How one Altadena man lost everything in the Eaton Fire, and found a community that refused to let go.

Damon Blount has lived in Altadena, California, for all 56 years of his life. He went to Pasadena High School. He raised his daughters there. He ran three-mile loops through his neighborhood and knew the distance of every block by heart. For 25 years, he and his wife built a life together inside a home they had just finished remodeling, and retirement was on the horizon.

On the night of January 7, 2025, the Eaton Fire changed all of that.

Damon was at work when reports started coming in. The fire had sparked in Eaten Canyon, a few miles from his house, and was climbing north into the mountains. He checked in with his wife, and drove home. When he got home he stood in the middle of Lake and Altadena Drive, scanning the ridgeline. The flames were still heading up and away, and he told himself they would be fine.

But something felt wrong. Every hour, on the hour, he walked to the end of his block on Mendocino Street and looked up. At 11 p.m., the fire was still climbing. At midnight, the same. At 1 a.m., still moving north. Then he took a short nap. When he stepped outside again at 2:30 in the morning, he could barely see eight feet in front of him.

He woke his wife, and before he could finish saying it was time to go, their phones blared an emergency alert: "Leave now. You are in immediate danger.”

They grabbed two duffel bags, packed enough clothes for two days, their important papers, and nothing else. No photo albums. No jewelry. No suitcases. In their minds, they were coming back.

They didn’t.

The next morning, Damon’s brother called. He had driven to the edge of their street and looked down the block. The church at the corner was on fire. The car dealership beyond it was on fire. He could not see Damon’s house through the smoke and flames, and he was certain it was gone.

When Damon finally got clearance to return days later, he drove down Mendocino Street and could not identify which lot had been his home. Every house on the block — a quarter-mile stretch — had burned to the ground. A lifelong friend was able to recognize his property by a three-foot wall that had stood in the front yard. Everything else had collapsed into the six-foot raised foundation.

Then Everything Else Started to Fall

What followed was not a single crisis. It was a cascade. Damon had had back surgery in 2024 and relied on a specialized mattress to manage his recovery. That bed was ash, and sleeping in borrowed beds left him stiff, sleepless, and in pain. Without sleep, his mind spiraled. He took an unpaid leave of absence from his trucking job, which he had held for 29 years, because he could not safely get behind the wheel. His personal work truck, parked at the house, had burned too, and a missing vehicle tied to his commercial license threatened his livelihood.

In his words: “You don’t have a house. You’re not getting paid. You don’t have a bed. You can’t sleep.”

Damon and his wife moved from his godparents’ home to an aunt’s house to an Airbnb, each stop bringing its own discomfort. They fought. They cried in department stores. They filled out application after application for aid and heard nothing back. Organizations promised help and disappeared. Weeks passed.

Someone Finally Asked

Then Expressions Church showed up.

Through a connection via text, Damon was linked to Expressions Church and its pastor, Christopher Spolar. The first question they asked him was simple and direct: “What do you need?”

It had been nearly a month since anyone had asked him that.

Before Damon ever met anyone from Expressions in person, they sent grocery gift cards and clothing funds. But what made the difference was not any single act of generosity, it was the promise that came with it of being right alongside Damon and wife. The support, the gift cards, and the prayer would not be a one-time thing.

Every month since the fire, Expressions Church has provided financial resources, groceries, and consistent personal outreach. They text Damon to check in, they pray with him, they’ve invited him to services, and when he was ready, Damon even started volunteering with them, once again finding a place to give.

“To have a foundation that says we’re going to be with you and we encourage you is a blessing,” Damon said. “To have somebody honestly and sincerely text you and say, ‘I hope you’re doing well, if you need anything, stop by’ — that’s a form of relief.”

For Damon and his wife, who had spent their lives giving, receiving that kind of sustained care was unfamiliar. But it was also unmistakable evidence of something they already believed: that when people of faith show up for one another, restoration begins, even when the road is still long.

The Future

Months later, Damon’s house has not been rebuilt. His employer recently announced it is leaving California. The insurance math still does not add up. But he is still standing.

“All I can do is stand on faith,” he said. “God keeps reminding me — Damon, stand on your faith.”

Gloo exists to shape technology as a force for good, connecting the faith and flourishing ecosystem so that people like Damon are never invisible in their hardest moments. When a church in one community can reach a family in crisis through a trusted platform, that is technology doing what it was meant to do: serving relationships and catalyzing growth.

Today, Gloo serves more than 140,000 faith, ministry, and nonprofit leaders across the country. But behind every number are the people being served. Behind every connection is a story. And behind Damon’s story is a reminder that consistency — not just crisis response — is what real community looks like.

“One thing since I’ve met up with Expressions Church,” Damon said. “They have been a constant, monthly, financial and spiritual support for my wife and I.” And in Altadena, on a street where not a single house still stands, that constancy means everything.