A Child Reflects on Innkeeping

I don’t remember the last time we had a real home. My mom says it used to be better, before Dad lost his job and we couldn’t afford the rent anymore. Now, it’s just the three of us—Mom, my little brother, and me—living in this old hotel that smells like mildew and sadness. We’ve been here for what seems like a long time. Mom tries to make it feel like home, but the walls are thin, and the yelling from the rooms next door never stops. Every day, I wonder if we’ll ever leave this hotel.

The bus picks me up for school, but I don’t talk to anyone about where we live. I don’t want them to know. Sometimes, after class, I really want to stay late, not wanting to go back to the old hotel. But no matter how much I want to stay awy, I always end up there, in that same cramped room with the flickering light, the scary people next door , and musty smells.

Then one day we met Miss Grace.

It was one of those nights when Mom was crying quietly, trying to hide it from us, but I knew something was wrong. The man at the front desk had been yelling at her about paying for another week. We didn’t have enough money to stay, and the thought of being out on the streets scared me.

Then, Miss Grace showed up.

She came to the hotel with some groceries and a calm smile. She wasn’t like the other people who passed by, pretending not to see us. She looked right at us and listened, really listened. She saw my mom’s tired face, my brother’s worn-out shoes, and the worry in my eyes. I remember the way she knelt down to talk to me and my brother, her voice soft and kind. She really cared about what we had to say.

“I help run the Brisben Center,” she said to my mom. “Perhaps you can stay there for a while to get back on your feet.”

My mom hesitated. I could see the fear in her eyes—afraid of being a burden, afraid of trusting someone else after all the promises that had been broken. She had heard street talk about the Brisben Center. Miss Grace said, “don’t believe everything you hear”. “The Brisben Center is a safe, clean, decent place with rooms just for families with children”. “The staff are supportive”. “The food is great”. “And the school bus stops right in front of the building”. There was something different about Miss Grace.

After checking to be sure there was availability at the center, we followed her to the Brisben Center that night. It was warm, the food was awesome and best of all it felt safe. Miss Grace helped us get settled into a family room just for us, and for the first time in months, I saw my mom breathe—really breathe—like she wasn’t carrying the weight of the world alone anymore.

The next morning, my school bus driver met me with a big smile. Then, a lady at my school said something about a man named McKinney Vento. She assured me it would be alright. It was my turn to breathe a sigh of relief.  

Over the next few weeks, I got to know Miss Grace better and the people who work with her. She wasn’t just someone who handed out meals and blankets; she spent time with us, listened to our stories. One night, when it was quiet, and my brother was asleep, I asked her, “Why do you help us?”

She smiled, like she’d been waiting for that question. “I heard a Bible story,” she began, “about a person called Samaritan who found a man hurt on the side of the road. The Samaritan didn’t need to help the injured man.  There were many reasons not to. Healing deep wounds could take a long time and lots of resources. But the Samaritan just saw someone who needed a chance to heal – a hand up – a place for transformation. 

I looked at Miss Grace, confused. “What does that have to do with us?”

“Well,” she said, “the Samaritan couldn’t stay and take care of the man himself. So, he took him to an innkeeper who offered a safe, decent place with good food and support. The innkeeper took the injured man in and cared for him until his injuries were healed”.

I thought about the story, about how people like us don’t get a lot of second chances. We’re just supposed to figure it out on our own. “So, Miss Grace you’re like the innkeeper?” And, the Brisben Center is like the inn?”.

“I guess I am,” she said. “People come here hurt, tired, worn out from the world – suffering from all kinds of wounds. I am not able to make everything right, but with the help of people like the Samaritan, we can offer a safe place and help people to help themselves. Most of all, we remind them that they matter. They are loved”

That stuck with me. She saw us, not as problems to be fixed but as people who needed someone to care – a second chance. Miss Grace believed we were worth helping, even when we didn’t believe it ourselves.

Things didn’t magically get better overnight. But slowly, with the help of Miss Grace and all her workers at the Brisben Center, we started to make our way back home. Mom found a job, and we were able to move out of the Brisben Center into a place of our own. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. And we knew that if we ever needed her, Miss Grace and the Brisben Center helpers would be there, just like it had been that first night.

Now, whenever I walk past the old hotel, I think about Miss Grace. About how she saw us when no one else did, about how she believed in us when the world told us we didn’t matter. I think about her story of the innkeeper, about how sometimes all it takes is one person willing to see past the walls and the barriers and take a chance on someone who has been injured.

The Brisben Center and Miss Grace didn’t just give us food or a bed. We received something much more important: hope. Hope that even in the darkest places, there’s someone who will open the door, offer a hand up, and say, “I love and care about you.”

I don’t know where we’d be without an innkeeper like Miss Grace, an inn like the Brisben Center and good people like the Samaritan. After all this, I believe in kindness. I believe in second chances. I believe that with some hard work and a hand up, even I can be successful. And maybe, just maybe, one day, I can be an innkeeper too.