12/04/2025
I sat down to write a polished Giving Tuesday message for our I Care a-Latte campaign... but then something happened over the weekend that changed everything about what I wanted to say.
This past Saturday, I stood solo at our first holiday tabling event at Destiny Mall—my wife, Barbara, and our volunteer were both away—so it was just me greeting waves of shoppers. Some stopped to chat, others hurried past in the rush of the season. I understood; everyone’s moving fast right now.
And then… everything shifted.
A young woman walked by, caught sight of our sign, paused, and doubled back.
“What is Devin’s Rec Room?” she asked.
I explained that we’re a vibrant, sober-active community—bringing together movement, connection, and support for people with at least 48 hours of sobriety. As she listened, her questions grew deeper… and then she opened up about her brother.
She told me she wished he would stop using marijuana—and that she wished her mother would stop giving it to him.“He has severe schizophrenia,” she said quietly.
She described him as bright, kind, full of potential, but also capable of slipping, without warning, into “the other version” of himself—unpredictable and frightening for the people who love him most.
He’s in counseling and receiving medical care, but when she gently mentions his heavy smoking, he becomes defensive. He tells her it’s the only thing that dulls the voices in his head. She worries he’s using it to cope in ways that could spiral into something more dangerous.
The night before, she’d had a painful argument with her mom. Out of fear, she begged her not to keep providing him marijuana—worried that one day it could be tainted with something deadly. Her mother, exhausted and heartbroken, said she didn’t know what else to do. “If it’s the only way he finds relief,” she told her daughter, “how can I take it away?”
We talked about the tangled realities of mental illness, self-medication, and addiction. She understood all of it logically, but emotionally she felt afraid. Powerless. Stuck between love and fear.
Then she said something I’ll never forget: She hopes that one day her brother will be well enough to come to Devin’s Rec Room. To find community. To feel supported. To feel safe.
I told her, “We’ll be here when he’s ready.” And I watched the pain in her eyes soften—just a little—into hope.
We said goodbye. She walked away with a Devin’s Rec Room brochure in her hand.
An hour later, I spotted her across the mall. She caught my eye, smiled, and silently mouthed, “thank you.”
And I felt it deeply.
Not every story has easy answers. Not every family gets the outcome they pray for. We can’t help everyone the way we wish we could.
But sometimes the most meaningful thing we can offer is simply… to listen.
This Holiday Season, if this story moved you, we invite you to support our I Care a-Latte campaign. Your donation helps us keep showing up—for the people who are ready today, and for the ones who aren’t ready yet, but someday will be.
🧡 Donate here: https://www.devinsrecroom.org/donate/i-care-a-latte