeses kept coming—often in the form of exactly what was needed that week. When neighbors discovered that their unique offerings could be a small part of something much bigger, they didn’t hesitate to jump into action. Volunteers showed up. Donations filled my garage and Ellen’s attic, eventually stretching beyond what our spaces could hold.
And somewhere in that overflow, it became clear: if this was going to last, we needed a more sustainable way to hold what was growing.
A Door Opened
After searching for local storage options, I reached out to a nearby facility and shared a bit of our story: two foster families, a grassroots effort, and a growing collection of essential items for children entering care. Within hours, we heard back. The manager, Dee Marsh (also an adoptive mom), was eager to help. She offered us a 10x10 unit, free of charge.
And just like that, another door opened, another need met.
The Rhythm of Yes
In those early days, we made daily trips to the storage unit, hauling and sorting donations. My four young kids were almost always alongside me, becoming part of the rhythm of receiving and giving. As word spread, our family’s weekends filled with Welcome Pack deliveries to homes across the city saying yes to emergency placements.
For Every Family in the Story
From the beginning, we believed this work was not only for foster families, but also for biological families walking the hard road toward reunification. We delivered essentials to mothers welcoming their children home, assembled bunk beds, and helped furnish apartments for kinship caregivers (grandparents and relatives stepping in to raise children) with donated items and the willing hands of a community showing up. By supporting and sustaining those caring for the children, isolation would lose its grip, and families would gain the tools and connection needed to thrive.
More Room for the Village
It only took a month to outgrow that first storage unit.
Soon after, a significantly larger storage space was offered—this time big enough to hold what was continuing to come. We didn’t know the donor at the time, only that someone had quietly stepped in to make room for what was growing. Years later, we would learn it was the facility’s owner, also an adoptive parent, who believed in the work enough to invest in it before it had a name or a structure.
As needs increased, more people stepped in to help carry it forward, each contributing their unique time, talent, and treasure. Some used their skill of jewelry making to host fundraisers, some donated meals for weary caregivers, some opened their spaces to host gatherings for foster families, and some leveraged their passion for spreadsheets to help keep us organized.
The village started to take shape.
It looked like a storage unit offered by someone who understood.
It looked like children perched on donation piles, passing boxes hand to hand.
It looked like late-night deliveries and early-morning texts asking, “What do you need?”
It looked like generosity showing up in quiet, unseen ways.
What began as a simple response to need was becoming something far greater than we could have planned—not built by one person, but carried forward by many.
A true village, fueled by ordinary acts of kindness, becoming an extraordinary movement.
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