Hello again KCB Blog readers..

It’s “BELONG” Week.. and I’ve been thinking a lot about what that word really means when you’ve spent years feeling like you don’t fit in anywhere. Not with family. Not on the streets. Not even with yourself sometimes.

But I just spent the day helping a man walk into his own place for the first time in years.. and that may sound like perfect “LIVE” story.. but there’s a reason I saved it for this week, cause there’s a lot more to it.

I’d like you to meet Mike Spaulding..

Mike, in front of the KCB Community Center

Mike’s been on the streets off and on for about 15 years.. homeless longer than I’ve known him. I met him doing outreach back around 2019/2020, and KCB as a whole has seen him through the highs, the lows, the regrets, and the hope that flickers and almost goes out.

He’s been coming to the Community Center for awhile now.. getting mail, grabbing a bite to eat or a t-shirt when things got tight, and always looking for an opportunity.

But today, December 19th, 2025.. everything changed.

We’re excited to announce that Mike has officially moved into a studio in Long Beach.. his own place!

I had the opportunity to take him to sign the lease, and it was an amazing experience. When we opened the door to his new spot.. it was fully furnished, it was quiet, but most importantly, it was his. He dropped straight to his knees on the floor. He started crying, started praying out loud, thanking God. I just stood back and let him have the moment.. all while trying to hold it together myself.

For those that know him, they know that Mike’s come a long way. He grew up right here in the community’s backyard. Born in Inglewood, raised in Bellflower.. and his parents weren’t super strict on him, either. “I was the kid who had to be home when the street lights came on.” Mom was a coal miner’s daughter from West Virginia, Dad from Ohio, a roofer by trade who Mike said drank too much but was a good man inside. Underneath it all, Mike is a self-proclaimed momma’s boy.. “She was my best friend.” But losing her ten years ago broke something in him. “She went to the doctor with a belly ache, came home with stage four cancer.. six weeks later she was gone. Saddest day of my life.”

Long before then, Mike had some trouble with school. Particularly at Bellflower High. He dropped out in 10th grade trying to keep up with a cousin who according to Mike, “always had the better everything.” One thing led to the next, and soon, Mike found himself sniffing spot remover down by the riverbed just because his cousin did. Weed came next, then harder stuff in his 20s.. chasing that same cousin. All of that caught up to him in ’98 and that’s when the prison stints began.

After doing 2 years, he came out wanting better. And he tried. But like we sometimes see.. pride and those same streets slowly pulled him back in. But there was also some family pain that didn’t do him any favors..

You see.. In the midst of all the turmoil.. Mike actually got married. And not only that.. he had four kids. All before prison.. But as of today, he hasn’t seen them in 27 years. There was even a house in Oregon once, one with a white picket fence that they all lived at together.. but drugs and arguments tore it apart. And eventually things were destroyed. “My kids feel like I abandoned them,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m not perfect, but they don’t know the truth.”

Loneliness seems to weigh heavy on him. And for good reason. “I have no friends.. a lot of acquaintances.” Mike says. And on the streets he’s got to act tough just to not get messed with. But back to the reason this is a “BELONG” story.. At the Community Center.. that’s not a thing.“Every time I come here, something positive happens. It lifts my spirits, gives me hope.. like someone does care.” One moment in particular sticks out for him.. and before I write this, this is not about me in the slightest. But it shows the heart behind the “BELONG” pillar and it meant a lot to Mike.

There was a day a few months back where he had came in to the Community Center and we got to talking. He was down on his luck and somewhere in the conversation, I felt in my spirit to take the jacket off my back and give it to him. And so I did. He was grateful but I didn’t think too much about it afterwards. “That gesture meant so much to me,” Mike said. “Showed me his character. He was sincere.. things like that don’t just happen. My family doesn’t even do that.” But that’s what Belonging is all about, right? That’s a symptom of faith in action. It’s not about the jacket.. its about caring for a person in whatever way you’re able, because when you see people, you see the Lord’s workmanship..

We can get caught up in talking a big game.. but how often do we find ourselves listening to the Spirit and actually doing the things we feel called to do? Not out of necessity or guilt.. but out of love and from a place of community. James puts it in better words than I can in chapter 2 of his letter.. he’s writing to believers who were good at talking about faith but not always great at living it out. He says if you see a brother or sister without clothes or daily food, and you just say “Go in peace, keep warm and well fed” but do nothing about their physical needs.. what good is it? Faith by itself, if it’s not accompanied by action, is dead.

Now that jacket wasn’t some grand miracle by any stretch of the imagination.. it was just a simple act. But it was faith with sleeves on. It was love that didn’t stop at words.. it moved. And for Mike, in that moment, it was proof he wasn’t invisible. It was the kind of thing that stuck with him and pointed him straight to Jesus so much so that I personally believe God used that moment to set a series of events and opportunities in action that ultimately would lead to where Mike is now.

Because today.. Mike acknowledges that same faith he experienced in the Community Center as the faith that has carried him through the cold nights in his tent by the riverbed this whole time. He started crying talking about it.. “It probably sounds corny.. but I feel the Holy Spirit. This has to be all God. He does it all. Hope is there. He’s always there.. but so is the devil telling me how stupid I sound talking about God and how good He is. But the devil’s a liar. My mom told me to rebuke him if he tries.”

Speaking of his mother, she was his rock.. and in many ways, although she’s not with us anymore, she still is. He recalls her always saying, “Mikey.. keep looking up..” And even though he’s scared he’ll mess it up.. now that he’s beginning to get his life back together, he’s asking God for guidance. That’s what we encourage you, the reader, to keep doing as well.

This Christmas week, while a lot of us are wrapping presents and planning dinners.. there are still neighbors out there cold, hungry, and alone.. wondering if anyone sees them. Mike was one of them not long ago. But now he’s got a door to lock.. a shower whenever he wants.. and a chance to build a ’65 Riviera one day (because it was his mom’s favorite). That’s in large part due to a lot of you who have donated to our Love Thy Neighbor Fund. It was from that fund that we were able to pay for Mike’s move-in costs and get him started.

As we sign out for a couple of weeks, let’s keep Mike in our prayers and let this story be a reminder that every neighbor who walks in is not invisible. They’re not forgotten. They’ve got a place here.. and sometimes, by the grace of God, a place to call home.

Mike.. keep looking up! We’re proud of you. And we’re not done.

Thanks for reading.. Until next time..

Belong Week: Mike’s Story

Work Week: Issac’s Story