Every neighborhood has someone the world overlooks—but for us, her name is Priscilla. 💔 Sitting beneath an overpass in a rickety chair, she is fierce, fragile, and unforgettable. Her swollen legs, her stubborn laughter, her tears when her wounds are cleaned—they all tell a story of pain, dignity, and a spirit that refuses to disappear.
In the quiet moments, I realized: sometimes serving isn’t about glory or power. It’s about kneeling on dirty cement, washing wounds the world has chosen to ignore, and remembering that every harsh word often hides a heart still longing for hope.
This is not just her story—it’s a reminder of what it means to truly see another human being. 🙏
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