A Gentle Invitation
It was a Tuesday afternoon at The Next Door, the kind of cold December day where the gray sky settles in and everything feels a little heavier. Inside, though, there was warmth—the sound of kids talking, the smell of pancakes, the quiet rhythm of serving whoever walked through our doors.
While Mark, Heidi, and I were plating up pancakes, a young student came in with one of our regulars. His friend stacked his plate high—syrup, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, probably too much of each—but the new kid hung back. He wasn’t shy or rude; it was something else. A guardedness. The look of someone trying to read the fine print of a place he wasn’t sure he could trust yet.
We offered him pancakes.
He shook his head and said, “I’m okay. I gotta catch the bus. My grandma’s cooking.”
And it didn’t sound like he didn’t want to take too much. It sounded like he was wondering, What’s the catch? What am I not seeing here?
I told him he was welcome to take some to go—no expectations attached. He gave a small smile and walked out.
About an hour later, I was outside playing basketball with a different group of students. The air was cold enough to sting your hands when the ball hit just wrong. In the middle of it, a voice called from behind the fence: “Let me get one!”
After a few more calls, he finally walked around the fence and onto the court. Same kid from earlier.
I laughed and asked, “So what’d Grandma cook?”
He shrugged. “Grandma wasn’t home.”
Just honesty. Maybe even a hint of trust beginning to grow.
We played for a while—nothing deep, nothing intense. Just basketball. Just presence. Sometimes that’s all it takes for a wall to drop a few inches.
When we were finishing up, he asked if there was a place inside where he could wash his hands. That gave me a chance to show him around—no big speech, no pressure, just letting him see the space for himself. Before he headed out, I told him, “Whenever we have food here, you’re always welcome. Even if you don’t stay. Take what you need.”
He nodded, this time with something a little softer in his eyes, and walked back out into the cold.
Moments like that remind me of what The Next Door is meant to be—somewhere students who are used to looking for the catch can slowly discover that the welcome is real. That belonging doesn’t have to be earned. That trust can grow at its own pace.
And it points me toward something even deeper: the way God invites us into a relationship with Him. It’s not a forced invitation. It’s not a demand. It’s a gentle, steady welcome—one that, when received, begins to shape our hearts from the inside out. Not overnight. Not all at once. But in ways that eventually make themselves visible.
My prayer is that moments like this help the youth of North Kitsap catch even a glimpse of that kind of love—one that is patient, transformative, and always open for those willing to step toward it.
Denzel Samuel
Poulsbo Area Director