From Fear to Faith: How Billy Led Me to the Streets

One week after Billy died, I found myself driving with no destination, just a heavy heart and a need to feel close to him. I ended up at Cortez Park. It wasn’t a coincidence—I had picked Billy up there many times over the years. We’d sit, talk, eat lunch, and catch up on family news. I’d always tell him he should get off these hard streets, go home to North Carolina, back to his mom, his sisters, his family in North Carolina. But he never would. He loved Arizona, despite everything.

I pulled into the parking lot, and straight ahead of me were tents and a small group of homeless people. As I sat there, staring at them, a thought crossed my mind: Did any of them know Billy? My heart urged me to get out of the car and walk over. But my head fought back—What if they’re high on something? What if they’re dangerous? What if they think I’m just some clueless woman who doesn’t belong here?

For ten minutes, my heart and my head battled it out. My head was winning. I was about to drive away when two park rangers appeared, making their way toward the group. I figured they were there to move them along, but their presence gave me just enough courage. I wasn’t going to back out now. I grabbed my phone, snapped a quick picture, and before I could change my mind, I stepped out of the SUV and started walking.

As I approached, their eyes locked onto me. I knew they were wondering, who in the hell is this lady? I almost chickened out again. But instead, I blurted out,

"Do any of you guys know Hillbilly?"

The first guy shook his head. The second guy answered, "Yeah, he stole my bike..."

I couldn’t help but laugh. "That’s pretty normal out here, right? Y’all steal each other’s bikes all the time?"

He nodded. "He stole my bike once too, and I was so mad at him. But none of that matters now. Let’s remember the good things about Hillbilly because he passed away a week ago."

I told them who I was, that I was Billy’s family, and that I had come to Cortez because I wanted to feel close to him.

The third guy, who had been watching me the whole time but hadn’t said a word, finally spoke. "I knew Billy..."

I noticed right away that he didn’t call him Hillbilly—he called him by his given birth name. Later, he told me that Billy had trusted him enough to share his real name.

I walked over to him and asked, "What’s your name?"

"Country," he said.

As he started sharing stories about Billy, I sat down in the dirt beside him. We talked for two hours. Country told me about the coldest nights, when he and Billy had shared a blanket just trying to survive. He told me about Billy’s faith, how even in the hardest moments, Billy believed in God.

That night, something shifted in me. I finally understood what Billy saw in these people. I realized that we, as his family, had to do something. The name came to me in that moment—Billy’s Way Home. Because Billy did make it home. Maybe not the way we had imagined, but he made it.

The next Saturday, we held our first official outreach.

And the fear I felt that day at Cortez Park, it never returned. Each time I step onto the streets now, I walk with faith, knowing that God will keep me safe—just like Billy always believed.

Is fear holding you back from something?

Has fear ever held you back from doing something? Did you overcome the fear? How?