The Week I Became the Good Shepherd (Guest Newsletter from Dan Sadlier)
You probably noticed by now that this newsletter didn't come from Josiah Haken. I'm Dan Sadlier, City Relief's Sr. Director of Development, and over Thanksgiving, Josiah shared five hugely impactful accounts of our friends and neighbors struggling with homelessness. He wanted to share not just their journeys with you, but their names and their contexts. This week, Josiah asked if I could pinch hit to share an experience of my own.
On the morning of October 30th, 2024, our apartment—usually alive with six kids—was quiet. Around 8 a.m., our son Judah went to check on his oldest sister, our adopted daughter, "M." She wasn't there. I walked upstairs, assuming she was out with the dog or in the shower. But her room was empty, and her phone, something no 21-year-old ever leaves behind, sat on the table. Within minutes, our quiet morning became every parent's nightmare.
"M" lives with significant developmental, physical, and intellectual disabilities. We searched our neighborhood. We called authorities. We filed reports. And then—like that one Good Shepherd from the scripture who left the ninety-nine—I dropped everything I had going on that week, and went running through the streets of Manhattan multiple times per day, scanning every crowd in Central Park, Herald Square, Times Square, praying to find my daughter and bring her home.
By day two, it was clear: she hadn't wandered off. She had been lured, coached, pulled into the earliest stages of trafficking. Authorities got involved. News stations called. Ransom calls came in. Police filled our apartment daily. And with every hour and day that passed the dread grew heavier. Every night, after the city went quiet, I lay awake beside my beautiful bride, praying—not only for my girl, but for every son and daughter in our city who is unseen, overlooked, or alone.
I prayed for workers who understand trauma, who know how it twists danger into familiarity and love into threat. I prayed for individuals and organizations who search, call the overlooked by name, and refuse to leave until each one is seen, connected, and safe. I pictured a community that searches the way that Good Shepherd searches—urgent, attentive, and relentless.
By day five, I realized something that humbled me: this is exactly what our team at City Relief does every day. I get to work with a team of shepherds walking the streets with eyes wide open and hearts awake, seeking those, many blinded by trauma, weighed down by circumstances, trapped in cycles of poverty or isolation. And this City Relief team doesn't just find people—we learn their names, affirm their dignity, and move them into both community and homes.
On day seven, after severe media pressure, my daughter was finally dropped back into the middle of the city—shaken, confused, but alive. As I walked her back home, I thought of all the church leaders, volunteers, and City Relief staff who had been searching with our family. I had run into them as they scanned the streets that dreadful week, and I knew that there are thousands more still unseen waiting for individuals to stop, recognize them, and remind them they are loved, worthy, and meant for a home.
So today, as our CEO takes a well-earned break from his newsletter, I want to invite you into this sacred work. Walk with us. Search with us. Learn the names with us. Mobilize your prayers, your presence, and your financial resources to join the work of the Good Shepherd: bringing people into home, calling the overlooked by name, and loving each of our vulnerable neighbors, one person at a time.
Thanks for reading,
Dan Sadlier
City Relief, Sr. Director of Development
