They say life doesn’t come with a manual, but honestly, I would have settled for a slightly crumpled map and a compass back in the day. There was a moment in my life where every “Exit” sign seemed to lead straight into a brick wall.

I was pregnant, jobless, and facing a choice that wasn’t really a choice at all. My family gave me an ultimatum that felt like a punch to the gut: get an abortion and keep a roof over my head, or keep my baby and hit the pavement. The irony? Everyone was moving out to start lives with their partners anyway, and they made it very clear I wasn’t invited to the new spots. So, the math was simple but brutal: I could be homeless and heartbroken, or just homeless with a tiny, kicking reason to keep breathing.

I chose my baby. I chose to figure it out. And that choice led me to Los Alamitos, walking through the doors of Precious Life Shelter.

Enter the Angel in Houndstooth

That’s where I met her: Wanda Jean Crawford.

If you’ve never been in a shelter, let me paint a picture: your pride is in the basement, your hormones are doing backflips, and you feel like the word “Failure” is tattooed on your forehead. But then you meet someone like Wanda. Wanda wasn’t just a caseworker; she was a force of nature.

She recently passed away on December 5th, 2025, and honestly, the world feels a little quieter—and a lot less bright—without her in it. Looking at her memorial flyer, seeing those dates—November 4, 1957, to December 5, 2025—it hits home how much life she packed into those years.

Wanda had this way of looking at you—not at your “case file,” not at your “homeless status,” but at you. When I had absolutely nothing, she made me feel like I was still holding a winning hand. She was one of several incredible women at Precious Life who became the village I didn’t have, but Wanda? She was the captain of the squad.

Beyond her job title, Wanda was a prayer warrior and a truly God-fearing woman. She didn’t just give me advice; she gave me her prayers. She was the kind of person who would stop everything to push you towards God, reminding you that you weren’t carrying your burden alone. When I was at my lowest, she didn’t just tell me things would get better—she prayed until I believed it myself. She knew that to survive what I was going through, I needed a spiritual strength that only God could provide.

The “Wanda Way”

She didn’t sugarcoat things. If I was sliding into a pity party (and believe me, I was throwing a whole festival for myself back then), she’d give me that look. You know the one. The “I love you, but get it together” look.

• She pushed me: When I thought I couldn’t find a job, she acted like it was already a done deal.

• She guided me: When the “what-ifs” about my family’s rejection kept me up at night, she reminded me that I was building a new family.

• She held me up: Literally and emotionally.

There were days when the weight of being alone felt like it was going to physically crush me. I’d think about the ultimatum I was given, and the bitterness would start to seep in. Wanda would swoop in with emotional support that felt like a warm blanket. She taught me that losing “everything” (the house, the job, the support system) was actually just clearing out the clutter so I could find the real Tina.

A Legacy of Strength

Wanda’s life was a testament to the verse on her memorial: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles”. I saw her do that every day. She helped me find my wings when I was still trying to figure out how to walk. She saw a mother in me before I even held my child.

Because of her, and the other women at Precious Life, I didn’t just survive that pregnancy—I grew up. I became the person I needed to be for my baby. I realized that being homeless with my child was a thousand times better than being “home” without them.

To anyone reading this who feels like they’re standing at a crossroads with no good options: Look for the Wandas. They are out there. They are the ones who don’t care about your past, only your “next step.”

Wanda Jean Crawford, thank you for being my GPS when I was lost. Thank you for showing me that keeping my baby was the best “hard” decision I ever made. You were more than a caseworker; you were the proof that we don’t have to walk the hard paths alone.

Rest well, Wanda. We’ve got it from here, and we’re soaring just like you taught us.

-Tina