The Room Where Hope Began
In April of 2016, I was invited to a meeting in downtown Asheville that brought together leaders from Buncombe, Henderson, and Haywood counties: about 60 people representing government agencies, hospitals, and community organizations. Western Carolina Rescue Ministries was the only shelter invited to the table. During that meeting, a senior leader from Mission Hospital shared something that stopped me in my tracks. There were over 400 babies born in our hospital system that year with illegal substances in their bodies: opioids, methamphetamine, heroin, and other drugs. When that happens, the state often has to assume custody of the newborn. This meant that those children either went to an orphanage or foster care home, and all of those resources were almost at capacity.
The question in the room was simple and overwhelming: What are we going to do?
As I sat there listening, I heard God speak something very clearly to me: “You’re the only one here who can bring a solution.” I grabbed a napkin, wrote down what God just said, and passed it to the staff member beside me. She looked at me like I might be a little bit crazy. But I knew what I had heard. The participants in the meeting agreed to return in six weeks with any ideas.
When I got back to the Mission that day, I walked upstairs to the unfinished second floor of our building. There was nothing there, empty, hot, unfinished. We had put in windows to keep the pigeons out. That was about it. I walked that floor for three hours and prayed. “God, what do You want to do here?” My phone did not ring. No one interrupted me. I just walked and prayed. Somewhere in those three hours, God began to give me a vision. I could see something in that empty space that did not yet exist: a place for women and children. A place of safety, recovery, stability, and hope.
I got excited. I called the architect who had helped us before. He had an opening the next morning, and I started sharing what I could see. Within days, we had preliminary plans. The contractor estimated the project would cost about $725,000. By the end of that week, $500,000 had been committed. I need you to understand: we did not have everything figured out. We did not have all the answers. But we knew enough to move.
Six weeks later, I walked back into that room with the other community leaders. Everyone had come with ideas. We came with architectural plans, funding, and construction already underway. But there was still a great deal we did not know. We had never operated a mother & child recovery program. I knew what I believed we were supposed to do, but I also knew I was not the expert.
Not long after, I was flying to a meeting in Colorado Springs. A woman sat beside me and struck up a conversation. Those who know me know I don’t normally talk much on airplanes. But she asked what I did, and I told her about the Mission and the work we were beginning. Then I asked what she did. She was one of the world’s leading experts in designing neonatal care environments for infants affected by opioid and methamphetamine exposure. Of all the people who could have occupied that seat, there she was. Her original flight home to Denver had been canceled. She’d taken the last seat on my flight to Colorado Springs, where her husband would drive to pick her up. We talked, exchanged information, and I told her about the vision God had given us. A short time later, she called to say she was coming to Asheville to see the project, meet our architect, and help us think well about the work ahead.
Some may call that coincidence; I know better. I knew this was a part of God’s plan and another confirmation of his word. I have never forgotten that encounter. I wasn’t the expert. I was just the guy who believed in the hope of tomorrow. Sometimes we look at what God has done and forget there was a day when none of it existed. A day when the second floor was empty, no rooms, no program, no women and children finding safety there. Only an urgent need, an unfinished space, and a question: God, what do You want us to do?
Looking back, I can see God did not give us everything at once. He gave us enough to take the next step. Then another. The resources came. The right people came. Expertise came from a seat beside me on an airplane. The needs in our community are still great. We see that every day. But God continues to give vision, and I believe it is in His nature to move toward people in crisis with compassion, mercy, and hope. That is who He is. So we will keep listening. Keep serving. Keep leaning into what He is showing us, and count on Him for what we cannot yet see.
The rooms may change. The needs may look different. The vision may be bigger than what we can accomplish on our own. But our prayer remains the same: “God, what do You want to do here?”
