Yesterday was one of the hardest, hottest, and most rewarding days I’ve experienced in a long time.

If you had asked me a few months ago what success would look like, I probably would have talked about attendance numbers or meals served. Today, after watching everything unfold, I realize success looked very different.

It looked like two young girls who refused to quit.

The day actually started with a problem before the first pot of water ever boiled.

At 10:30 a.m., Melody, Kaylee, both moms, Kaylee’s dad, and both sets of grandparents gathered at the Goddard Community Center, ready to cook for hundreds of people. Instead, they discovered the kitchen had been double-booked and only one burner on the stove was working.

By 11:00, everyone had packed up and moved to a second kitchen. This one had a stove, but no dishes. More phone calls followed.

Then came a generous offer from the Andale Knights of Columbus. Kaylee and her family headed west while Melody and I drove toward Wichita to begin setting up the park. Within minutes of arriving, an angry carbon monoxide detector sent everyone scrambling back outside because of a gas leak. Kitchen number three was out.

One more move.

The fourth kitchen wouldn’t cooperate either, at least not at first. The gas wouldn’t turn on. Eventually, they got everything working, and after four kitchens, countless phone calls, and an extra hour and a half of unexpected detours, the cooking finally began.

Somehow, after all of that, the first pans of spaghetti arrived at the park at 4:10 p.m. Only ten minutes after we had planned to begin serving.

That happened because of people who simply refused to give up. The Wetta and Weissinger families carried an enormous amount of that burden yesterday, and I don’t know how we could have done it without them.

While all of that was unfolding, volunteers were setting up tables in Central Riverside Park on what became the hottest September 7th on record, after seven consecutive days over 100 degrees. It was brutally hot. There wasn’t a moment when anyone wasn’t sweating.

And yet people kept showing up.

About a dozen youth volunteers gave up part of their Labor Day to serve their community. Around ten adults stood beside them, filling drinks, serving food, greeting guests, answering questions, hauling supplies, and quietly doing whatever needed to be done.

By the end of the evening, we had served about 70 guests who stayed to eat together and another 100 meals to go. Three television stations came to tell the girls’ story. Families sat together under the shade of the trees. Conversations happened between people who had never met before. Guests paused to reflect at the 9/11 memorial display. Quilt squares were decorated that will soon become reminders of hope in places where people gather for meals every day.

When the event ended, the impact didn’t.

The remaining food was immediately donated to women who will serve it through their church and to a local men’s and women’s mission. Even after the park was packed up, Food for Friends kept feeding people.

As proud as I am of everything that happened yesterday, the part I’ll remember most isn’t the media coverage or the meal count.

I’ll remember watching Melody and Kaylee.

They thanked volunteers, welcomed guests, and stood for interview after interview. They solved problems. They kept smiling when they were exhausted. By the end of the day they were hot, sunburned, completely worn out, and still wishing they could have served more people.

That tells you everything you need to know about their hearts.

Four months ago, this project was just an idea.

Yesterday, it became a community.

To everyone who donated, volunteered, shared a post, answered the girls’ questions, offered a kitchen, covered the story, or simply came to share a meal, thank you. You believed in two young leaders, and because of that belief, hundreds of people were touched by Food for Friends over the past few months.

My heart is incredibly full today.

I’m grateful the day is over. I’m grateful it was successful in so many ways. Most of all, I’m grateful that I had a front-row seat to watch two young girls discover what they’re capable of when a community trusts them with something that truly matters.