From Bindoon Hill to Blessings

Sometimes miracles unfold in the most unexpected places—like the kitchen of a humble church.

One Sunday, while preparing meals for Midland Meals, Tanya was elbow-deep in pots and pans when a volunteer brought in a cheerful stranger named Leon. “This is Tanya,” the volunteer said. “She might be able to help you.”

Leon had a story—and a request.

Traveling the main highway daily for work, he had noticed a ute parked frequently near Bindoon Hill. Curious and concerned, Leon discovered it belonged to a man named Don, who had lost his job during the COVID pandemic and was now living in his vehicle, surviving on the kindness of strangers. When Leon knocked on Don’s window, he learned the unthinkable—Don had reached the end of his rope and was preparing to take his life that very evening.

Compelled by compassion and divine nudging, Leon intervened.

He had heard that the church might offer accommodation. But while Tanya explained they didn’t have the facilities, she promised to make some calls. “OK…think quick, Tanya! No pressure!” she wrote, recalling the urgency of the moment. A quick prayer went heavenward—and help came quickly.

Jane, a friend with a farm up north, agreed to take Don in the next day and offer him meaningful work and a safe place to stay. Tanya relayed the good news to Leon—but within an hour, both Leon and Don returned to the church, hopeful and grateful.

What followed was an outpouring of support. Don was given warm clothes and a bag of groceries, and his story touched every heart. "God had clearly rescued him. He had not been abandoned," Tanya reflects.

Days later, Jane confirmed that Don was settling in well. She had even helped him secure a pension, made possible now that he had a permanent address. Two months on, Don remains on the farm, supported and surrounded by a community that’s introducing him to faith—and Leon stops by the Op Shop weekly just to say hello.

It was a humbling reminder that being Jesus' hands and feet doesn’t always require grand gestures. Sometimes, it starts with a knock on a window, a prayer whispered in a kitchen, and a willingness to say, "How can I help?"