It started with two hours.
And the realization that it wasn’t enough.
There’s been a shift in what we’re doing here.
Most weeks, we’re in the schools around town. We get about two hours in each one—playing with the kids, teaching hygiene, personal care, personal safety.
The basics. And the truth is… most of them don’t have what they need. And no one’s really in a position to notice— or do much about it even if they do.
But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like enough. Because two hours—with everyone watching—only takes you so far. You can teach. You can play. You can build a little trust.
But you can’t really see what’s underneath. The kid who won’t talk. The one who flinches when you get too close.
So we brought them here.
Not with a big plan. Not with a system. Just… we needed more time. And everything changed. It’s quieter here. Slower. There’s room for things to come out that don’t in a classroom.
Some kids open up right away. Some take time. Some just play—and that’s enough for now.
What Changed
“What’s one more?” is something we’ve said a lot over the years.
If I planned for 20 girls and a few more show up, it doesn’t really change much. A few extra plates. A few extra crafts.
You adjust. But what we’re stepping into now… is not a “one more” situation.
We’re not talking about adding a few kids. We’re talking about moving from 30 girls each month… to hundreds. Boys and girls. Entire classrooms. Kids who would never come here on their own.
And once they begin to feel safe with us… we build from there. Camps. Longer days. More time together.
What We’re Stepping Into
I’ve been thinking a lot about how the boat delay nearly ruined the holidays. It didn’t arrive when we expected, and at the time, it felt heavier than it probably should have… maybe even like a setback
And now I can’t help but wonder if that delay mattered. Because if everything had arrived before the holidays, it would have already been gone. Used up.
But instead, it came when it did… or maybe exactly when it was meant to. (Though, if you asked my 10,000 shed tears, they’d say otherwise.)
Having those supplies here makes this feel a lot more real. Now we’re just filling in the gaps—not randomly, just paying attention to what was already happening. A few extra supplies turned into more than we planned for.
Children’s portable picnic tables for our mountain school visits.
Enough crafts & activities for around 500 kids.
Things they can take with them.
(At this point, I might need to attend an AA meeting—Amazon Anonymous.)
The good part is—everything is here, or on its way thanks to Agape Flights. Not just for now… but even for summer. Which sounds great. And it is.
Until you realize… this is only part of the bigger picture.
Because what they bring home matters.
Sometimes, it’s the reason they’re allowed to come at all.
But feeding them?
That’s the part we really want to do.
And this is where it starts to take shape in a different way. Because what we’re stepping into isn’t just more kids or more programs. It’s a different kind of access to them.
The schools we’re in now are further away from us. These families don’t know us. These kids have never been to children’s church.
So we start getting to know them. Not in a big, obvious way. Just over time. Showing up. Bringing them here. Letting them see what happens on this campus.
And in Haiti, that matters in a different way.
There are children here who are not treated like children. Kids who live in homes where they are there to work, not to belong. They don’t get a say in where they go or what they do.
But even in those situations… if a child can bring something back—soap, food, something that helps the household—they’ll be allowed to come.
So sometimes the doorway doesn’t look like what you’d choose. But it’s still a doorway. And we step through it carefully.
Because if sending a bar of soap home means that child gets a few hours here—safe, seen, and treated like they matter—we’ll use that
But food is part of that too.
We’re working toward providing peanut butter and bread for around 1,000 kids every Friday. Not just the schools we’re currently in—but the ones we’ve built relationships with over the years.
And on the days classrooms come here, we’ll feed them. A hot meal. A place to sit at our table. A little more time than they’re used to being given.
And then there’s summer.
Five weeks. Around 65 kids and adults each week. Monday through Friday. They’ll be here all day—running across the yard, swimming at the beach, playing games, learning life skills – how to cook, garden, wash clothes, sew.
They’ll create. They’ll play. They’ll sit in spaces where they can begin to process their stories. And not just learn about Jesus—but begin to really know Him.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that… they’re known.
Each group of kids will be paired with the same consistent adults—a mom and a dad figure who stay with them throughout the week. Someone steady. Someone safe. Someone who shows them, in small everyday ways, what God’s love looks like when it’s lived out.
Making Room
We’ve already started making space for it.
The therapy room (Princess Palace)—the one that used to be filled with tables and crafts—is now completely open. A space where kids can move, play, and just be.
We renovated the room beside it into a resource & supply space so we’re not constantly shifting materials in and out of every room.
Because of that, we can have 40 to 60 kids here at a time instead of 24.
We added a small playground. It’s simple—but sometimes that’s enough for a child to go home and ask to come back
Filling What Feels Empty
This fall, Asher and Levi will spend their senior year in the States. For 14 years, the space beside our home has been our family’s homeschool. I’ve already started to feel what it will be like to walk past that room empty. We lost Gabe last fall… that was a gut punch.
BUT – that space will now hold the crafts, the activities, the things these kids will use and take home. The same room that held our kids’ school years will now hold something new.
The part that still makes me laugh a little…
None of this existed a month ago. Not fully. Not the rooms. Not the setup.
We’ve just been building it as we go. Because once you see what’s needed… it’s hard to pretend you didn’t. And now it’s happening. In real time.
We’re not deciding if we should do it. We’re just trying to keep up with it—carefully, one step at a time.
So here’s where you come in.
We’re not asking you to carry all of it.
Just… one more.
One more classroom.
One more group of kids.
One more day of meals.
One more chance for a child to be seen, known, and feel safe.
Because maybe for you… it’s just one more.
But for them—it’s everything.
If you want to help us make room for one more… please mark your donation: Mole Kids
Checks Payable To:
NWHCM
PO Box 586
Lebanon, IN 46052
Here’s a look at some of our teaching materials, teacher seminars, school visits, new supplies, & latest renovations. The Craft Room was last week. This week it’s the Resource Center. Next week it’s the therapy room!
Oh Jody! I praise God for giving you the vision to help these children be seen and learn that Jesus knows and loves them!
Jody, this is amazing! We are in.