I’ve been thinking about what it really means to feel safe at home. Not the kind of safety you can buy in a pretty rug or a better lock, but the deep-down kind that allows you to exhale, to make a mess, to rebuild.

Over the past decade, I’ve read emails and DMs from readers who’ve lost homes. To fire, to floods, to the slow erosion of affordability. They share what they miss most, and it’s never the big things. It’s the afternoon light on a particular wall. The smell of their neighbor’s cooking through the window. The sound the front door made when it closed. These small, irreplaceable textures of belonging. I think about the stories all the time. I wonder if what I did to help was enough. I want to be able to do something more.

Maybe you’ve felt it too. The pull to do something, to help somehow, but then the paralysis sets in. What if it’s not enough? What if you don’t have the resources to make a real difference? What if you drop the ball or can’t raise enough money?

I’ve been stuck in that place. For years, I told myself I’d start using these platforms for giving back when the newsletter was bigger, when I had actual profit to spare, when I could make a meaningful impact. The bar kept moving. The “right time” never came.

Here’s what I finally understand: That waiting wasn’t about being responsible. It was about being afraid. Afraid that small wouldn’t matter, that modest wouldn’t count, that anything less than transformative wasn’t worth doing.

If I’m going to write about home as a sanctuary, the work itself should help create more sanctuaries. Feeling at home is a basic human need, not a luxury item.

So beginning this season, 5% of House Call’s net proceeds will be donated toward organizations that help people find safety and stability. It’s not a fortune. But it’s real, it’s sustainable, and it means that every person who decides this newsletter is worth $5 a month is also directly participating in helping someone else find home.

The organizations we’re supporting do different kinds of work. Some provide emergency housing, others help people leave dangerous situations, and others focus on long-term stability for families. What they have in common is the belief that home is not a luxury item. It’s the infrastructure for life.

If I’m going to write about home as a sanctuary, the work itself should help create more sanctuaries. And if you’ve been sitting on your own version of this—wanting to align your work with something larger but waiting for the perfect structure, the bigger audience, the right moment—this is what I’ve learned: Small action beats perfect intention. Real individuals will be affected. That matters. That’s enough to start.

I don’t have this figured out. I’m learning as I go, and I’ll share what I learn. But starting now feels better than waiting. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s messy. Especially then.

Current Organization List

People Serving People
Hallie Q Brown Community Center
Keystone Community Services