What happens when the first snow falls and you have nowhere to go?

It got cold this week. Not sure where you're reading this, but in New Jersey and New York City we saw the first snow flurries of the year. It reminded me of my first winter doing outreach with City Relief back in 2010. I was still working part-time at Starbucks but went out as often as I could to serve alongside our team.

That's when I met Gregory, an immigrant from West Africa who showed up every week at our Harlem outreach. He wore layer upon layer of jackets, scarves, and blankets, and always took a container of soup back to the tent he'd built under an abandoned subway track.

Gregory came to the U.S. after a cousin sponsored his visa for a taxi job, but the situation quickly turned abusive. His cousin fired him, kicked him out, and held onto his passport until he was "paid back." So there he was—no ID, no job, no money, and nowhere to go. The common advice for people like Gregory is to "just go home," but that's not how it works. Airlines don't let you board without ID or funds, and there's rarely a safety net waiting to catch someone in free fall.

We gave Gregory hand warmers, a sleeping bag, and as much hot chocolate and soup as he could carry. But every time I saw him, I left with a lump in my throat. Having grown up in Yaoundé, Cameroon myself, I remember the thrill of seeing snow for the first time—but I saw it through a window. Gregory felt every flake on his skin.

That's the reality of winter for our neighbors with no doors.

Hypothermia is a killer. According to the National Health Care for the Homeless Council, roughly 700 people experiencing homelessness die of hypothermia every year in the U.S. Studies show that people without shelter are up to 13 times more likely to die from cold exposure than those with stable housing.

And it's not just the cold itself, it's what comes with it. Staying clean without a shower becomes nearly impossible. Getting to a shelter without a MetroCard or bus fare can take hours of walking through freezing wind. When temperatures drop, shelters fill, rehab beds disappear, and hospital capacity tightens.

For many of us, winter is inconvenient at worst and beautiful at best. But for thousands of our neighbors, staying warm and dry becomes a daily battle for survival.

At City Relief, we don't to hibernate when it's hard. Our teams serve all winter long—no matter what—because compassion doesn't have an off-season. Every cup of soup, every pair of socks, every conversation of hope becomes a small act of defiance against the cold.

As the temperatures drop, I hope you'll remember Gregory and the thousands like him who are still out there tonight. If you'd like to join us in keeping our neighbors warm this winter, we'd love your help.

Thank you for caring, for reading, and for standing with us.

With gratitude,

Josiah Haken

City Relief, CEO