The SONshine Home is full of love, laughter, and the pitter-patter of little feet running from room to room. It is a place where hope feels tangible, where joy sneaks up on you in the middle of an ordinary day and reminds you why this work matters so deeply.
Often, our mamas can be found gathered around the kitchen table, sharing stories from their day, celebrating the small victories of motherhood, and honestly naming the struggles of raising children on their own. There is laughter that spills out freely, sometimes through tears, carried by the quiet confidence that she and her children are safe. Here, they are surrounded by Christ-like, unconditional love — a love that does not shame, rush, or abandon.
When I enter the home, I am often greeted by a sweet little two-year-old, arms stretched wide, ready to wrap me in tender hugs and spontaneous kisses. She is full of innocence and joy, secure in the knowledge (though she cannot yet name it) that she is safe, she belongs, and she is deeply loved. She is blissfully unaware of the pain, loss, and fear her mama has walked through to bring her here. In her laughter, I see redemption at work.
Moments like these remind me of my own grandchildren.
As I sit with them, listening to their giggles, leaning in close to hear their stories, watching them play freely without fear, I am keenly aware of the gift it is to watch children grow up in a safe, stable, and loving home. Their laughter fills my heart in a way only a grandparent can truly understand. I see how security allows joy to flourish, how consistency builds trust, and how love – steadfast and unconditional- lays a foundation that shapes a lifetime.
And then my thoughts return to our mamas and children at the SONshine Home.
Not every child begins life with that safety. Not every mama has known stability, love, or protection. Yet God, in His mercy, is the God of second chances and new beginnings. What He has allowed me to witness in my own home and in the SONshine Home has forever deepened my understanding of His calling on our lives: to love the least of these; to care for the orphan; to reach toward the hurting, the vulnerable, and the broken.
During Christ’s earthly ministry, He often healed with a simple touch. I am especially moved by the story in Mark 1:40–45, when Jesus heals the leper. In biblical times, leprosy caused not only physical suffering, but profound social, relational, and spiritual isolation. Lepers were forced to live apart: unseen, untouched, unnoticed. No one could draw near. No one could reach out their hand.
Yet Jesus did.
The man fell at His feet, desperate for healing, and Jesus, moved with compassion, reached out and touched him. Jesus did not have to touch the leper to heal him. But He chose to. In that touch, Jesus restored not only the man’s body, but his dignity, his belonging, and his hope.
So many of our moms come to Love and SONshine carrying similar wounds, feelings of isolation, rejection, guilt, and shame. They have been pushed to the margins. They have been told, in ways loud and subtle, that they do not matter. But when we look to Jesus and recognize that He alone is our hope for healing, everything changes. His power is available to anyone who turns from sin, repents, and places their faith in Jesus Christ alone. And we have seen that transforming power again and again at the SONshine Home.
If hurting people are going to be touched by Jesus, someone has to reach out and touch them.
We, the Church, are called to be His hands and feet, His eyes and ears. We are called to move toward the leper: toward the marginalized, the hurting, the broken. Not to observe from a safe distance, but to truly love. To truly touch.
Why do we continue? What keeps us going?
Like Jesus, we are compelled by compassion. This work is not sustained by willpower alone; it is sustained because God equips whom He calls. We must listen for His direction, trust His leading, and walk in obedience to His voice. Ministry is not about fixing people; it is about faithfully loving them, just as Christ has loved us.
As I rocked my grandchildren, listened to their laughter, and watched them play, I thought again of our mamas and children, and my heart whispered this prayer: May every mother know this kind of safety. May every child grow up wrapped in love. May every broken story encounter the healing touch of Jesus.
Though the voice of the enemy seeks to isolate and destroy, Jesus speaks a different word:
I love you. I will never leave you. I will never forsake you.
May we love without limits, live out our calling with courage, and continually point others to the One who is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18).
