When Mission Statements Become Muscle Memory
Personal Dispatches — True Stories. Real People. Public Good.
October 22, 2026 | Kelowna, British Columbia
Today, I lost my bed at an emergency shelter.
After more than three months at Kelowna Gospel Mission’s Bay Avenue Shelter, I was told to switch from my wheelchair to a walker or leave.
I wasn’t refusing to cooperate. I was asking for time to have my mobility assessed by a physician. My appointment is scheduled for October 26.
That extension wasn’t granted.
Tonight, thanks to the kindness of people who stepped forward to help, I have a hotel room for a few nights.
I’m grateful. But I’m also exhausted, frustrated and increasingly convinced that something fundamental needs to change.
Not just at one shelter. Not just in Kelowna.
In how we build, operate and hold accountable the organizations that exist to serve people experiencing homelessness, poverty, disability and other difficult circumstances.
And perhaps, rather than simply continuing to point out what’s wrong, it’s time to help build something different.
Something where compassion, dignity, respect and accountability aren’t simply values we talk about.
They’re values we live.
From City Council to Something Different
A short time ago, I ran for Kelowna City Council.
I wasn’t a household name. I didn’t have a political machine behind me. I was a relatively unknown candidate trying to contribute to a conversation about the future of our community.
And, in my mind, I did pretty well.
Not necessarily because of the election result, but because I put myself out there, listened, learned, challenged ideas and tried to encourage people to think about issues affecting our city.
The experience reinforced something I’ve come to believe deeply.
Change doesn’t always begin in comfortable places.
Sometimes it begins with frustration. With disappointment. With an experience that leaves you asking why things are done the way they are.
Sometimes the situations that make us most uncomfortable are precisely the situations that force us to examine what needs to change.
My experiences with homelessness and the shelter system have certainly done that.
And they’ve left me thinking about what I might do next.
This isn’t about continuing an election campaign. It’s about continuing to care about the community I live in and finding a way to contribute beyond politics.
More Than Another Shelter
I’ve been considering starting a nonprofit organization.
But not necessarily another shelter. At least, not initially.
Something different.
An organization built around people with lived and living experience.
People who have experienced homelessness, poverty, disability, addiction, mental health challenges, institutional barriers or the exhausting reality of navigating systems that don’t always work together.
People who understand what it means to stand in line for food, search for somewhere to sleep, struggle to obtain medical attention, or repeatedly explain their circumstances to people who have the authority to make decisions about their lives.
And I don’t mean inviting those people to an occasional consultation or giving them a token seat at a table where the decisions have already been made.
I mean giving them meaningful authority.
From the board of directors to program development, management and frontline outreach, people with lived and living experience should help shape the organization wherever possible.
Professional expertise matters. Training matters. Responsible governance matters.
But lived experience is expertise, too.
And it is far too often undervalued.
People who have navigated these systems know things that cannot always be learned from textbooks, training courses or policy manuals.
They understand the difference between a service that looks good on paper and one that actually works when someone needs help.
That knowledge belongs at the centre of decision-making.
Outreach That Begins With Listening
I envision an organization that meets people where they are.
Not where a policy says they should be.
Outreach that helps people navigate housing, healthcare, disability accommodation, income assistance, identification, transportation and the countless administrative obstacles that can stand between someone and stability.
An organization that recognizes homelessness is not one condition with one cause or one solution.
I’ve met people whose lives were disrupted by illness, disability, relationship breakdowns, violence, unaffordable housing, poverty and circumstances they never imagined experiencing.
Some struggle with substance use. Some live with mental health challenges. Some are seniors. Some have worked their entire lives.
Many are dealing with several challenges at once.
They are not interchangeable.
They are people.
And they deserve responses that recognize their individual circumstances.
Sometimes what someone needs is a bed.
Sometimes it’s a doctor.
Sometimes it’s help completing a form, replacing identification, making a telephone call or getting to an appointment.
And sometimes what they need most is someone willing to listen, recognize that their concerns deserve consideration, and help them navigate a system that has become overwhelming.
That kind of outreach requires more than good intentions.
It requires relationships, consistency, practical knowledge and a willingness to stay involved when the easy answers run out.
Advocacy Cannot Be an Afterthought
This is where I think the organization could be different.
Advocacy would not be a side project. It would be one of its central responsibilities.
Strong, independent, evidence-based advocacy.
If a policy is hurting people, challenge it.
If a publicly funded service isn’t meeting its obligations, investigate it.
If governments make promises without delivering results, ask questions.
If an organization says it values dignity, compassion and respect, examine what those words mean in practice.
Use the tools available.
Blogs. Social media. Public meetings. Investigative journalism. Documentary storytelling. Policy submissions. Formal complaints. Community organizing.
And Personal Dispatches.
Not to attack people for the sake of attacking them.
Not to manufacture outrage.
But to document what is happening, give people an opportunity to be heard, and demand meaningful answers when systems fall short.
Advocacy must be persistent. It must also be fair, accurate and accountable.
That means listening to different perspectives, verifying evidence, protecting privacy and giving organizations an opportunity to respond.
It also means acknowledging when something works.
There are dedicated frontline workers, volunteers, healthcare professionals, outreach teams and community organizations doing extraordinary work under difficult circumstances.
Their contributions matter.
The goal should never be to dismiss that work or treat everyone within an imperfect system as responsible for its shortcomings.
But appreciating the people who care does not mean ignoring the policies and practices that need to change.
The goal isn’t to win arguments. The goal is to change outcomes.
Mission Statements Are Not Enough
Almost every organization serving vulnerable people has a mission statement.
Compassion. Dignity. Respect. Inclusion. Community. Care.
Beautiful words.
Important words.
But I’ve come to believe that a mission statement is only as meaningful as the decisions people make when nobody is watching.
What happens when someone needs an exception to a rule?
What happens when a person’s disability doesn’t fit an established procedure?
What happens when a frontline worker encounters a situation management hasn’t anticipated?
What happens when someone complains?
Are they listened to?
Are their individual circumstances considered?
Is there a meaningful way to challenge a decision?
Does the organization respond with curiosity and compassion, or simply repeat the policy?
These are the moments when organizational values become real—or don’t.
And that leads me to the idea I keep coming back to.
Take the values written in mission statements and make them a daily practice. Muscle memory.
But I mean something deeper than following a set of rules or remembering what we were taught during orientation.
Compassion. Dignity. Respect. Accountability.
These shouldn’t be words we have to remind ourselves to follow.
They should become part of who we are.
So deeply ingrained in our thinking, our actions and our decisions that doing the right thing becomes second nature.
Not because a policy requires it.
Not because management is watching.
Not because it’s written in a mission statement.
Because it’s inside us. Because it’s who we are. We just live it.
That’s what I mean by making mission statements muscle memory.
When someone comes through the door frightened, exhausted or in pain, we don’t have to consult a poster to remember compassion.
When someone questions a decision, we don’t have to be reminded that they deserve dignity.
When a person’s circumstances don’t fit neatly into a policy, we don’t forget that we’re dealing with a human being.
And when we make a mistake, accountability isn’t something forced upon us. It’s something we practice because we believe in it.
It becomes instinctive.
Part of the organization’s culture.
Part of how we treat each other.
Part of how we make decisions.
Not a performance. Not a slogan.
A way of being.
And that culture has to begin with the people who lead the organization and extend through every part of its work.
Accountability Begins With Ourselves
There’s an obvious challenge.
It’s easy to criticize other organizations.
It’s much harder to build something that consistently lives up to its own principles.
Any nonprofit I helped establish would need to be held to the same standards it asks of others.
Transparent governance. Meaningful complaint procedures. Financial accountability. Independent oversight. Respect for staff and participants. A willingness to acknowledge mistakes and correct them.
And genuine decision-making power for people with lived and living experience.
Not symbolic participation.
Real participation.
An organization should never become so protective of its reputation that it forgets the people it was created to serve.
If we expect accountability from governments, shelters and service providers, we must be prepared to practice it ourselves.
That includes accepting criticism.
It includes acknowledging when an idea doesn’t work.
It includes listening to people who disagree.
And it includes being willing to change course when the evidence tells us we should.
No organization gets everything right.
But the difference between an organization that learns and one that merely protects itself can be enormous.
And this is where muscle memory matters again.
If accountability is truly part of who we are, we don’t become defensive simply because someone points out a problem.
We listen.
We examine what happened.
We correct what we can.
We learn.
Because the values we claim to hold are already part of how we operate.
Perhaps This Is What Personal Dispatches Is Becoming
Maybe Personal Dispatches has been evolving toward this all along.
A way to document experiences that too often disappear into case files, unanswered emails, bureaucratic processes and forgotten conversations.
A place where people can tell their own stories.
Not simply stories about homelessness, but stories about people, systems, resilience, failures, compassion and possibilities.
My experiences have shaped how I see these issues.
But this cannot be only about me.
There are people with knowledge, ideas and experiences far beyond my own.
They deserve more than an invitation to tell their stories.
They deserve opportunities to help determine what happens next.
Perhaps Personal Dispatches becomes part of a larger nonprofit.
Perhaps the nonprofit begins with advocacy and outreach and eventually develops housing or shelter services.
Perhaps it evolves into something none of us has imagined yet.
I don’t have the organizational structure, funding model or answers worked out.
And I’m not pretending I do.
But I know the principles I want to begin with.
An organization shaped by the people it serves.
An organization prepared to challenge systems while also helping people navigate them.
An organization that values professional knowledge and lived experience together.
An organization that measures success not simply by how many people it contacts or how many reports it produces, but by whether people’s lives are actually improving.
And an organization that is never too proud to ask whether it could be doing better.
An Open Invitation: Help Shape This
This is where I’d really like to hear from people.
What do you think an organization like this should look like?
How should it be structured?
How do we ensure people with lived and living experience have genuine decision-making authority?
What services are missing?
Where are the greatest gaps in outreach and advocacy?
How do we create an organization that remains independent, transparent and accountable?
And how do we make sure it doesn’t eventually become another institution that forgets why it was created?
If you’ve experienced homelessness, poverty, disability, addiction, mental health challenges or other systemic barriers, I want to hear from you.
If you have a story, an idea, a criticism, professional expertise or an interest in helping build something different, I want to hear from you too.
You don’t have to agree with me.
In fact, some of the most valuable contributions may come from people who see things differently.
For now, you can reach me here on Facebook or through my existing campaign website. It’s simply a practical way to connect while this idea develops.
This is not a continuation of my election campaign. The website is simply an existing way for people to contact me until something more appropriate is established.
As things become more defined, we’ll work out an appropriate structure, identity and means of participation.
Nothing is predetermined.
I want this to be shaped by the people who become involved, not simply announced as a finished plan.
And if you’ve lived through something that you believe others need to understand, perhaps your story can help shape the conversation.
No one should feel obligated to make painful or private experiences public in order to participate.
There should be room for people to contribute in whatever way they feel comfortable.
Something More
Today has been one of the more difficult days of my journey.
I’m tired. I’m angry about what happened. And I’m trying to figure out where I go from here.
Kelowna Gospel Mission has explained that it understood my wheelchair use would be temporary and that its facilities have accessibility and operational limitations. I believe important questions remain about how my individual circumstances were considered and why I was not permitted to wait for my scheduled medical assessment.
Those questions deserve careful examination, and I intend to continue seeking answers.
But I don’t want these experiences to amount to nothing more than another complaint, another news story or another entry in a shelter incident log.
I want to learn from them.
I want to take what I’ve experienced, what I’ve witnessed, and what other people have trusted me enough to share, and turn it into something constructive.
Something that lasts.
Something that helps people who come after us avoid some of the same barriers.
I’m not suggesting one organization can solve homelessness, poverty or the failures of our social systems.
It can’t.
But perhaps we can help change how decisions are made, whose voices carry weight, and what accountability looks like in practice.
Perhaps we can build something where people with lived experience aren’t merely the recipients of services.
They’re leaders.
Advocates.
Decision-makers.
Partners.
And perhaps we can begin to close the distance between what organizations promise and what people actually experience.
We don’t need another beautiful mission statement that nobody follows.
We need to make compassion, dignity, respect and accountability a daily practice.
Not because we’re told to.
Not because we’re being watched.
Because those values are inside us. Because they’re who we are. Because we just live them.
Muscle memory.
That’s the idea.
I don’t know exactly where it will lead.
But I know I want to do something more.
And I don’t believe I should have to do it alone.
What do you think? How should we shape this? What would you like to see?
I’d genuinely love to hear from you.
Let’s start the conversation.
Personal Dispatches — True Stories. Real People. Public Good.