In 2024, my father passed away. What followed wasn't just grief—it was devastation. Because we weren't prepared, because there was no plan, and because greed crept in where love should have been, I lost everything.

My house. My tools. My truck. Within weeks, I went from living a good life to being homeless. I had to get food stamps, which was one of the most humbling and embarrassing moments of my life.

It got so bad, so fast, that I truly felt like giving up. But in that darkness, I did something I hadn't done in a long time—I got on my knees and prayed. And I prayed. And I prayed some more.

"If You help me, I will spend the rest of my life making sure no one else has to go through what I'm going through."

By nothing short of a miracle, my prayers were answered. A past customer—someone I'd opened up to because she could tell something was wrong—called me. By the grace of God, she had an open duplex and let me move in until things got better.

That's when I knew: I had to keep my promise.