Kimberly and Kyle Fitzgerald aren’t your typical nonprofit power couple. There are no trust funds, no matching luggage sets, and definitely no quiet weekends sipping wine in curated spaces. What they do have is grit, survival instincts, and a shared understanding of what it feels like to be on the outside looking in.
Both grew up navigating family struggles and instability—the kind of emotional weather that builds character, resilience, and a slightly twisted sense of humor. They didn’t bond over yoga retreats or networking mixers. They bonded over their love for humanity, their ability to find beauty in broken places, and their mutual talent for fixing things with duct tape and stubborn optimism.
They’ve always felt a little out of place in polished circles. While others were swapping business cards over brie and Chardonnay, Kimberly was taking in people who had nowhere else to go, and Kyle was elbow-deep in a plumbing emergency, armed with a coat hanger and a prayer—usually in work boots, wondering how he got roped into this again.
Kyle’s own experiences with homelessness gave him a deep empathy and a no-nonsense approach to problem-solving. He didn’t read about survival in a textbook—he lived it. So when Kimberly said, “I want to help people,” Kyle didn’t blink. He just grabbed his toolbox and said, “Where do we start?”
Their hearts are big, their hands are busy, and their idea of a date night might involve hauling donated furniture, fixing a leaky toilet, or chasing a duck off the porch while discussing trauma-informed care. They’ve never quite fit the mold—but that’s exactly why they’re so good at what they do.
Kimberly is the woman with the mission—equal parts visionary, crisis manager, and caffeine-fueled optimist. She’s the kind of person who can write a grant proposal while stirring spaghetti and fielding a midnight call from the shelter about a broken toilet. Her heart is huge, her schedule is impossible, and her idea of relaxing is reorganizing the donation closet (again).
Kyle, her husband and Vice Chair, is the emergency everything guy. He didn’t just marry Kimberly—he married the mission. One minute he’s leveling gravel, the next he’s hauling furniture, and by evening he’s solving plumbing mysteries with tools he probably shouldn’t be using. His toolbox is basically a third family member, and his ability to fix things with whatever’s nearby is nothing short of legendary.
And then there’s McKiley—the tutu-wearing, cow-loving, glitter-sprinkling creative force of nature. She’s the kind of girl who’ll eat your cow, not hers—because hers is named, loved, and probably has a hand-painted sign above its stall. She builds castles out of cardboard, gives motivational speeches to chickens, and has a sixth sense for knowing when her parents need a hug, a snack, or a reality check. She’s the sparkle in the storm, the sass in the sanctuary, and the unofficial morale booster of the whole operation.
Together, this trio is doing their best to manage a shelter, wrangle a hobby farm, and raise a family—all while navigating the beautiful mess of life with humor, duct tape, and divine improvisation. They don’t have it all figured out, but they do have each other, a mission worth fighting for, and a whole lot of grace for the journey.
If you’ve enjoyed this chapter of the Lighthouse Chronicles, consider supporting the mission. All proceeds go directly to the Lighthouse Shelter—where second chances aren’t just offered, they’re lived.