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The origin of Lionheart

As a child, I loved stories about the forgotten ones.  I remember watching old Christmas cartoons where broken toys were sent away to the Island of Misfit Toys.  I felt like one of them.  And even then, I think part of me wanted to build a home for all of them.  There was another story too — about a swallow and a prince who gave pieces of themselves away to warm and feed the people around them.  I watched it over and over.  I wanted to be the swallow.  As I grew older, that feeling never left me.

I spent much of my life searching for safety, belonging, and home.  After years of abuse and survival, I began finding small ways to serve wherever I could.  Once, I saw people gathered around a garbage can fire in Salt Lake.  I brought sandwiches, soup, and soda and sat with them while they told me their stories.  Oddly enough, this became one of the deepest joys of my life.  Not saving people.  Not fixing them.  Just loving them long enough for them to feel seen.

Eventually, after decades of searching for home, I found Ike. Together, we built the Lionheart Family. Not just inside our walls — but outward too. Through my writing, artwork, videos, and conversations, I began meeting thousands of people carrying the same quiet ache : the longing for soul-family, tenderness, safety, and belonging.  People searching for somewhere to rest.  So Lionheart became that place.  A movement of warmth.  A gathering place for weary hearts.  A reminder that broken things are still worthy of love.  My partner and my children opened the doors with me.  And now we say the same thing to anyone who arrives here:

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