Select Page

Living at Joshua Station is truly a joy. Alli and I have quickly accustomed ourselves to the roar of the highway, the dated exterior, the industrial neighborhood, and the fact that we’re living in a transitional housing program. We cherish the relationships we’ve built with our neighbors and truly have come to enjoy living in this converted roadside motel more than we enjoyed our hip downtown apartment where we resided previously.
Life at Joshua Station is not without its challenges, however. The most saddening aspect is the lack of dependable men in the lives of the 50 children who live here. Of the 28 resident families, there are remarkably 26 single-moms. Many of the fathers are in jail, several have restraining orders because of past abuses, and nearly all of them have completely failed their children.
A few weeks ago, we were babysitting two girls, age 5 and 6, for one of the residents, a single mom. While playing with the girls, the older sister asked, “Chris, can I call you daddy?” This was probably the saddest question I’ve ever been asked. And I honestly don’t even remember how I answered her. The truth is, I cannot fill the void of having an absentee father. And sometimes I’m not sure how much of an impact I can actually make here. I don’t know what it’s like to live in a fatherless home. I’ve never lived on the streets. There were never any doubts growing up that there would be food on the table.
In the midst of those personal insecurities, I know Alli and I have been called to be here. And we’ve been called to faithfully reflect Christ’s love to these families through small acts of tenderness and encouragement. We can’t heal the wounds that so many of these children have. We can do the little things. Alli and I hold hands when we walk to the car, make stove top popcorn together when neighbor kids drop-in and are quick with words of affirmation with children who so rarely hear them.