Cold Comforts

There is a particular kind of cold in Florida that makes you question everything. It seeps into your bones, settles in your teeth, makes you feel like your own blood has turned against you. It’s the kind of cold that makes curling up behind a dumpster, in the woods, or even on damp cardboard, seem like a luxury. When you’re homeless in the winter, you stop dreaming about warm beds and full plates—you just want to survive the night and get a couple hours of rest. And sometimes, you don’t.

Homeless doesn’t mean hopeless. But some nights, it sure feels that way.

It was a brutal cold snap in 2010 that inspired Scott Billue to start Matthew’s Hope in the first place, after witnessing how freezing temperatures put the lives of the homeless at risk. He wanted to wrap every single one of those “souls” as he fondly calls them in warmth and love. He helped as many as he could, but not all. That winter, some lost their lives. He promised himself: never again. It’s what drives him every single day to keep the doors of Matthew’s Hope open.

“We are a ministry first and foremost, where we demonstrate the love and hope of Jesus Christ,” he says. But the goal goes far beyond just providing food and shelter. “Our mission is to move people from a life of homelessness and despair to an independent life that is sustainable and self-sufficient. There is a lot more to the challenges we face than a place to sleep and food to eat.”

In January 2025, an unforgiving freeze settled over Florida, with temperatures lingering in the 30s for weeks on end. The irony wasn’t lost on him—this icy stretch arrived just as Matthew’s Hope approaches its 15th anniversary.

“We’ve come so far in 15 years, but this felt like beginning all over again,” Scott shares. “Each winter, at least 35 people in the state die from exposure. I wasn’t going to let that happen here.” 

He and his team, led by Matthew’ Hope President Shelley Bradford, scrambled to make room, but their facility could only hold so many, and the need far exceeded capacity. Faced with an overwhelming crisis, Scott and Shelley did the only thing they could—they asked for help in what was another déjà vu moment.

Back in 2010, Pastor Scott knocked on doors, made calls, pleaded on social media. He and his small team personally contacted at least 30 churches and heard the same excuses over and over. Liability issues. Security concerns. And the most heartbreaking one of all: But what if they were to come to church?

Then, finally, a yes.

With that one yes, Pastor Scott loaded up his pickup truck and began gathering people—pulling them from street corners, from the woods, from hidden spaces where they had tried to huddle away safely from the wind.

“We had nights with temps so low we kept our doors open 33 days over a 90-day period. We let them stay and didn’t kick them out when daylight came. We fed them, let them bathe, and let them sleep. We were overwhelmed by the numbers of people.”

This year was much the same. “We had people everywhere—sleeping on floors of offices, our hair salon, in pantries. Every square foot was covered, and we needed more help. We asked if any churches could open their doors for the overflow, and then the TV evening news got hold of our story. It started being shared on social media. And Winter Garden stepped up. In a big way.

“The Dream Center took in women and families after we’d fed and cleaned them up. The Church of The Cross provided additional sleeping space. Ultimately, the whole West Orange community came through for us with donations of food, pillows, blankets, and warm clothing. Often, it was children encouraging their parents that got things moving. I had small kids come by to give us their allowance! We have an amazingly caring and loving community.”