Lately, I’ve been thinking about how cared for I am.
The small things people do without announcing them.
A friend bringing me a coffee because they know I’ve skipped lunch.
Someone putting a plate of food in front of me when I’m too busy to stop.
Little gifts left on my desk just because someone thought of me while they were out.
None of it is extravagant.
But it makes me feel held. Spoiled, even.
Like I matter enough to be noticed in my absence.
And then the photos from Gaza came through.
One stopped me completely.
A little girl in a wheelchair. One of our volunteers was handing her a blanket.
And the look on her face. The light in her eyes, it felt like Santa himself had shown up.
Not because it was a special gift.
But because it was warmth.
That’s when it hit me.
The things that make me feel cared for, a warm meal, a blanket, someone thinking ahead for me have become luxuries in Gaza.
Food is a gift. Milk for a baby is a gift.
A blanket is a moment worth celebrating.
And it shouldn’t be this way.
Basic care should not feel extraordinary.
But when it’s been missing for so long, it does.
Right now, despite the cold, the floods, and everything meant to stop it, we are delivering aid in Gaza.
Food on plates. Blankets around shoulders.
Milk in the hands of mothers who have nothing else to give.
Every day.
Aid Delivery In Gaza - Uninterrupted
That means girls like her are warm tonight.
It means babies are fed instead of dying quietly.
It means care is reaching people who have been without it for far too long.
Caring for someone is the most honest way to love them.
It’s showing up with food. It’s covering their shoulders.
It’s making sure they’re not left to face the cold alone.
If you’ve ever known how much a small gesture meant to you on a hard day, you already understand this.
Help us keep caring for them.
So warmth doesn’t feel like a miracle.
So food doesn’t feel like a gift.
So children don’t have to smile in disbelief when their basic needs are met.
Committed to showing up for them,
Hafsa
