For years, the homeless people standing along Chattanooga’s roadsides barely registered in Wyndi White’s mind.
She says she noticed them briefly, peripherally, as part of the landscape around traffic lights and intersections – a man holding cardboard near Brainerd Road, someone pushing a shopping cart along South Terrace Avenue, figures gathered near interstate ramps.
“For the most part, they were invisible to me,” White says. “If I did notice someone, I’d think, ‘Maybe I should send a check to a charity.’ But as far as getting involved hands-on – nope.”
At the time, a demanding career in medical administration consumed White’s time. After decades working in physician practices, medical billing and healthcare management, she’d acquired what she calls her “apex job” – overseeing a large medical practice with multiple providers, multiple locations and around-the-clock responsibilities.
For 12 1/2 years, the job dominated her life.
“The only days I really had off were federal holidays,” she says.
White had spent years building toward that point. Originally from Knoxville, she’d always been entrepreneurial. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, she opened a Christian bookstore in Jefferson City called “The Jesus Connection,” serving churches and students at Carson-Newman University.
Later, after moving to Cleveland, Tennessee, White taught Old Testament courses, ghostwrote books for ministers and developed Bible correspondence courses before eventually transitioning into healthcare administration for financial stability.
Over time, White became deeply versed in nearly every administrative aspect of physician practice management and eventually owned what she describes as the largest medical billing company in Chattanooga.
But by the time she reached her peak professionally, the workload had become relentless.
Then came an unexpected conversation with her husband, Jerry Gorsuch.
“One day my husband said, ‘Wyndi, you’re not a spring chicken anymore,’” White recalls with a laugh. “’You work hard all the time. You need to think about slowing down.’”
Eventually, White accepted a part-time position with a semi-retired physician – a move that came with a staggering pay cut but dramatically less stress. Suddenly, after decades of nonstop work, she found herself with something unfamiliar: time.
And during that season, something else began to happen.
Seeing people differently
White says she began feeling increasingly drawn toward the homeless individuals she passed while driving through Chattanooga, particularly in the Brainerd area.
At first, she dismissed it. But then, while driving along South Terrace Road, she says she experienced something she struggled to explain.
“As I passed people standing along the street, they’d suddenly seem really big in my peripheral vision,” she says. “At first I thought, ‘I need glasses.’”
The same thing happened again the following week.
“Then it dawned on me,” she says. “God was trying to get my attention.”
White says she began praying about what she believed she was being called to do. Over time, she began keeping notes in a journal, recording ideas, impressions and practical instructions.
One idea became central almost immediately: if she was going to help people, it needed to be personal.
“One of the main things He impressed on me was that this needed to be face-to-face,” White says. “Not rolling down a window, handing somebody something, saying ‘Jesus loves you’ and driving off. I needed to get out of the car, talk with them, learn their name and find out why they’re homeless.”
At the time, White had no background in homeless outreach and knew little about the systems surrounding homelessness in Chattanooga. Still, she felt compelled to do something.
“I kept asking, ‘Why me?’” she says. “I didn’t know what to do, so I thought, ‘Just do something.’”
White took $400 to a discount store, bought bags, snacks and hygiene items, and began handing them out. She was surprised by how receptive people were.
“It wasn’t long before people started recognizing my car,” she says. “I’d be driving around Brainerd or East Ridge and people would chase after me, calling my name and asking me to stop and help them.”
Over time, homeless individuals began sharing her phone number with others. Some would call or text asking for food; others simply wanted someone to talk with.
“They’d tell me, ‘You’re different from other people. You actually care about us,”’ White says.
A ministry grows
At first, Gorsuch was skeptical.
“After about a month, my husband said, ‘I don’t think it’s safe for you to do this by yourself,’” White says. “’I’ll drive you around and stay nearby in case something happens.’”
But after accompanying her regularly, Gorsuch’s attitude changed.
“He started to really see the people,” White says.
Soon, the couple expanded beyond roadside outreach.
Near a hidden homeless encampment behind the Brainerd Walmart, they began hosting makeshift events using a pickup truck, folding tables and a Coleman stove. They cooked meals on the tailgate, distributed clothing and hygiene supplies and met people emerging from camps hidden among the woods and cell towers near the interstate.
The response grew rapidly.
Then came another unexpected development: White felt compelled to find a permanent location.
After searching unsuccessfully across the Brainerd area, the couple became drawn toward a vacant former hair salon owned by a chiropractor. The problem, White says, was that the property owner openly disliked homeless people.
“He told us, ‘I’ve spent 20 years chasing them off this property,’” she recalls.
Still, the conversation continued.
White explained what the ministry hoped to do. The chiropractor resisted at first but eventually softened. White then requested permission not only to rent the space but also to install showers, laundry hookups and host outdoor homeless outreach events in the parking lot.
At one point during negotiations, White says, the chiropractor looked at her and exclaimed, “Woman, you’re killing me. What else do you want?”
Eventually, he offered the space for $500 a month – the exact amount White says had come to her during prayer.
The ministry moved into the Brainerd storefront in May 2023. At the time, White says, they had one table, three chairs – and nothing else.
The couple purchased supplies largely out of pocket, sometimes sacrificing groceries themselves to buy food and clothing for homeless individuals.
But slowly, community support began growing. Churches noticed the ministry, residents began donating clothing, food and supplies, and Brainerd United Methodist Church eventually allowed the organization to use a nearby building for storage.
At the same time, White formalized the nonprofit, securing federal nonprofit status in a process she says took only weeks despite warnings it would likely require attorneys, accountants and months of delays.
The organization became known as Doing What We Can – a name that emerged accidentally while White and Gorsuch attempted to explain what they were doing.
“People kept asking what the ministry was called, and I’d tell them, ‘It doesn’t have a name. It’s just me and Jerry doing what we can,’” White says. “After we said that enough times, I realized that was the name.”
Serving Chattanooga’s chronically homeless
Today, Doing What We Can operates several days each week from its Brainerd storefront, providing meals, clothing, hygiene supplies, showers and laundry services to chronically homeless adults.
The organization focuses specifically on people living outdoors or in unstable situations.
“We focus on chronically homeless adults living outside, in tents or in cars – and I mean actual cars, not campers,” White says. “Some are staying in condemned buildings, abandoned houses, sheds or storage units without running water or utilities.”
Initially, White says, the organization operated largely on trust. But after nearby residents began attempting to access services intended for homeless individuals, the ministry established verification requirements. Today, new clients generally must provide a homeless identification card issued through Hamilton County.
The ministry now serves breakfast and lunch, distributes clothing and hygiene supplies and coordinates volunteer medical care. An emergency room physician volunteers regularly at the facility, treating everything from infections to foot problems common among people living outdoors.
Once each month, the organization expands operations outdoors with a larger community outreach event featuring showers, meals, medical care and veterinary services for homeless pets.
Despite the ministry’s growth, White says the organization remains intentionally simple.
“We’re entirely volunteer-run,” she says. “Nobody gets paid and we don’t take on debt. If we can’t pay for something outright, we do without.”
The ministry also avoids government grants, a decision White says stems from a desire to maintain the organization’s openly Christian identity. Still, White insists the ministry’s defining characteristic is not preaching but presence.
Expanding the ministry’s footprint
Doing What We Can might soon outgrow its current storefront.
White says the ministry hopes to eventually lease the entire Brainerd building, which would provide additional room for storage, supplies and expanded services.
The opportunity emerged after the building’s owner began discussing retirement and offered the ministry a long-term lease for the full property.
“He wants at least a three-year lease,” White says. “I don’t feel comfortable committing to $4,000 a month unless we have at least a year’s worth of rent set aside separately from our daily operating funds.”
Recently, a supporter pledged $25,000 toward that goal if the ministry could raise matching funds. The organization is now running a fundraising campaign to secure the additional $25,000 needed for the expansion.
Even now, White says the most important part of the ministry is not the meals, clothing or showers, but the relationships formed through repeated encounters with people many others pass without noticing.
For White, the work has changed not only how she spends her days, but how she sees the city around her.
“These are real people with real stories,” she says. “A lot of them have been through things most people couldn’t imagine. Sometimes what they need most is for somebody to stop, listen to them and treat them like they matter.”