A small warehouse on the industrial side of town. Faded blue metal on the outside. Benches and woodworking tools on the inside. A high chain link fence surrounds the property.

It took me a couple of attempts to find this place. The street address was not obvious. The building is hidden by a thicket of trees, and the entrance gate is actually on a side street. I turn through the gate and park on the grassy knoll above the shop.

The sky is gray, and the clouds are thick. Rain is in the forecast. Although it’s only 8:30 in the morning, it’s warm and the air heavy with moisture. It’s a good day to work under a roof.

The lower lot is asphalt, though in places it’s more like gravel. There’s a stack of lumber outside. A couple of men are working with a worn blue tarp to get it covered before the rain hits.

Right outside the rollup door is a gaggle of volunteers hovering around a registration table that sits inside, just out of the weather. Marion and I make our way to the table and get in line. Most of the faces here today are friends from my church. We have no clue as to what we are about to get into.

The organization we are working with is called Sleep in Heavenly Peace, or SHP for short. They build simple beds for kids who have no bed. Raw 2x4s, 1x4s, and 2x6s are turned into basic bed frames. This is not fine furniture. The purpose is merely functional. Imagine the bunks you slept in during summer camp.

Until recently, I have been blind to the need. That’s the only way I know to say it. It has never occurred to me that all around me there are kids who have no bed. Foster kids. Kids grinding their way through the shattered hopes of a broken family. Kids who get lost in the shuffle. Kids who are powerless to change anything about their situation.

Right now, within reach of my comfortable bed, there are kids who go to sleep every night on the floor. If they’re lucky they might have a worn-out old mattress. Sometimes a couch. Sometimes all they have is a piece of cardboard to shield them from the damp cold of a concrete floor.

There are almost 3,000 kids in this community who have no bed of their own. They are “the least of these” who need help from those of us who are able and willing.

It all started when one man from Idaho, Luke Mickelson, decided to help the youth group at his local church build a bed for a needy family in their community. It was Christmas. He had most of the materials in his garage. In no time at all he had a bunkbed ready. Others donated the bedding. That Christmas they made a real difference in the life of that family and that family changed them forever.

A few weeks later, Luke got to thinking about all the stuff his own kids got for Christmas and how that conflicted with the question that he couldn’t get off his mind. “If there’s one kid without a bed, could there be more?”

So, he got up from the TV one night, went out to the garage and built another bed. He posted it on FB to see if anyone knew of anyone who could use a bed. The response was overwhelming. Friends and friends of friends asked how they could help. Many of them knew of a family who needed a bed for the kids.

Before long the sound of saws and sanders and drivers could be heard nearly every weekend from inside Luke’s garage. His motive? A lot of people help out families at Christmas by way of clothes, food, and toys. But the idea of a kid sleeping on a couch or on the floor in the corner is something happening right now all year long.

“No kid sleeps on the floor in my town” became the driving force behind one small effort that has turned into a national passion. SHP has over 300 chapters in towns and cities all across America.

My first experience with SHP was during a “bed build” at Southwest Christian Church in Newnan, Georgia. The trucks and trailers rolled into their parking lot on a Saturday morning, and when it was all over, 40 beds were built that would be delivered to kids all across the area.

I caught the bug and brought the idea back to my home church.

We’ve been planning for months. We raised a bucket full of money, donated twin sheet sets, pillows, and blankets. Then we showed up at this little out-of-sight warehouse. No skills necessary. Men, women, and young teens. We came to build some beds.

Guys like George, Randal, Richard, and Mike wore the red SHP t-shirts. They are the backbone of the local chapter. Some of them have been with SHP since it began in Columbus, Georgia nearly six years ago. They all have full-time jobs, but they also have a full-time passion for making sure that every kid has a bed.

Mike stood before our group of over thirty volunteers and gave us the quick run-down.

“In a few minutes this shop behind you will be buzzing with organized chaos. You’ll have coaches available in case you have questions or need any help. And please, when you carry a piece of 2×4 through the shop to the next station, please don’t swat anyone in the head.”

By 9am the chop saws were singing, and the bed build began. They have templates and jigs for every aspect of the build. We had preset stop blocks on the miter saw tables, so no measuring was required. Bump and cut.

Holes were marked at station #2. The drill press cut holes at each mark. In the far corner there were sixteen volunteers with orbital sanders smoothing off the edges. It sounded like an angry beehive echoing through the building.

The two assembly stations were equipped with angle-iron jigs bolted to the table. Richard pointed out, “Every bed is built to the exact same specs every time, every day we build.”

Right before 1pm the shop went silent when the last sander turned off. Two piles of raw lumber had been converted into twin beds plus extra pieces that would help the next group get started.

The chapter president gathered us around to make an announcement. “You guys did a great job today. You just built 40 beds that will be delivered to the kids in our community who need them.”

We cheered, back-slapped, and high-fived for the next five minutes.

The real story here is found in a group of volunteers who decided to be a part of something much larger than themselves. Faces covered in sawdust. Smiles that broke through the rain. Willing spirits that refused to ignore a greater need.

The deepest rewards in life come from serving, from finding a way to make a difference.

I know this for sure. SHP is making a difference.

One bed at a time.