How one staff member found connection, purpose, and peanut butter at HCM’s Senior Center.
I didn’t expect to end up at Highlands Community Ministries. I was sitting in my car on my lunch break, feeling burned out and scrolling through job listings when I came across the post for Operations Coordinator. I wasn’t even sure what all it would involve, but I was intrigued. Now, a few months in, I’ve learned it means providing administrative support to the Meals on Wheels program and the Senior Lunch Program, and—more unexpectedly—building relationships that have changed the way I see the world.
If you had told me one of my favorite parts of this job would be Bingo, I probably would’ve laughed. I had no idea how to play when I first started. Thankfully, Miss Sheren always sat beside me, leaning over my card to whisper, “Sondra! You’ve got Bingo!” I’d completely miss the mark because we weren’t playing the regular version—we were on “X marks the spot” or “postage stamp.” Thanks to her, I’m now a bit of a Bingo expert. The rules? Everyone has to win once—but no more than twice—and the seniors insist that I win, too. That’s non-negotiable. My first prizes? A jar of peanut butter, a box of graham crackers, and a lint roller. All requested from the Dollar Tree by the seniors themselves—things like toilet paper, shampoo, and peanut butter that are fun to win, but also deeply needed.
What struck me most was how much joy they wanted me to have. These are people who, in many cases, are living with very little. But they made space for me at the table—not just to play, but to belong.
As someone who’s still fairly new to Louisville, I’ve also found myself learning about the city through their memories. Mr. Conrad often talks about the turtle statues at Hogan’s Fountain, which he swears are “the finest turtle statues anybody ever had.” And Mr. Jimmy—a very quiet man—once told me he used to ride with a motorcycle gang. When he speaks, the room gets still. Everyone listens. I’ve learned so much about this city just by sitting still and being willing to hear their stories.
And because I’ve listened—because I’ve seen—I’ve changed.
I now subscribe to advocacy alerts from KIPDA and Louisville Metro. When I read about proposed cuts to Meals on Wheels or the Congregant Nutrition Program (which provides the meals we serve here), I pick up the phone and call my representatives. Not for me, but for the people I’ve come to care about deeply. Before HCM, I saw policies as headlines. Now, I see faces.
Each morning, before anyone arrives, I help prepare the space. I make sure everything is tidy. Is there cutlery? Salt and pepper? Are we playing a game today? Does the room feel ready? It’s a quiet ritual, but a meaningful one. In those small preparations, I’m saying without words: “You matter. We’re glad you’re here.” That tone carries through the rest of the day.
When I applied to HCM, I just wanted to feel seen again. What I found was a rhythm—laying the table, listening to stories, celebrating small joys, showing up for needs both spoken and unspoken. And in that rhythm, I’ve found something steady. Something sacred. A community that has changed me, simply by letting me be part of it.
—Sondra Bazlamit, Operations Coordinator
