IT’S GOING TO be 109 today. The 100s have come early this year. It feels oppressive on the body, the whole being. The desert should have cool evenings and mornings, even if it’s hot during the day. But because of all the [housing] developments, people, and highways in the Phoenix area, it never cools down. If you put economics, the increase in drug addictions, unemployment, an aging population, and climate change all together, the number of individuals who need some sort of indoor space is increasing every year. And the places that are open for people are few. There are always deaths every summer on the streets directly related to heat. We know that opening our doors means we are saving lives.

We allow people to bring their belongings and pets. And we really allow people to rest. They grab a yoga mat, find their place on the big fellowship hall floor, get settled in, and mostly sleep. If you can imagine preschool nap time, that’s what it’s like. It is my favorite place to be in the summer. It is a sacred space, it just feels peaceful and restful. Most of the time, it’s just a snore over in the corner or somebody tending to their dog. We know the science behind it, the hours needed for the body to cool down.

“We know that opening our doors means we are saving lives.”

One of these 117-degree days, there was an individual lying on the front steps. I said, “You need to come inside.” His body was too exhausted from the heat. I said, “If I get a wheelchair, would you be able to pull yourself up?” He said, “Yeah. I can do that.” I wheeled him to the opposite side of the building, and community members rallied and got him water and electrolytes. There’s a fine space between being okay in the heat and crossing over to heat exhaustion that could lead to heat stroke.    

Susan Valiquette spoke with Sojourners associate editor Josina Guess.