The Three-Month Fix That Became a Three-Year Turnaround: Steven Flowers on Saving a Family Shelter

From Chaos to Community: How a Three-Month Commitment Became a Three-Year Turnaround

On his first day as executive director a family shelter in Lafayette, Indiana, Steven Flowers walked into chaos. Staff hadn't been told he was coming or even that the position had been posted. The organization faced possible closure, with less than two months of operating cash remaining. Within his first hour, he was already having a difficult redirection conversation with someone he'd just met.

And then there was the bedbug.

A family staying at the shelter had taped a large, live bedbug to his office door, presumably to make sure the new guy understood the situation.

"It was a pretty effective way to introduce me to the challenges," Steven recalls.

He had agreed to stay three months, stabilize the organization, and move on. Nearly three years later, he's still there.

An Unconventional Path

Steven's career began in government before moving into child welfare. The work was meaningful, but it left him questioning whether communities could do more to prevent crises rather than simply respond to them.

"In child welfare, you're coming in after the damage has already been done," he explains. "You try to make the best decision you can with the information you have, but sometimes you're choosing between really difficult situations and have no clue about the outcome. I sure know my crystal ball never worked."

After preparing a lengthy policy paper proposing systemic improvements in a state where Steven was the deputy state director for a child welfare agency, he was instructed to reduce it to more politically digestible bullet points. Steven decided was time for a career break.

A Hot Dog Cart Honoring His Grandmother's Legacy

Steven broke his lease, put his belongings in storage, and traveled to Mexico without much of a plan.

One morning, while watching the sunrise, scrolling through LinkedIn contemplating employment opportunities, and steadily burning through the savings his grandmother had left him, he read about a formerly incarcerated man with a felony who started a hot dog cart after struggling to find employment.

The story reminded him of his grandmother, who grew up in poverty, worked as a waitress, and eventually purchased the restaurant where she'd once waited tables.

She never became wealthy, but her restaurant was a community gathering place. People came for food, conversation, and belonging. It wasn't uncommon for customers to run a tab and settle up when their money arrived at the beginning of the month.

"Hospitality has always been important to me," Steven says. "My grandmother understood something about community that I think we sometimes overcomplicate. People need places where they feel welcome, where someone knows their name, and where they matter."

So, in a career move that surprised more than a few people, Steven bought a hot dog cart with his inheritance.

He also began teaching at Purdue University and bartending at an Indianapolis whiskey lounge. The hot dog business wasn't particularly glamorous. Storage and setup were an adventure, and revenues were unpredictable.

Eventually, he began operating outside a neighborhood bar on Indianapolis's 16th Street. Neighbors gathered, conversations happened, and people experiencing homelessness knew they could stop by for a hot dog or some water.

"That wasn't necessarily some grand plan," he says. "I was really just modeling what my grandmother did."

The Phone Call That Changed the Plan

While visiting his partner in Seattle, Steven received a call from his pastor. A family shelter in Greater Lafayette was struggling financially. Could he write a check?

He couldn't. His money was tied up in his business. But he was already traveling through Lafayette regularly to teach at Purdue, so he offered to stop by and help.

"I have terrible boundaries when it comes to my pastor," he jokes. "When she asks me to do something, I don’t know how to say no."

Steven agreed to help stabilize the organization and transition it to permanent leadership.

What he found was a shelter with a long history of serving families and people who cared deeply about its mission, but one facing serious financial, operational, and relationship challenges.

The first priority was survival.

Before You Can Grow, You Have to Stabilize

Steven had spent much of his career helping organizations navigate difficult transitions. He knew that ambitious programs meant little if an organization couldn't keep its doors open.

"You have to know where the money is," he says.

That meant long evenings reconstructing financial records from receipts and tracking down past supporters using old envelopes. Volunteer activities were temporarily paused while screening, training, and safety procedures were strengthened.

"We're operating a building where children sleep," he explains. "Good intentions are important, but they don't replace good systems."

The shelter operated on approximately $193,000 during his first year. Steven even furnished his desk with an office chair pulled from a dumpster.

But rebuilding relationships was just as important as balancing the books.

"I spent a lot of the first several months listening, saying 'I'm sorry,' and trying to earn back trust," he recalls. "You can tell people things have changed all day long. Eventually, you have to show them."

The organization eventually transitioned from Family Promise of Greater Lafayette to the Greater Lafayette Family Shelter, reflecting a renewed approach to serving families. Rather than immediately expanding programming, Steven focused on rebuilding the organization's foundation.

Faith-Supported, Not Faith-Based

Founded in 2009, the shelter originally relied on churches that opened their doors to families experiencing homelessness. Families often moved between congregations each week. It wasn't ideal, particularly for children needing stability, but it was a community response to a real need.

"The organization has never been faith-based, but it has always been faith-supported," Steven explains.

The shelter serves families regardless of religious beliefs, family structure, or background. Religious participation is never required.

Congregations continue providing volunteers, financial assistance, and practical support. During one difficult period when government funding was disrupted and payroll was at risk, a local faith-based ministry stepped in with a donation.

"They didn't ask for anything in return," Steven recalls. "They saw a need and responded."

Steven is also developing a volunteer chaplaincy program focused on companionship and emotional support rather than formal religious programming.

"A mother might spend all day taking care of everyone else and never have a meaningful conversation with someone who isn't paid to be in her life," he explains.

"No matter how much I try, I'm still paid. Someone who just cares about you fills your cup."

It's another expression of the hospitality he learned from his grandmother.

Changing More Than the Finances

Stabilizing the shelter was necessary, but Steven believes its long-term success depends on changing how communities respond to homelessness.

Like many emergency shelters, the organization historically operated with extensive rules and expectations. Some addressed legitimate safety concerns; others unintentionally created barriers for families seeking assistance.

Today, the shelter is transitioning toward a low-barrier, Housing First approach emphasizing dignity, safety, and individualized support.

"Housing First doesn't mean housing only," Steven explains. "It means we stop expecting people to solve every problem in their lives before we help them secure housing."

That philosophy has changed how the organization measures success. Rather than viewing its number of beds as the limit of its impact, the shelter now helps families from the moment they reach out, whether through emergency shelter, prevention, housing navigation, or assistance overcoming financial barriers.

"Sometimes the best shelter stay is the one that never happens," Steven says. "If we can help a family remain in their home, move directly into housing, or even relocate to where they have support, that's better for the family, the children, and often a better use of resources."

By July 2026, the shelter had already served more people than during all of 2025 and was on pace to roughly double its reach without constructing a new building.

Yet that growth also reflects increasing housing instability among working families, where one missed paycheck or unexpected expense can lead to homelessness.

For Steven, the ultimate goal isn't simply operating a better shelter. It's building a community where fewer families need one.

Sometimes the Work Finds You

Nearly three years after agreeing to a three-month assignment, Steven is still leading the Greater Lafayette Family Shelter. He doesn't consider the turnaround finished, but the experience has reinforced a few lessons.

"We can endure much more than we think we can," he says, recalling a quote attributed to Frida Kahlo. "That doesn't mean doing everything yourself is something to celebrate. But sometimes the work is difficult, and you have to figure out how to keep moving."

He encourages leaders to balance ambitious goals with practical steps, give themselves grace, and remember that they don't have to do everything alone.

"Turnaround work can feel pretty lonely sometimes. But there are usually a lot more people willing to help than you realize. You just have to invite them into the work."

He also reminds us that leaders are never alone. Faith, family, coworkers, and even strangers may be cheering you on without your knowing it.

Looking back, there's a common thread in Steven's unconventional career. His grandmother taught him hospitality, child welfare taught him the importance of prevention, and the hot dog cart reminded him that meaningful relationships often begin with simply showing up.

The three-month assignment became nearly three years because there was meaningful work to do and a community willing to help.

And while much has changed since that chaotic first day, Steven still keeps a sense of humor about the work. His office features a dumpster-fire Post-it note holder and a staff-created sign proudly declaring, "0 days since our last nonsense."

After all, not every leadership opportunity comes with a bedbug taped to your office door.

Your Monday Morning

Pick one foundation to strengthen this week. Find where your money is going. Name one risk you have been avoiding. Call one partner to repair a relationship. Then give yourself permission to go at a pace you can sustain.

Steven did not set out to rescue a shelter. He said yes to a pastor's call, and he stayed. Who is asking you to stay?