We’ve just returned from field outreach. Today, the Warm Package had to reach places where warmth suddenly ran out. Morning alerts about blizzards and freezing temperatures set the tone for our afternoon at Good Factory. And now the memories of today’s meetings with the people we support are tugging at our sleeves, asking us to sit down and tell you their stories.

“If I had a place to live, I’d go straight to work. Car workshops are hiring mechanics immediately these days,” says Andrzej. His voice trembles; his whole body is shaking—from the cold and from nerves worn to shreds. We shiver too at the sight of the flimsy shelter where worn-out mattresses lie directly on bare ground, covered with quilts and blankets. They are sleeping almost completely outdoors. The bedding they burrow into at night keeps warmth about as well as a colander holds water.

Suddenly, Liliana appears at the camp. She’s hunched over, as if carrying an invisible burden. She pulls a cart filled with finds from trash bins. Empty cans won’t keep anyone warm, but they give meaning to a freezing afternoon. “The worst thing is doing nothing,” she explains. When the conversation turns to work, she starts to dream a little. She’d gladly take a job—any job—instead of rummaging through bins for aluminum.

A few meters away, Klaudia and Mariusz are fighting the cold too. They live in a tent. A tent doesn’t stop the biting cold, but it does shield them from the damn wind, which today dropped the perceived temperature by another ten degrees. They don’t want to move. First, they have a dog, Sara—and no shelter will take them with a dog. “Leave the dog?! Absolutely not!” Klaudia protests. “She’s all we have. Sara once went missing. We found her, but that was more than enough fear for a lifetime,” adds Mariusz. Second, they strongly believe this hopeless situation won’t last much longer. They’re writing letters and filing applications for social housing. Documents stamped with official seals are kept like sacred scrolls, as they count the days until the authorities’ legally required response.

These places near the National Stadium really exist. And they are not “problems”—they are real people. Visible. Longing for a roof over their heads. Not some cold-weather daredevils. They are freezing and shivering, just like anyone who hurried through today’s storm. And that’s why we’re here too: to tell you their stories and, on their behalf, ask you for a little warmth.

Today, they received a hot meal and our assurance that if they change their minds, we’ll help them find shelter. We need you, because the coming days will be hard. The forecasts look grim. Gift a Warm Package.