Full Circle: A Place to Belong and a People to Serve

A man who prayed with people in downtown San Antonio told Ash Castillo that he did not look like he belonged on the streets. Ash was angry. “Nobody belongs out here,” he told him. “Nobody belongs in this. We’re not meant for this.”

The man, whom Ash knows as Samson, agreed. He handed Ash a flyer with a phone number for a ministry that could give him a place to live. Ash turned him down. “Even though that was the answer I needed, I fought it that whole day,” he recalled.

By then, he had spent about three years caught in homelessness, addiction, and failing health. He had once measured his life by the things he had accomplished. He had finished college, begun a career, and started a family. Then he lost his job and a bitter divorce followed. The collapse came faster than he could manage.

He had survived physical and sexual abuse as a child. He thought he had put those experiences behind him. Losing the life he had built brought him back to things he had never resolved. “I felt like it was like everything I didn’t deal with actually came kind of crushing on me in that moment,” he said.

“I didn’t become homeless because I was on drugs,” he said. The drugs came after he was on the streets. He wanted to numb himself to his circumstances. Sometimes he used them to suppress hunger when he had gone days without food.

For about four months, he stayed in an area called Central Plaza. Samson was there offering prayer. Ash began looking for him. “Just please pray for me,” he would ask.

On the day Samson gave him the flyer, one thing after another went wrong. Looking back, Ash counts those disappointments as blessings. They helped him make the call.

He told the man who answered that he needed somewhere to go. He had nothing. He did not know whether the program cost money. The man, John, explained that Ministry House of Restoration was a sober living home. It was faith-based, strict, and structured. If Ash was ready to commit, John could pick him up in twelve minutes.

“I went in thinking that I need somewhere to sleep, I need something to eat, and I ended up uncovering a lot more needs that I had,” Ash said. “I needed a family, I needed . . . stability. I needed healing. I needed a firm hand. I needed someone to be real with me.”

Church had not felt like a refuge to him. He associated his childhood church experience with abuse. As he grew older, he stopped praying and became defensive around expressions of Christian faith.

During his first week at Ministry House, a pastor called him into his office. Ash told him about his addiction and health problems. He had been diagnosed with HIV as a teenager and required medication. He wanted the pastor to know what accepting him would involve. Ash remembers the pastor's answer: “So what?”

He felt accepted. Much of his experience with other people had involved an exchange. Kindness usually came with an expectation. Here, he began learning how to live among people who would tell him what he needed to hear.

Nine months into the program, Ash is helping with administrative work and the daily life of the home. The day begins at 4:30 a.m. There are meals to prepare and chores to complete. Bible study, worship, ministry training, and peer support are part of the routine. So are learning to maintain personal hygiene, settle disagreements, and live within a structure.

“I live in the home. I’m in the program,” he said. “I don’t just clock out at five o’clock. I’m just a son of the house,” he said.

Ash was recently on the HPCAN campus for a three-day Ministry House of Restoration discipleship gathering. People came from affiliated ministries across the country for worship, prayer, fellowship, and testimonies. Some had been part of the ministry for more than twenty years. For newcomers, their presence offered a view of what life could become.

When he learned about HPCAN’s community meal, he wanted people from his ministry to volunteer. The meal could provide an occasion to talk. Someone looking for a place to live could learn about the men’s and women’s homes.

He still talks with Samson, who continues praying with people downtown. Now Samson calls Ash when someone needs the ministry. Ash now works alongside John, the man who picked him up and took him to the shelter. “I need to be around the people that have shared the same pain that I’ve shared,” he said.

He calls it a full circle moment. Some of those people sleep where he once slept. When he speaks with them, he begins there. “The sidewalk you slept on, I used to sleep there.”

The Most Important Question

Guest blog – Vernon Liverett

I recently had the opportunity to do intake at the food pantry. Before shopping, people sit down with a volunteer to complete or update a food bank form. Ours is a client-choice pantry, where people choose groceries their families can use. It is the type the San Antonio Food Bank recommends.

To me, the most important question comes after the form is completed: “How can I pray for you today?” That question opens a conversation beyond the paperwork and gives us an opportunity to bring the person’s concerns to our heavenly Father.

This is when people may share a fear or concern they have been carrying. I don’t regularly get to do this but when I do it often is very emotional. Recently, a man told me that his mother and his partner had both died within the last three months. He had also been evicted and had to live under a bridge for several days before he could find a place to live. He was overwhelmed by all that had happened. Another young man shared that he had a young son with Down Syndrome. He was unemployed and looking for a job. A woman shared that she was struggling to care for her mother who has dementia.

These conversations remind me how much it matters to listen, show compassion, and care about the person sitting across from us. This question allows us to really connect with them.

Our care does not depend on whether someone attends church, but when they know that we truly care about them, they are much more receptive to an invitation to any of the activities on our campus. This might include ceramics, the Tuesday meal, Divine Women or just coming to worship or Bible study. To me this is why I believe the question, “How can I pray for you?” is the most important thing we ask. It’s not just asked at the food pantry, but also at the thrift store, at the Saturday food distribution, and the Tuesday night meal.

A Journey of Faith, Service, and Sign Language

Jazzmen Wilken’s story is one of adventure, faith, and a deep commitment to helping others. Growing up in a military family as one of four children, she experienced a life of constant movement. “About every four years or so, we moved,” she recalled. Those early experiences taught her adaptability, a quality that would shape much of her adult life.

One of the most significant chapters of her life began with a simple conversation with the man who would become her husband. Before they were married, they dreamed about living somewhere beyond the United States. On a whim, they settled on a destination neither of them knew much about. “We just looked at each other, I said, ‘New Zealand?’ He’s like, ‘New Zealand.’” Years later, that dream became reality when her husband accepted a position in New Zealand, and the family made the move.

While a stay-at-home mom raising children overseas, Wilken became passionate about mental health and founded a nonprofit focused on creativity as a tool for healing. The organization encouraged people to express themselves through activities such as yo-yoing, dance, and art. Reflecting on its mission, she explained, “If you do something creative, it helps you to let go of some of the things, maybe depression or anxiety or stress.” Her work brought joy and connection to shelters and community spaces, where sometimes the goal was simply “to laugh and smile.”

Upon returning to the United States, she found work as a teacher's aide and later as a co-teacher. Yet another unexpected turn came when she felt compelled to learn American Sign Language (ASL). As she described it, “One night God was like, ‘Hey, go learn sign language at San Antonio College.’” Trusting that prompting, she enrolled and began what would become a transformative journey.

Wilken immersed herself in the Deaf community, attending events and learning directly from native signers. Her dedication paid off when she passed the basic Board for Evaluation of Interpreters (BEI) certification exam in Texas, allowing her to work professionally as a sign language interpreter. “God has given me the skill that I need,” she said.

Her search for opportunities to practice ASL led her to Family Deaf Church. At the time, she knew very little sign language, joking that she could barely sign her own name. Yet the congregation welcomed her with patience and encouragement. “It was really their warm and welcoming demeanor and attitudes that made me keep going back,” she remembered. Through those relationships, she developed both her language skills and her connection to the community. She eventually became an interpreter for the church. Sometimes she signs vocalization and other times vocalizing ASL.

Underlying all these experiences is Wilken’s faith. Raised by parents who were ministers, she has long viewed her life through a spiritual lens. One childhood memory remains especially vivid. After being baptized at age seven, she emerged from the water feeling transformed. “I felt lighter,” she recalled. “I feel like I could float away.” Later in life, she intentionally tested the beliefs she had inherited, seeking proof through experience. Time and again, she felt that God was present and guiding her path.

Today, Wilken works as a sign language interpreter, serving clients across a variety of settings. Looking ahead, she envisions a bright future for Family Deaf Church. She hopes to see the church grow and expand its outreach through services such as counseling, food assistance, and resource support specifically designed for the Deaf community. “I see them continuing to grow and expanding their reach,” she said.

From a young girl moving from place to place, to a nonprofit founder in New Zealand, to an interpreter serving the Deaf community, Wilken’s story demonstrates how faith, service, and a willingness to follow unexpected opportunities can shape a remarkable life journey.