Yes, all is well. At least for now. We still have a home and it is the same home we started with 16 years ago

Shabby - yes. Cramped - yes. Bad neighborhood - oh please. We are still here, still running.

It seemed as if no one wanted us. Violent, said one church. Totally not true. Destructive, said someone else. Truly, we are good tenants.

"I see the perception preceded you," said good friend Phil Grigsby. And perception is the key word here. We have been shadowed all our lives by beliefs and perceptions. And yet when we said (sometimes begged), "Our doors are open - please come and visit," no one came.

Everyone who has had contact in person with Quest has come away awed and impressed.

"Your kids are sooo good," they say, "so well behaved!" I smile a little and thank God they have not come on a bad day. But still, most days are good days at Quest.

"You must be out by Oct 24," they said on Sept 24. We literally had no place to go. The one church we thought we had lined up was shuffling its feet and advising us to look elsewhere. Many people (some prominent) besieged the diocese with letters and phone calls on our behalf. There was only silence in return. I felt as if finally we had been obliterated off the face of if not the earth, at least Hamilton Hill.

So many people are holding their breath, waiting and hoping for us to close, that the very air has gone still and stale and lost it's freshness. "What will happen?" said my help. "You can't close, you've been here forever." said the kids.

And Teepha? "Whereever you go, I'm coming with you," she said.

I feel like Sisyphus, constantly rolling that stone up a hill, just to have it come back down and knock me out. I keep getting back up. but getting back up began to feel foolish, and by last Saturday I couldn't stop crying.

At the AIDS Walk on Sunday, I talked to many people. I connected with volunteers who wanted to donate time and foundations who wanted to donate money. There was even an offer of a home in Albany. But no magic words: "Let us offer you a space."

Sunday was my birthday and a misbegotten one. Totally.

On Monday, trying yet again to find a solution, my phone rang. It was Rev. McPherson, who had bought the church. Their celebration service is Sunday, Oct. 5, at 5 p.m. Would I like to come? And oh yes, would I stay?

In my entire adult life I had never thought much about religion. I believed strongly in doing the right thing - not for any reward in the hereafter, but to leave the world just a little better than I found it. Now Rev. McPherson is an austere man with a booming pastoral voice, a mite intimidating, especially to us nonbelievers. But the words that came from my mouth actually took him by surprise, set him back a few steps.

"God bless you," I said. The words were spoken in such a heartfelt way and so full of honest feeling that even I was shocked. I had never said these words to anyone before, but they were indeed the right thing to say. This man has blessed me and all my folk and children. He has made room for strangers and outcasts at his table, and we will be grateful and break bread together.

This is what faith means, having faith, just that, faith in people, faith in community, faith that love is the power we all need to get it right.

Please forgive me if I carry on, but I am so struck by the serendipity of this moment. Yesterday at McClellen and State streets, 30 some-odd youth were fighting. They had metal studded belts, baseball bats and even chains. Kids, mostly girls, they covered the whole block, and they were afraid of no one. They stopped traffic and climbed on cars, and screamed and fought. And I thought, "This is the whirlwind we will reap unless we somehow reach these frightened and lost creatures."

I thought of my struggle at so many doors, and I felt like the Big Bad Wolf. You know, "Little pig, little pig, let me come in" and the doors closed and answered " Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin." And really these were all fat cats saying "Go away. My building is not for the likes of you or your children." These were the people with plenty to spare saying "Private Property, no kids allowed."

So indeed Rev. McPherson and Higher Ground Church, let me say it yet again: God bless you and all you love and cherish, may it grow in abundance. And oh yes, may you have enough blessings leftover to make all your mortgage payments and heat and light this cold and drafty building.

And Sunday, for the first day in a long time, I will go to church and I will sing with a full heart and count my blessings. And maybe after all, I will not have to go and work at Stewart's part-time. Such a simple peaceful job, it seemed to a 67-year-old lady who had led a rather tumultuous life.

But I will still be driving that old van (110,000 miles) and honking my horn at all those houses, yelling "Hurry up, hurry up," "Fasten those seat belts," "Stop screaming," "Who's kicking my seat?" and "Here we are, everyone out," as I start out again on the next trip, riding those rough and ready streets of Schenectady.

We have two, 2-week-old infants at Quest - one boy and one girl. And it ain't over yet. Maybe we'll get to see them take their first steps as Quest kids.

And still we keep growing, only now, I'm not the mother figure but the grandmother. Maybe soon, I'll hear a small, clear voice say "Look, here comes Great Grandma."

"Hold on kids I'm coming. Wait up, I ain't as young as I used to be."

QUEST is a community-based organization that provides a safe environment, free meals, counseling, art and recreation programs that keep Hamilton Hill children in school, out of trouble and on track for better lives. For more information on QUEST, visit www.questkids.net.