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When I was growing up, I watched the elders in our community quietly support causes that uplifted and empowered us all. They did so without seeking recognition—just a deep sense of purpose and love for the people around them. Those who lived full, meaningful lives made it their mission to leave behind a legacy of generosity and wisdom, showing us that true wealth lies in the knowledge and care we pass down through generations.

His humility continues to amaze me, and together, their grace and strength have been a guiding light in my life. I feel truly privileged to have been nurtured, supported, and loved by such an extraordinary pair.

Thank you for your gifts to the garden—your contributions were not only helpful, they were deeply appreciated. You’ve lifted me up so I could stand on mountains… even if sometimes, it was just a humble mound of earth covering the roots of new life at the St. Vincent DePaul Community Garden SA.

A few weeks after I arrived at Holy Redeemer, a kind gentleman approached me after service and extended an unexpected invitation. He and his wife wanted to host me at their place in Comfort, Texas. I’ll admit—I was skeptical. I’m a city soul, not someone who typically finds peace in the quiet of the countryside. But I went, and what I experienced took my breath away.

He welcomed me with warmth, fed me with generosity, and let me simply sit and soak in the awe-inspiring view from the top of a high peak. It was there, surrounded by nature’s quiet majesty, that I saw something even more powerful—his heart. His passion for helping others was evident, and I remember thinking, “This is who I want to be when I grow just a little older.”

Later, when I found myself needing equipment for the garden—something well beyond our budget—he didn’t hesitate. With few words, he simply said, “Go to Home Depot, pick out what you need, and have them call me.” I was stunned. Truly speechless. His generosity left me awestruck.

I thanked him then, but today I want to thank him publicly—for the art of kindness he’s shared with me, for the quiet encouragement he’s given, and for being a living example of what it means to lift others up. Mark, and his wonderful wife BeBe, are the kind of people who remind me why I get choked up during movies where the downtrodden are rescued by a compassionate hero.

Through them, I’ve seen God’s grace in action—a reminder that He is always near, often working through the hands and hearts of others. All we have to do is ask.

You’ve probably heard the phrase, “a knight in shining armor.” But sometimes, heroes don’t arrive on horseback—they show up quietly, with work gloves in hand and a heart full of kindness.

It was the spring of 2021, and I was doing my best to keep the Connelly Street Community Garden alive. The weeds were winning, the tools were few, and I was running on sheer willpower. That’s when he appeared—a soft-spoken man from my church, curious about the garden I had mentioned in passing. I told him about the project, not expecting much. After all, he had a demanding job, and people often mean well but life gets in the way.

But then—he came back.

Not just once, but again and again. He showed up early, worked hard, and left just in time to head to his shift. And then one day, he returned not only with his time, but with a donation—right when I needed it most. It was as if he had sensed the weight I was carrying and decided to help shoulder it.

Being visually impaired, I can’t drive, and transporting supplies to and from the garden was a daily challenge. That’s when he surprised me with something I never expected: my very first three-wheel bicycle. It gave me freedom, independence, and a sense of joy I hadn’t felt in a long time. I rode it faithfully—until a close call with a car reminded me of my limits.

When the time came to close the Connelly Street garden and take the lead at the St. Vincent DePaul Community Garden, he was there again—helping me move supplies, lifting more than just boxes, but my spirits too. He never asked for recognition. He never made a show of his generosity. He simply gave—his time, his resources, and his heart.

He’s a man of few words, but his actions speak volumes. Whether it’s in the garden or at Holy Redeemer, he’s always quietly making the world a better place.

So today, I salute this selfless soldier—not clad in armor, but in humility. A true giver. A quiet hero. A blessing to us all.

Although I spent some of my early years in Catholic schools, my roots were firmly planted in the Baptist tradition. Raised by my grandparents and a Baptist pastor, I never imagined I’d one day walk a different spiritual path. But when I made the decision to convert to the Catholic faith, I knew I couldn’t do it alone. I needed sponsors—spiritual godparents—to walk beside me, guide me, and help me grow.

That’s when James Hubbard, Sr. stepped into my life.

He was a fellow member of the male chorus at church, always warm, always willing, and eager to help me navigate this new chapter. What started as a simple offer to support me in my catechism journey quickly blossomed into something much deeper. James didn’t just show up for the religious milestones—he showed up for me.

One day, he told me he was coming by the Connelly Street Community Garden. I thought he was just stopping in to say hello. But before I knew it, we were off to pick up a load of dirt for the garden. I’ll never forget the ride back—we were in his truck, the back weighed down with soil, riding low like a classic low-rider. We laughed the whole way home. It was one of those small, joyful moments that stays with you.

But James didn’t stop there. He kept showing up—helping me haul large items, making supply runs, and lending a hand whenever I needed it. For most people, getting a ride might not seem like a big deal. But when you’re visually impaired, transportation becomes a daily challenge. You’re often left waiting, hoping someone can find the time. James never made me wait. He made time.

What he doesn’t know is that while many have helped me over the years, it was his consistent love and quiet generosity that made me feel like I was part of a family—his family. Through his sponsorship, his kindness, and his unwavering support, James gave me something I never had before: a true sense of belonging.

He didn’t just help me become Catholic. He helped me become whole.