This week Valentine’s Day & Presidents Day have passed, Jack’s “leg-versary” was February 13th, and my modest adobe remains a temporary village.

When Jack lost his leg about five years ago, what I remember most is not the surgery, the bills, or even the recovery. I remember neighbors. A retired vet appeared. Others helped, called police, called animal control. Another brought a sheet to wrap Jack in. People I did not know, had never spoken to, showed up in very real ways. No big speeches. No social media campaigns. Just calm, practical compassion. Jack healed, adapted, and still runs around like a three-legged general yapping commands. What stuck with me was that when things truly wobble, the village materializes.



The river did not stop there. Many of you know I have been helping my friend and her son for about ten months now. It is not crisis story, now, just one fully of compassion and hope... of life simply unfolding. The housing list moves at its own quiet pace. Bureaucracy does not speed up just because someone needs it to. And yet, here we are. They are still here, still shaping my day-to-day flow, sometimes amplifying my ADHD and ND needs in ways I did not anticipate. At the same time, if they were not here, I would have missed the laughter, the love of a boy who calls me dad, and some deeper inner discoveries I did not see coming. What we are presented with in any moment is often unknown. Good, bad, who knows. Only by stepping into it do you find out what it actually is.

Recently, my roommate has been building an elaborate obstacle course out of cardboard boxes for her pet rats. Tunnels. Ramps. Multiple levels. At first glance it looks like a pile of boxes. Then it becomes a tiny rodent city built from the recycling bin. And honestly, it feels like the most Scouting thing ever. See what you have. Be thrifty. Know your limits. Imagine something and build it the best you can.

Compassion is rarely dramatic. It is neighbors showing up. It is sharing space. It is asking, “Are you okay?” It is making room where you can. No one is free from struggle. We just carry different versions of it. Sometimes the greatest thing we can offer is not a solution, but the simple assurance that someone has been heard and understood.

Maybe that is the real heartbeat under all of this. We cannot fix everything. But we can be part of the village. And often, that is the best thing we can offer.