8 Billion Ones

There are some sessions you don’t forget… and Ryan is one of those people you don’t forget either.

The way he cares, the way he shows love...it’s genuine, joyful, and completely his own. And yes, the glasses slipping down his nose? That’s classic Ryan.

Towards the end of our time together, Ryan lit up and asked if he could go get his girlfriend, Hannah, to be in a few photos. How can you say no to that?

But, after reflecting on the session, what stayed with me most is the story his parents shared…

“Being Ryan’s parents… it’s a gift that I don’t think we fully understood where he would take us. We’ve been very blessed because of it, to get to meet a whole new world that we would have missed.”

“He’s been amazing. He’s brought out the best in us. It’s not always smooth sailing… there have been challenges and heartbreak… but it’s made us who we are as a family.”

“He sets the tone for our family. It’s better. The tone of our family is way better than if we wouldn’t have had Ryan.”

“We’ve always had expectations for him—just like our other kids… maybe with a little more patience. And he’s never disappointed us. He rises to the occasion.”

“We were once afraid of what his future might look like… but those fears were replaced by the community he built for himself.”

Ryan is out in the world—working, connecting, showing up.
An usher at Busch Stadium. Working at Enterprise Center. A MetroLink ambassador. A host at The Fox Theater.

He doesn’t just belong… he creates belonging wherever he goes.

And in Ryan’s words:

“I’m very friendly and easy at making new friends. I’m a hard worker. What makes me happy is hanging out with my friends, my family, and my romantic partner, Hannah… Belonging means making sure people with disabilities know that this is their place and they belong.”

This is Ryan. Full of joy. Full of purpose. And full of love.

Here's Sophia. She is PURE JOY!

"Sophia is so sweet and precious. We just absolutely love her. She’s such a blessing for everybody in our family. Everybody loves Sophia—what’s not to love? She’s our pride and joy, our firstborn.

We got pregnant pretty fast after we got married. We were trying, and when we found out we were expecting, we were so happy.

Sophia has taught us so many things. She’s changed my perspective on disabilities completely. I’ve learned to see the ability in people and not count someone out just because they have a diagnosis. People can still live meaningful, beautiful lives.

In the beginning it was a lot to take in. There were doctor’s appointments and diagnoses, and sometimes we would leave one appointment hearing one thing and later see something different written in her chart. It was confusing and overwhelming. At first our focus was just getting her stable.

Now our focus is school and helping her keep progressing and meeting her goals.

Sophia loves going to school. She thrives on routine. She’s a creature of habit, so when school isn’t in session it throws her off a little. Winter break was tough—she was basically saying, “What do you mean no school for two weeks?”

She loves music and dancing. That’s her favorite thing. She has her Tonies, and as soon as she wakes up, she wants her Peanuts Tonie playing. She’ll walk around the house dancing while she’s getting ready for school.

One of the most rewarding things has been watching her succeed. Seeing her grow and do things now that we worked so hard on before. Walking was one of those milestones. We worked tirelessly on it, and seeing her walk made every bit of that effort worth it.

My dream for Sophia is whatever her dream is. I’m just here to help set her up for success.

To me, belonging means having somewhere you feel accepted. Having your people. Your tribe.

We’re all just learning as we go." — Rochelle, Sophia's Mom.

📷 From Belonging — the upcoming hardcover art book
Coming Fall 2026

There are moments when a single face holds two stories at once — the one the world sees, and the one it never knew existed. For years, only Jessica’s black-and-white portrait has been part of The Road I Call Home exhibit. It carries the weight, the exhaustion, the truth of the season of life she was walking through. But the color portrait — never shared before — reveals another side of her. Softer. Brighter. A hint of hope rising through everything she had endured. Both are true. Both belong to her. Here is a part of Jessica’s story:

“The hardest thing about getting off the streets is missing the people I met out there… and trying to keep my mind set on ‘I can’t help everybody.’ When I get a place, I go back out and check on the people I used to hang out with — see if they need ci******es, shoes. Then others find me and say they need this or that… and before I know it, I’ve spent a hundred dollars I don’t have. And then I can’t pay rent anymore.”

“It’s a big heartache, being homeless. You hear what people have gone through — getting into a place only to be hurt and kicked back out. Losing everything because they trusted their instincts and ran. Tents burned down. Baby pictures gone. I got thrown in jail and when I got out, my tent was burned to the ground. Everyone was gone. I had nothing.”

“Not everyone is as good as they seem, and not everyone is as bad as you think. I help people as much as I can… but if you take advantage of my kindness, I’m going to stand up for myself. It’s not revenge — it’s survival.”

And then she said something with unexpected lightness: “Don’t make a bucket list. Just find things that excite you. Something small every day that makes you smile… or makes someone else smile.”

This is Jessica — in black-and-white and in color, in struggle and in resilience. A reminder that every person living on the streets carries entire worlds inside them. Worlds worth seeing. Worlds worth hearing. Worlds worth honoring.

I asked Eric, “What do you want more than anything?” He paused, then said the words that cut to the heart of it all: “For someone to look at me and not see a homeless person.”

"I've been a loner and homeless on and off most of my life. The hardest part—I just wanted to be loved, to have a family. My mom died of cancer when I was eight, and from then on, it was really hard. I was scared. Alone. Other kids’ parents would visit and take them in. That made me stronger."

"I'm fifty-four now. I haven’t had much, haven’t gone many places. But I know I have a purpose: to show love, care, and concern. I like helping people. To me, money and power are the root of evil. If instead of isolating and judging, we loved each other… this world would be different."

"You can’t judge anyone from the outside. It’s what’s inside that counts. No matter the badness, try to bring out the goodness. That’s what I want to do."

"When I’m walking down the street, I’d want people to just look at me like a person. Love, peace, serenity—and God—that’s everything."

"I pick up trash. I care about our children and our future. I’d give my life a thousand times so they could have a chance. We don’t need money to be happy. We need love. Just love your neighbor."

"I didn’t think I’d live this long. But God has a purpose for me. I just talked to my daughter—she’s wonderful. I have a wonderful son too."

"Don’t ever lose faith. Always keep faith. Don’t give up. And forgive. I forgive everyone."