Kimberly’s journey with the Lighthouse Shelter didn’t start with a job title—it began with survival, grit, and a whole lot of stubborn hope.
At 16, during her senior year of high school, Kimberly was kicked out of her home. While most teens were worrying about prom and finals, she was juggling two part-time jobs, enrolled in school, and bouncing between friends’ couches like a very tired, very determined pinball. Her backpack held homework, work uniforms, and whatever hope she could carry.
After a year of scraping by, she begged her mother for help. The response? A psychiatric ward intake. And upon discharge, her mother signed away her parental rights. Kimberly was placed in Aunt Martha’s Youth Shelter in Riverdale, Illinois—a place that felt more like a lifeline than a facility. It was a painful, confusing chapter—but also the beginning of a calling. That experience lit a fire in her: to create a shelter that didn’t just house people, but saw them, believed in them, and helped them rebuild.
At 19, she left Aunt Martha’s determined to work in a homeless shelter and help others like herself. She packed up her dreams and moved to Madison, Wisconsin, convinced it was the place to start fresh. But reality had other plans—no shelter would hire her, not even as a volunteer. So, she pivoted, landing a job at the Central Wisconsin Center for the Developmentally Disabled, where she was trained and paid as a CNA. That job launched her adult life.
From there, Kimberly climbed the ranks—working in long-term care and nursing homes, eventually running a chain of group homes in La Crosse serving individuals with severe mental illness and traumatic brain injuries (TBI). Later, she returned to Madison to manage adult family homes focused on autism and TBI. And through it all, she never let go of her original dream – something she felt like she could do in her spare time. She didn’t exactly have spare time—it was more like she borrowed hours from sleep and sanity. But Kimberly couldn’t shake the feeling that she was meant to give others the same kind of hope she once received. So, in between managing group homes, paperwork avalanches, and the occasional existential crisis, she took in homeless individuals and those battling addiction. Not because she had time, but because she had heart—and maybe a tiny hero complex.
People kept telling her, “You should open a shelter!”
She’d laugh and say, “That’s for my 40s—when I have some real experience.”
Spoiler alert: she waited until her 40s
Fast forward to adulthood, and enter Kyle—Kimberly’s husband, Vice Chair, and unsuspecting co-pilot in this mission of organized chaos. When they got married, Kyle thought he was signing up for love, laughter, and maybe a peaceful life with a few chickens and weekend naps. What he didn’t realize was that he’d also be the emergency everything guy: plumber, demolition crew, gravel leveler, furniture mover, and the one who gets handed a wrench with no context and a “Can you fix this real quick?”
Then there’s McKinley, their wildly creative daughter and self-declared CEO of the household. She’s the kind of girl who’ll eat your cow, not hers—because hers is named, loved, and probably has a glittery scrapbook dedicated to it. She’s got a heart as big as her imagination and a talent for turning cardboard boxes into castles, shelters, or whatever the mission of the day requires.
Together—with McKinley’s creativity, Kyle’s toolbox, and Kimberly’s unstoppable drive—they’re doing their best to manage a shelter rooted in compassion, accountability, and second chances. It’s loud, it’s messy, and it’s powered by duct tape, caffeine, and a whole lot of “we’ll figure it out.”
And through all the chaos, the late-night repairs, the heart-heavy stories, and the moments of unexpected joy, they carry this mission forward with gratitude—for every person who walks through their doors, for every lesson learned, and for the grace that keeps showing up, even when the plan falls apart. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about perfection—it’s about showing up, loving hard, and doing the best they can, together.
If you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into the Lighthouse Chronicles—where chaos meets purpose and every day is a new adventure—we invite you to consider supporting the mission. All donations go directly to the Lighthouse Shelter, helping real families, real people, and yes, occasionally a goat, find their way back to hope. We may not have it all together, but together, we’re making a difference.
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