There’s an old story about a family with two sons. One leaves home, makes a mess of his life, and eventually comes back with nothing. Instead of punishment, the father welcomes him and throws a celebration.

But the story isn’t really about that son.

It’s about the one who stayed.

The older brother did everything right. He worked hard, followed the rules, and carried responsibility. When his brother is welcomed back, he feels angry—not because restoration happened, but because it feels unfair.

That tension is something every community recognizes.

When visible hardship shows up—poverty, addiction, homelessness—it creates frustration. People ask honest questions: Why is this happening? Who’s responsible? Is this fair? Why should resources go to people who seem to have made poor choices?

Those questions matter. But the story points to a deeper risk: that frustration can slowly harden into distance. People become problems. Neighbors become categories. Compassion turns into calculation.

This is where the work of the Mission sits.

Our purpose is not simply to manage crisis, but to care for and improve the lives of people who are struggling, with a clear vision to see people exit homelessness, addiction, and poverty. That work is rarely tidy. It involves setbacks, complexity, and time. But at its core, it is about restoration—helping people move from survival toward stability and belonging.

The turning point in the story is when the father says, “We had to celebrate.”
Not because the situation was efficient.
Not because it was deserved.
But because a life was being restored.

That same principle shapes our work. We don’t exist because hardship is convenient or fair. We exist because healthy communities are measured not only by order and productivity, but by how they respond when people fall apart.

The story ends without resolution. We never learn whether the older brother joins the celebration.

That’s intentional.

Because the choice belongs to the community:
Do we stand outside, focused only on cost and fairness?
Or do we step inside and take part—however imperfectly—in the work of helping people find a way forward?

That choice doesn’t just shape individual lives.
It shapes who we become as a community.