The boys are still asleep—curled under a thin blue blanket, thinking this is just an adventure. I told them we were going camping. I didn’t tell them I sold my wedding ring to buy gas and peanut butter.
They’re too little to know the truth: their mom left weeks ago, and no shelter has room for all four of us. We’ve been sleeping in a tent, brushing our teeth behind rest stops, and holding onto bedtime routines like they’re life rafts.
Last night, my middle son, Micah, mumbled, “Daddy, I like this better than the motel.”
That about broke me.
This morning, just as I was about to tell them we couldn’t stay another night, a woman named Jean walked up. She handed us biscuits and hot cocoa and said she’d seen us out here. Then she told us something I didn’t expect: “Come with me. I know a place.”
It wasn’t a shelter. It was a small farm—The Second Wind Project—a volunteer-run community for families in crisis. No red tape. Just kindness and chores in return.
That night, we slept in real beds.
Weeks passed. I chopped wood, milked goats, and the boys played like they’d never known struggle. Jean, it turned out, had once lived in a church van with her daughter. She built this place so no one else had to feel invisible.
I found part-time work, and within two months, we moved into a small duplex of our own. The boys called it all “the adventure.” Then one Sunday, an envelope appeared on our doorstep. No name, just Thank you written on the front. Inside was a photo of Jean, years younger, and a note:
“What you gave my mom, she gave to you. Please pay it forward when you can.”
I never saw Jean again. The farm was empty, the gate now read: Resting Now. Help Someone Else.
So I did. I shared groceries. I gave away our old tent. I let a stranger and his kids sleep in our living room. That night, I made them cocoa.
That was the start of our Second Wind.
I used to think rock bottom was the end. Now I know—it’s where some people start to grow.
We weren’t camping. But in losing everything, we found what mattered most.
And every time I tuck my boys in, I hear Micah’s voice:
“Daddy, I like this better.”
So do I, buddy. So do I.
