Lotus Connect

Lotus Disability Care Group Connect is feeling curious.

2 days ago

Due to World Gratitude Day, it's a moment to pause and reflect on the little things that make life brighter - a kind word, a shared smile, or simply the comfort of knowing you’re not alone.

At Lotus, we’re grateful for the chance to walk alongside our community, building confidence, connection, and care every day.

💬 What’s one thing you’re most grateful for right now? Share it in the comments and let’s spread positivity together.

Lotus is here to support wellbeing and connection - because gratitude grows when we share it.
📞 Phone: 0493 084 705
📧 Email: admin@mylotus.com.au
📱Message us: Reach out right here on Facebook and we’ll assist you right away.
🌐 Website: mylotus.com.au
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Lotus Disability Care Group Connect is feeling warm.

1 week ago

"Every night at exactly 9:30 PM, 69-year-old Evelyn Hatcher flipped on the porch lamp of her little yellow house on Linden Street, filled her chipped blue kettle with water, and laid out two mismatched teacups—just in case.
She lived alone now. Her husband, Walter, had passed seven years earlier, and her only daughter lived across the country with a family of her own. The silence wasn’t new—but it was heavy.
Her days were filled with bird-watching, feeding neighborhood cats, and writing notes in a faded journal. But the nights… the nights were the hardest.
One evening, she scribbled three words on a small chalkboard and hung it on the porch rail:
“Tea? Come sit.”
Nothing happened for days.
A jogger passed by without looking. A teenager glanced up from their phone but kept walking. Evelyn didn’t mind. She just kept boiling water, laying out cups, and waiting.
On the sixth night, someone knocked. A young man in a delivery uniform, with tired eyes and cracked hands.
“Is this for real?” he asked, pointing at the sign.
Evelyn smiled softly. “Sure is. You want cinnamon or chamomile?”
That night, he stayed for two hours. Talked about missing his little sister, about dreams he’d shelved, about how lonely the roads could feel at midnight. Evelyn didn’t interrupt, didn’t fix. She just poured warm tea and listened.
Word traveled. Quietly. The way small towns pass down secrets.
Soon, a pair of elderly twins came by—former piano teachers who hadn’t played in years. Then came a single dad with his toddler daughter who drew hearts on Evelyn’s window with her finger. A retired mail carrier. A college student homesick for his mother’s cooking. Even a grumpy woman known for yelling at neighborhood dogs showed up one night holding banana bread.
Evelyn made space. She dragged old chairs from the attic. People brought blankets. Someone added a string of paper lanterns. A teenager donated a folding table. Her porch became less of a porch and more of a gathering place. No questions asked, no stories forced. Just a cup, a chair, and the freedom to speak or stay silent.
One night, it rained hard. Evelyn figured no one would come. But they came anyway—dripping wet, holding umbrellas and thermoses. They sat on her porch steps, shoulders touching. Someone brought muffins. A teenage boy played guitar softly under the eaves. Evelyn watched it all with wonder.
By the time spring arrived, “The Porch on Linden” had become a quiet legend. Out-of-towners started stopping by. Tourists left postcards. Children drew chalk arrows leading to her house with the words:
“Free tea & kind ears.”
And always, Evelyn listened.
There were tears. Laughter. Confessions. Apologies. One young man said, “This is the first place I felt like I wasn’t invisible.” Another whispered, “I’ve been clean for 6 months now. You don’t know it, but this porch helped.”
Then, one winter, Evelyn fell ill.
The tea stopped.
The light didn’t come on.
But the town did.
People brought soup. Shoveled her walk. Left stacks of tea on her steps. Kids made her cards. A nurse from the group came daily to check on her. Someone else fixed her porch railing.
Evelyn recovered. And the first night the light came back on, nearly two dozen people gathered—cups in hand, tears in their eyes.
She raised her cup and said, “Guess we all needed this, huh?”
The crowd answered in unison, “More than you know.”
Later that year, her daughter helped her create a small website to share the idea. Others followed—porches in Tennessee, stoops in Scotland, driveways in South Africa. People called them Listening Spots.
Evelyn didn’t want credit. She just wanted people to remember:
A porch light can be a lighthouse.
A teacup can be a lifeline.
A quiet ear can save a soul.
And every night at 9:30, the light on Linden Street still shines.
Just in case someone needs it.""
Source: Granny's Funnies and Sarcastic
At Lotus, that’s what our Psychosocial Recovery Coaches aim to create too - spaces where people feel heard, supported, and no longer alone. 🌱

This R U OK? Week, let’s remember:
☕ A cup of tea.
💛 A kind ear.
💬 A simple question.
They might be the lifeline someone needs today.

Want to know how Lotus can support your journey? Reach out and let’s talk.
📞 Phone: 0493 084 705
📧 Email: admin@mylotus.com.au
📱Message us: Reach out right here on Facebook and we’ll assist you right away.
🌐 Website: mylotus.com.au

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