Well, I think I use the word well too often. I finally must sit down and face reality. We must move. We need to find a site by October 24. The church has sent a letter: 30 days to move out and move on.

I am terrified. I feel every bit of my 67 years. In fact, I feel a good deal older, and very, very unqualified for what lies ahead.

Who will have us? Who wants the burden of 70 or 80 children who have nothing to offer but themselves? This is a risky business after all. "What if they get into a fight or write on the wall, or curse at some passing person?"

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.
They are loud (very) and very often dirty, they come with no proper clothing, sometimes they have head lice or ringworm. They need shots to protect them and us from disease. They need their hair combed and their noses blown and clean socks and food. If we are gone, where will they go? For almost 16 years we have occupied this spot at 801 Stanley St., the corner of Craig and Emmett. Our door was always open; come on in, the light's always on.

I must come to terms with the fact that people are afraid of my children. Some will actually cross the street to avoid physical contact. They lower their eyes as they pass - maybe if they don't see the kids they really won't exist. Many people would like to erase them entirely.

Today, Victor came to see me. It was J's birthday (24 years old) and Victor grew up at Quest with J. They started insulting each other for my benefit. Victor, who is 6-foot-4, picked me up and hugged me and looked at J and said "I was always her favorite," to which J responded, "I never caused her any trouble." And so it went, my boys - now men - telling me in their own way they loved me and everything would be fine.

"After all," said Victor, "you've been here forever. You're the church lady." And so I have been to many people on the Hill. Crackheads would come up to me and say "You're the church lady, aren't you? Thank you, my kids go to see you everyday." Quest was never known as Quest; it was always called Judy's. A kid would sit down next to me and say "Is Judy's open tomorrow?"

If I was walking alone down Emmett or Stanley, someone would always appear. "Just gonna walk with you, Miz Judy," they say. "You never know about these streets." And they would come with me to Quest and tell me to be careful and assure me when I asked that yes, they were behaving, and no, they were absolutely in no trouble whatsoever and that they were either working or going to school (sometimes it was both).

Today someone tells me that he knows of lots of barber shops but he guesses they wouldn't be large enough to hold Quest. Once, many years ago, my husband let three young boys ride in the rear of his truck during a snowstorm, and they all threw snowballs and yelled and carried on as they drove through the Hill - my husband included. Ten years later, they still remember that magic night; it helps to remind them that even if white men can't jump, they can sure drive a truck and throw snow with the best of those little black boys. Score one for unity and working together.

These are the everyday tools that bring a neighborhood together. There was the year I brought Ballet Hispanico to Quest and we cooked and ate a Spanish meal and then learned a real tango and danced the evening together. Score two for arts in the 'hood. Eating a meal together is a familial moment that lingers for a lifetime.

World famous choreographer Bill T. Jones - who just happens to be black and HIV positive - lay on the floor and let black male children walk on his stomach to show them how strong he was. Bill was 50 at the time. Later, we watched the Bill T. Jones Co. perform "Dead Man In The Water," a seminal piece about AIDS/HIV.

I took six teenage girls to Sylvia's Restaurant in Harlem, where we ate dinner and got a private tour of Sylvia's kitchen and our picture taken with Sylvia, a great, great lady. And so they learned that even though someone is poor, black and a woman, this is not three strikes but, if handled correctly, a bases loaded home run.

I'll always remember Father Pat helping me drive 30 kids out to a private camp loaned to us for the day. And Max saying it was the best day of his life. All we did was eat and swim and listen to music (loud music) and simply be. Nothing to do, nowhere to go - chill out time.

We have such a closeness, such a history, it's almost tangible, like a brightly colored mist hanging in the air, full of laughter and voices echoing down the years.

Toya said, "I worried my child was slow; he hasn't learned to climb stairs yet," and we turned around and there he was on the stage, all four stairs left behind as he strutted around like a little prince.

And here's Dr. Karpowitz, decked out in all his medical paraphernalia, simply covered with kids. Nadia says to me, "Look, look, look, in my ear Judy, see what happens when he shines the light in my ear? Did you see? Did you see?" Maybe she'll grow up to be a doctor; she's smart enough.

So many people volunteering, some just passing through, others staying on a while, all leaving an indelible mark, a footprint, if you will. On one of our wall murals, a visitor wrote the name of his business with phone number, on an appropriate drawing. "I will send paint and brushes," he promised. Of course, he never did (if you look closely and carefully, you will see the same building crossed out by two penciled -n boards. "Evicted" is painted across the boards.

And so are we - evicted, that is - not for lack of service but for lack of luck. And so we must move, leave, scram, adios. So long, it's been good. So long, it's been good to know you. And it has been good, so good, this old building. Shabby and derelict, it has sheltered us and opened its soul to a bunch of kids who never belonged anywhere until they stumbled on an open door and followed the noise down two flights of stairs.

We love you, beautiful, beautiful church, and you have loved us back. The sound of children will forever linger and haunt this building. And when the building itself is gone, the spot on which it was built will still ring with joyous laughter.

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.