Five Years Later: Megan pepperdine shares her memories from the vegas shootings

It’s the otherworldly screams she remembers most about that night on Oct. 1, 2017. She tries to forget, but when she’s in a crowded place, thinks of traveling or hears of another mass shooting, they’re back — screams of raw terror, echoing in her head. That’s all it takes to return to that night five years ago, huddled in an equipment room with strangers, praying she was not about to die.

Megan Pepperdine, 36, of Buford, was excited for a trip to Las Vegas with her two sisters-in-law in the fall of 2017. The preschool teacher and her husband, Jason Pepperdine, had two little girls, Calleigh, 6, and Amelia, 3, at the time. They weren’t babies anymore, so Pepperdine had grown comfortable with the idea of leaving them for a girls’ trip.

She and her sisters-in-law, Carrie Lozynsky and Angela Goure, arrived in Las Vegas on a Friday and checked in at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino. It was Pepperdine’s first time in Las Vegas. She was amazed by the bustle, the constant whir of people and sounds, the enormity of all the hotels. The women spent their time eating at restaurants, hanging out at the pool, shopping, and enjoying the colorful people-watching.

On Sunday evening, Pepperdine and Goure were seated in the MGM Grand casino after dinner, contemplating going back to their hotel room, where Lozynsky had already retreated, when a herd of people came running past the rows of slot machines.

“One person kind of hit my shoulder, and I thought that was rude,” said Pepperdine, “then … someone looked at us and said, ‘There’s a shooter, you need to run.’”

Running for her life

Instinctively, the women fell in line with the crowd, running scared, with no time to think. In hindsight, they wish they’d run to their room, but they heard the shooter was in the MGM lobby, just a stone’s throw from them. They called Carrie and told her to stay put in the hotel room, and they ran full speed through the hotel, out the door and past the pool where they heard gunshots in the distance. They didn’t slow down until they were in the parking lot behind the Topgolf entertainment venue.

A security guard spotted the women and waved them inside Topgolf, locking the doors behind them. There were small pockets of people inside, maybe 100 total. People were crying, confused, making phone calls and asking questions.

“Some people had suitcases, because they just arrived from the airport, and some, we could tell by their outfits, came from the country concert,” said Pepperdine.

The Route 91 Harvest Music Festival had been underway in Las Vegas Village, a 15-acre outdoor venue a half-mile from Pepperdine’s hotel. What she did not yet know was the shooter, Stephen Paddock, a 64-year-old man from Nevada, had opened fire on festival-goers from his suite on the 32nd floor of Mandalay Bay while singer Jason Aldean performed. Firing more than 1,000 bullets into the crowd, he killed between 58-60 people, depending on the source, and injured hundreds before killing himself with a gunshot. The incident is the deadliest mass shooting committed by an individual in United States history.

“The people from the concert, some had blood on their clothes and on their faces; I couldn’t tell if it was theirs,” said Pepperdine. “Some were so dirty because they told us they had been trampled as they tried to flee. We began hearing that a shooting spree began at the concert, but that’s all we knew. My sister-in-law looked on Twitter where it sounded as though there were multiple shooters.”

Pepperdine vividly recalled a girl next to her inside Topgolf holding a phone to her ear and repeatedly saying, I’m OK, I’m OK.

“She looked at me and said she was talking to her mom, then she told me she was sorry. I have no idea why she thought she needed to apologize,” said Pepperdine, her blue eyes teary. “It makes me cry to think of it. It makes me think of my kids, that mother and child connection.”

Misinformation fuels fear

It was late in Georgia, but Pepperdine called and texted home, so her husband and mother would be assured of her safety as soon as they woke and heard the news.

The screams and crying in Topgolf calmed after a while, and a sense of camaraderie spread through the room as people introduced themselves and shared their experiences from the night. Pepperdine and Goure met a husband and wife who attended the concert with a friend. The wife was dancing with their friend when the shooting began. The friend was shot and taken to the hospital. Pepperdine still wonders if she survived.

Speculation about the shooting was rampant across Topgolf, each circle hearing this and that, desperately trying to piece together facts as their fear mounted.

About an hour after they arrived at Topgolf, Pepperdine stepped outside onto the playing field alone for a moment of peace. She could see emergency vehicles in the distance, coming and going, then she heard her sister-in-law screaming her name.

Pepperdine turned to see Goure frantically waving her back. Inside, they joined a group of about 25 people in full panic mode pushing their way through a staff breakroom and into a small, dark storage room filled with golf clubs. Someone had heard that a shooter was in the parking lot trying to get into Topgolf.

“Some people were screaming, and some were angry, telling the screamers to shut up and not make noise,” said Pepperdine. “My sister-in-law and I sat on the floor and wrapped ourselves around one another. I was wholeheartedly convinced that I was going to die. I was waiting for bullets to come through the door.”

A couple men dragged a shelf in front of the storage room door to secure the entrance. They removed paper from a corkboard and covered the windows. About 20 minutes passed before someone got word that everything was safe, and they could all leave.

“That walk back was awful,” said Pepperdine. “It was a long walk. It was amazing to see how far we’d ran; we had no idea.

“We couldn’t get over the shoes scattered throughout our path,” she said. “Abandoned shoes everywhere, left by people who were running for their lives. We didn’t talk much, everything felt eerily quiet, as we gingerly walked with our heads on swivels. When we got back to the room, Carrie nearly broke our necks when she hugged us.”

Everything bright turned dull

Back in the safety of their hotel room, the women watched the news and were shocked to learn there was only one shooter. They had been convinced by rumors there were multiple assailants.

“There was a lot of sorting through true and false information,” said Pepperdine. “I felt almost stupid for believing everything I heard.”

Pepperdine took a Tylenol PM that night. She was exhausted, but her body was overwhelmed with adrenaline. She slept for two hours, then her phone began to buzz with calls from home.

“I was awake the rest of the next day,” said Pepperdine. “We walked across an MGM bridge that leads to the other side of the strip and we observed the scene of the shooting in daylight. There were so many police vehicles surrounding the field, tons of debris. Everything that was bright before felt dull. We had tickets for a Cirque show, but it was canceled, of course. The whole city felt sad and quiet. I just wanted to get to my family.”

Pepperdine flew home on Tuesday. She walked through her front door and immediately wrapped her arms around her husband and little girls.

“All I wanted to do was be home, slow down, appreciate my kids and husband, and all the ordinary things that make up my days,” said Pepperdine. “My mom kept calling to see if I needed her. I told her I didn’t, that I was OK, but then I realized she just wanted and needed to be with me. I told her to come.”

Never take safety for granted

Over the next few months, Pepperdine struggled with difficulty sleeping and feelings of guilt.

“I have all this trauma even though I wasn’t at the concert, and I feel guilty for being so shaken,” said Pepperdine. “There were people there who lost friends and spouses and who have it way worse than being shoved into a storage room over something that wasn’t even true. I carried that guilt around for a long time and didn’t want to talk about it.”

Pepperdine met with pastors from her church a few times after she returned from Las Vegas, confiding all her fears and guilt to them. They listened, counseled and prayed with her, helping her navigate through the array of emotions. She has become more comfortable talking about her experience over time, but the emotions haven’t faded. She struggles the most when she hears about another mass shooting.

“I was just beginning to heal from Vegas when the high school shootings happened in Parkland, Florida,” said Pepperdine. “Thinking of how terrified we were, then imagining a high schooler or even younger children feeling that way — it’s just too much. I know there will be more shootings and thinking of that feels like a weight inside me.”

Invisible scars remain for Pepperdine and physical reactions occasionally surface.

“Anything unexpected, like a security or fire alarm, has a big effect on me,” said Pepperdine, who teaches preschool at Buford Presbyterian Weekday School. “When firefighters come to the school and put on their entire uniforms, my heart starts to beat fast, my breathing feels heavy, and it’s almost like a panic attack.”

Crowded places, like the Yellow Daisy Festival and shopping malls make her feel extra cautious.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever go to a concert again, and I for sure will never in my life go back to Las Vegas. I have not taken a trip without my kids since 2017 and have no desire to.”

Her family, which now includes 3-year-old son Reid, visited Disney World in 2020. Pepperdine was nervous about the trip and found herself looking for escape routes in the park, something she would have never thought of before that night in Vegas. Although her radar is always up, and she sometimes avoids large, public gatherings, she refuses to prevent her family from living life to the fullest.

Recently, a family member took Pepperdine’s oldest daughter to see her first concert, Imagine Dragons. Pepperdine battled her fears while Calleigh was gone, but she’s glad she let her go. Her girl returned home safely with a smile and wonderful memories.

“I will never take safety for granted,” said Pepperdine. “Being able to live your life and feel safe doing so is everything.”

Jodi Brooks Fights Glioblastoma with Optimism

It was a warm, cloudy afternoon in June 2020, four months into the pandemic. Jodi Brooks was walking down Nelson Street near her Brooklyn neighborhood, talking on the phone with her sister and nephew, discussing his middle school graduation gift. When Brooks asked her nephew a question, his answer made no sense. She strained to understand his words, becoming overwhelmed with confusion. She tried to speak but couldn’t. Overcome with dizziness, she had an urgent need to sit down. That’s the last thing Brooks remembers before waking up in an ambulance.

“Her sister called and told me something was wrong,” Sam Brooks, her husband of 12 years, recalled. “I used a tracking app on my phone and found her on a sidewalk, surrounded by emergency workers. When they put her in the ambulance, she was screaming in pain because her shoulder had been dislocated when she fell, and she was staring right through me, like she didn’t know me.”

Jodi, I am your husband, Sam! he shouted. That is your son, he said pointing to Jonah.

“That’s when a light came on,” said Sam. “She recognized Jonah, then she passed out.”

Jodi Brooks, now 47, had experienced a seizure. At the hospital, doctors discovered what they thought was a benign tumor, the size of a walnut, on the speech center of her brain. Eleven days after her seizure, she underwent a craniotomy to remove most of the tumor. They couldn’t remove all of it for fear she would lose the ability to speak.

After the surgery, she got the official diagnosis: level 3 glioblastoma. It has since changed to level 4.

“We were all baffled,” said Brooks. “My family and I had so many questions. What is glioblastoma? Why is this happening? How did this happen? How long has the tumor been there? We had no family history of cancer. Just, how?”

Facing reality

Glioblastoma is a malignant cancer that affects the brain and spinal cord. It can strike anyone at any age but is more common in older people. Symptoms include vomiting, nausea, headache and seizures. It is non-genetic in nature, quickly developing and the reasons for its occurrence are unknown. Treatment involves surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. The median survival time for someone with glioblastoma is 15 months.

But doctors were hopeful. They considered Brooks’ surgery successful, and she returned to work a few weeks later as managing partner at Finn Partners, a worldwide marketing agency.

Before COVID, Brooks commuted by subway to the headquarters in New York, worked eight to 10 hours days and traveled across the United States one week each month. Since COVID and her diagnosis, she works from home, still averaging eight-hour workdays.

She’s grateful for the support she’s gotten from her CEO and colleagues, especially her work friend Katie Seigenthaler, who endured her own battle with cancer involving her child.

“Once Jodi was diagnosed with glioblastoma, she and I took our friendship to another level,” said Seigenthaler. “I was blown away by her insistence on hearing, absorbing and dealing with the truth, always. She asked this of me: to always be straight with her. She is not afraid of the fear. She does not pretend to be brave, does not parrot the typical survivor language so ubiquitous in the cancer world, and, consequently, is the bravest and most optimistic of all. I am in awe of her.”

Power of optimism

Brooks’ attitude toward cancer mirrors that of her professional work ethic. She is relentless in building relationships, ferocious when it comes to finding solutions.

A year after her surgery, she made two big moves. She transferred her care to Dr. Henry Friedman of the Robert Tisch Brain Tumor Center at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. And she and her family moved to Johns Creek to be closer to her cousins and her doctor, who she affectionately calls “Dr. Henry.”

“I would not be here if not for Dr. Henry,” said Brooks. “I’m so thankful for him. I love him. My first doctors in New York didn’t expect me to still be here, but I am because of Dr. Henry. Finding the right doctor is everything.”

Dr. Friedman, 70, has practiced neuro-oncology since 1981. While he responds humbly to Jodi’s praise, he does acknowledge that the team at Duke has a philosophy that, he believes, positively affects their patients.

“The foundation of our entire program is ‘at Duke there is hope,’” said Dr. Friedman. “No matter the outcome, we believe we’ll do better within that framework and give the patients’ time more meaning. We believe the positive approach is the right approach.”

Brooks has undergone multiple chemotherapy and radiation treatments, and she goes to Duke every eight weeks for an MRI. A recent scan revealed the tumor had grown.

“It’s hard not to be upset, because, obviously, if it grows, that’s not good,” said Brooks. “But Dr. Henry immediately says, ‘OK, we’ll try something else. We still have other options.’ Then I feel a bit of relief. There’s still something to work for, there’s still hope.”

Dr. Friedman is a big believer in the power of optimism.

“There have been great books written about the physiological manifestations in the body from having an optimistic approach, “Anatomy of Hope” by Dr. Gerome Groopman being one of the best,” said Dr. Friedman. “Jodi is embracing our philosophy and she’s capable of fighting the fight. If she weren’t, she’d die … I’ve been accused of giving false hope, but I disagree with that. The majority of people with glioblastoma will die, yes, but a rising number will not. Jodi lives to fight another day.”

Focus on the present

Brooks said she lives her life with a sharper perspective now. What is important versus what is frivolous is much clearer, and where she dedicates her time and energy is sacred.

“Life is a precious gift, but even more precious is the quality of life. Focus on being present for every experience, big and small. Think about your legacy, and act on that every day,” she said. “Your legacy isn’t something bold or grandiose, it is the stamp you make on the world. Every day we impact others, and that is what makes all of this so incredible.”

Brooks has worked hard to maintain normality in her life. Despite exhaustion and the roller coaster of changes in her body, she is determined to cook dinner, do her job well and play tennis. Her family and friends buoy her spirits, fill the gaps, drive her to appointments and are ready and willing to do anything she needs. In return, Brooks strives to continue being a good friend, a hard worker and a good wife. Her greatest focus, she said, is 10-year-old Jonah.

“Life with Jonah feels as normal as can be, because I refuse to have it any other way,” said Brooks. “He knows everything that’s going on, but I still want to give him the best of me. Sure, there are times I’m angry and times I cry, because this just shouldn’t be and it’s unfair, but I choose not to do that around him. I may start worrying about being at Jonah’s bar mitzvah in two years, but I work hard to correct that thinking. I’m still here. I’m going to see him off to college one day.”

Friends have told Brooks she should quit her job and travel to places she’s always dreamed of visiting, but she refuses to do that because that sounds like she’s dying.

“My counselor once asked if a doctor told me I’m dying,” said Brooks. “The answer was no; my doctor hadn’t said that. So, the counselor said, ‘Unless the doctor says you’re dying, you’re living.’ It’s so simple, but it’s beautiful. One day they may say I’m dying, but until then, I’m going to live.”

Jonathan Gross: Extra Special Photographer

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Jonathan Gross is not a man of many words, but his photographs speak thousands. Jonathan is one of 35 individuals currently participating in A Thousand Words Photography Project, a mission by ConnectAbility to teach groups of all abilities about photography. Jonathan of Dawsonville has learned a lot in his seven years with the project and has even made plans to launch his own photography business after he graduates from Dawson County High School in the spring.

Jonathan, 21, has Down syndrome and has been involved with ConnectAbility since age 2. ConnectAbility is a non-profit with a mission to create communities where people of all abilities are valued, included and empowered. They offer free programs to families, monthly parties, and an array of other services. Jonathan’s mother, Pam Gross, took a leap of faith when she dropped Jonathan off the first time for respite care.

Jonathan Gross is not a man of many words, but his photographs speak thousands. Jonathan is one of 35 individuals currently participating in A Thousand Words Photography Project, a mission by ConnectAbility to teach groups of all abilities about photography. Jonathan of Dawsonville has learned a lot in his seven years with the project and has even made plans to launch his own photography business after he graduates from Dawson County High School in the spring.

Jonathan, 21, has Down syndrome and has been involved with ConnectAbility since age 2. ConnectAbility is a non-profit with a mission to create communities where people of all abilities are valued, included and empowered. They offer free programs to families, monthly parties, and an array of other services. Jonathan’s mother, Pam Gross, took a leap of faith when she dropped Jonathan off the first time for respite care.

“He’d never taken pictures before. We bought him a point and shoot digital camera to see how he liked it and, well, he loved it,” said Pam. “I think the very first day he took over 300 pictures. Some were crazy, he experimented in the dark, he tried all kinds of angles. It surprised me to see his point of view.”

During his first year of A Thousand Words, Jonathan’s group was shooting at Gibbs Gardens in Ball Ground. Pam attempted to direct Jonathan to pretty flowers, but he instead wandered to a retention pond. The mentor photographer asked Pam if she was concerned for Jonathan’s safety. She answered no, but explained she didn’t understand why he was at the retention pond when there were so many wonderful things to photograph.

“She told me to let him be, so I did,” said Pam. “It wasn’t until later that night when I looked through his photos. I was amazed,” Pam said. “There were reeds beside the pond, and the reflection of overhead wires on the water. Things I would’ve never noticed, I wouldn’t have even gone to that area, or seen those angles. I was schooled that day. Jonathan could see beauty in ways I couldn’t.”

ConnectAbility is celebrating their 10th year of A Thousand Words Photography Project. This year they’ve partnered with groups in North Carolina and Spain. The theme is “Road Trip,” and participants were given a miniature VW bus to incorporate into their pictures. This is the second year the group will self-publish a book of the photography.

Lee Anne Tourigny is the coordinator of A Thousand Words Photography Project. While in college, she wrote her honors thesis on therapeutic photography and how it affects depression and anxiety. She wrote of how photography can create community and improve individuals’ well-being. Her role at ConnectAbility proves her theory.

“Watching everyone get so actively involved, interacting with one another, excited about the photos they’re producing – you can tell how much they love it and how much happiness it brings to their lives,” said Tourigny.

Angela Cooper said her daughter, Hannah, who is also Jonathan’s best friend, has gained not just a hobby through photography, but confidence.

“Two of her photos sold for $500 each at the annual gala. She was so proud,” said Angela.

Jonathan’s photos have also received accolades. This year he won a photography contest through the Historic Preservation Commission in Dawsonville and three of his photos were accepted into a juried arts show at the Bowen Center for the Arts. Due to his talent and interest, his parents will help him pursue an online photography business called Depictions of Being after graduation.

“I’d like for this venture to be a place for him to showcase his point of view and encourage anyone who struggles to communicate that they can still find ways to express their perspective,” said Pam. “Challenges don’t have to limit you, sometimes you just stretch in different directions.”

Jonathan, Hannah, and their fellow photographers eagerly anticipate the annual Thousand Words Photography Project Gala in January. A night when they can dress up, be recognized for their efforts, and let their photographs do the talking.

VENUS

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

When Venus Morris Griffin was in the deepest pit of darkness, she made a pact. If God helped her get out, she would share her story, no matter how humiliating, in hope of helping others. God followed through, and now Griffin has, too.

One of Augusta’s top-selling real estate agents, Griffin began sharing her harrowing life story through online real estate training sessions, then transitioned to speaking at national real estate conferences, packing halls to standing room only. Next came podcast interviews, which is how Brandon Stanton heard her story. Stanton is the creator of Humans of New York (HONY), the popular photoblog started in 2010 on Instagram and Facebook that has amassed nearly 12 million followers, produced three anthologies, and, most recently, a memoir. On March 3, HONY ran a 13-part story on Griffin that promptly went viral.

“What (Stanton) did for me, how carefully he handled my story, how respectful he was, and the exposure gained from sharing it on his platform — it was humbling, wonderful and embarrassing all in the same breath,” said Griffin. “There were millions of likes. People called me a good mom. They said I inspired them. The fight I made for my children, pushing through the pain, it was all worth it. For the first time in my life, I felt validated.”

‘Everyone loved him’

Griffin’s nightmare began in 2011 when, while nursing her baby daughter late one night, she received a phone call.

Venus, you don’t know me, but I’m calling to tell you what an awful man your husband is.

Within an hour, Griffin met with the caller, a young woman, in a hotel room behind a Denny’s. According to Griffin, the woman divulged details of her affair with Griffin’s husband, John Evangle “Tripp” Morris III, and said he turned menacing when she threatened to tell his wife. The woman was afraid, but also, it seemed, in love.

“On my way to meet with her, I imagined a heated confrontation and hating her because she took my family from me,” said Griffin, 50. “But when I looked into her eyes, all I felt was compassion, connection. I saw me, someone who hadn’t gotten away from their demons, and I wanted to help her. I forgave her instantly. I kept thinking, what has happened in your life?”

Griffin understood demons and the desperate desire to escape them. She grew up in a roach-infested trailer with a mom who battled drug addiction and cycled in and out of rehab centers. It was not until Griffin became an adult that she realized some moms make breakfast for their children.

“My first memory is watching my mother’s fingernails,” Griffin recalled in her HONY feature. “My stepfather would make me sit beside the couch and watch them. If they turned blue, I was supposed to call 911.”

Griffin navigated her traumatic childhood by hiding her life from others. Friends weren’t invited over for fear they’d see the roaches scatter, the pill bottles littering the floor or learn her mom had attempted suicide by sticking her head in the toilet.

Griffin changed high schools six times. When she was invited to prom, she was surprised and elated. While fixing her hair for the big night, her mom told Griffin: You will never be as pretty as me. Then she stuck her fingers in her daughter’s perfectly coiffed hair and messed it up.

“I could have let her win,” said Griffin. “I could have cried, but I wasn’t going to let her take that night from me. I quickly fixed my hair and walked out the door. I wasn’t going to let her ruin my life.”

When Griffin graduated high school, she got two loans and worked two jobs in order to earn her political science degree at the University of South Carolina. That’s where she met and fell in love with Morris.

“It’s complicated even now,” said Griffin. “If I could turn back the clock and change things to how I thought they were, how I thought they would be, I would. I genuinely loved him.”

There was much to love about the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed young man. Morris was gregarious, the focus of every crowd he encountered. He was a big man on campus — a college cheerleader and president of his fraternity. When he visited Griffin’s family at Christmastime, he dressed as Santa and handed out toys to the kids. Everyone loved him.

‘Forgiving him was key’

After college, Morris and Griffin moved to Augusta, Morris’ hometown. They married and welcomed six children. Morris was unable to reproduce, so they relied on a sperm donor, the same one, for each child. Together, Morris and Griffin served as PTA presidents. Morris led their Wednesday night Bible study and coached their son’s baseball team. As Griffin said in HONY, he was 90% good. The other 10% was terrifying.

“The children adored him, but, like me, they were a little scared of him,” said Griffin. “There was one time we were at our son John’s baseball game and the umpire made a bad call. Tripp started screaming so bad that the police escorted him off the field. There was always that side of him. When his temper would flare, it would flare. He was big on calling me names. And he’d get in my face.”

Griffin said Morris’ mood swings worsened over the years. Ten years into their marriage, he pushed her into a bathtub. Another time, Griffin screamed for her oldest son to call 911. Morris had pinned her to a bed and threatened to snap her neck.

After Griffin confronted Morris about his affair, he confessed, admitting to a sex addiction and checked into a rehab facility. While he was away, Griffin learned the whole truth.

“One of my daughters came to me and told me a story about her father. It was the worst thing it could possibly be,” Griffin confided to HONY. “It wasn’t just prostitutes. It was inside the home.”

Griffin hired a polygraph technician to administer a lie detector test to Morris. Afterward, the technician told Griffin she’d be an unfit mother if she let Morris come home.

Morris was arrested, convicted of aggravated child molestation and is serving sentences of 20 years and 25 years at Baldwin State Prison in Milledgeville.

“I’ll never forget coming home from the courthouse after Tripp was convicted,” said Griffin. “I sat my six children down. I told them, ‘The first thing we’re going to do is forgive your dad. We will never talk bad about him.’ Forgiving him was key. If you forgive people, you can move forward and see life differently. I knew if I could forgive him, my kids would follow.”

Rebuilding their lives didn’t come as easily, especially with the discovery that Morris had depleted the family’s finances and incurred a lot of debt.

“There were days when I just wanted to die. I didn’t know how I could support my children. How would I meet all their physical and emotional needs? How would I pay off Tripp’s credit card debt?” Griffin recalled. “I felt shamed by my community and church friends. But if I lay my cross down, my six kids would have to carry it. I will die trying before I quit.”

The day after Morris’ conviction, Griffin woke at 5 a.m. and ran five miles, as she still does every morning. And for the first year, she took all six kids with her to mass before school every day.

“The kids didn’t like it and neither did I, but it was our only option,” said Griffin. “We needed help. Looking back, it was my saving grace. It was stressful getting the kids there, but I’d hear something from the priest to get me through the day, to give me strength. I’m not a holy roller, but I’m a person of faith who believes nothing happens by chance. My life is proof of it. If you live long enough, you’ll go through hard stuff. How will you let it define you?”

‘I could be happy in a trailer’

Prior to Morris’ conviction, Griffin’s only work experience was as a waitress and nanny. While Griffin was in the hospital recovering from the birth of their sixth child, Morris told her she should get a job, so she did. She took online courses to earn her real estate license. When Morris went to prison, she turned to real estate full time. Griffin’s oldest son, John, watched the younger kids after school, allowing Griffin to work up to 70 hours a week. But she was always home for dinner.

“Every time I made a sale, I’d use the commission to pay off a little more of our debt,” said Griffin. “That first year, I made $100,000. By my seventh year, I was grossing over $1 million.”

Currently in the midst of a divorce from her second husband, with whom she had her seventh child, Griffin is now vice president of Meybohm Real Estate, the same brokerage firm she started with a decade ago. And she is enjoying the spoils of a successful career.

When Morris left, Griffin and her six children were living in a two-bedroom home. Now they reside in a 7,000-square-foot home with eight bedrooms, a pool and a two-bedroom guest house. Recently, Griffin purchased a $1.2 million beach house in St. Simons Island. Her down payment was $1 million.

“I know at any moment I could lose it all. Money doesn’t define me,” said Griffin. “I could be happy in a trailer as long as I have my kids. I’ve developed a lot of wealth in real estate, and I’ve worked with clients who have millions. Some are happy, some are not. Money is good and it can be fun, but it’s the sit-down dinners that sustain you.”

‘I wanted to give people hope’

Griffin never forgot the deal she made with God. She knew she had to become successful in the business world before she could have a platform to help others. It was around her seventh year of real estate when she felt an urge to share her story.

The speaking engagements she booked through the real-estate world were lauded and led the way to events nationwide. Though she’s told her story many times, she is not immune to the horror of it all. Pain rests right beneath her tenacious exterior. To protect herself and, most importantly, her children, Griffin limits her interviews and holds tight to certain details.

She’s currently working on her biography with writer Kimberly Houk and has been a guest on multiple podcasts, which was the catalyst to her newfound HONY fame.

“My wife heard Venus on a fertility podcast,” said Stanton, who moved from New York back to Georgia, his home state, during the pandemic. “She was talking about her large family, which was conceived through a sperm donor, then went on a tangent about her life story. My wife said I had to hear it. I listened and messaged her right after.”

Stanton spent around 15 hours interviewing and photographing Griffin for her HONY feature. He released her series on March 3, posting one chapter per hour throughout the day. His readers were enraptured — liking, commenting, begging Stanton to post the next chapter quicker.

“I expected Venus’ story to be well-received, but it exceeded expectations even for me,” said Stanton. “I love all my stories, but I never know when a story is really going to connect, when the audience is going to latch on. With Venus, the audience came along for the entire journey.”

Every Mother’s Day, Griffin receives a card from Morris. In it he tells her she was the best wife, an amazing mom. Once a year, Griffin sends him family photos and a long letter to update him on the children’s lives. Her friends don’t understand why she does it.

“I treat him how I’d want someone to treat me if I were in prison and never going to see my kids again,” said Griffin. “He’s serving a tremendous sentence, and I know I don’t have to do anything. I try to remember, and I remind my kids, that he has a mental illness. As a Christian, I believe it doesn’t hurt to treat him like a human being.”

Griffin has no plans to slow down with real estate. She could retire now and be set for life, but she continues to work and grind. One of her greatest goals is to put all her children through college debt free. She also hopes to continue sharing her testimony to help others, especially women.

“I feel like I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain with God,” said Griffin. “I wanted to give people hope, inspiration, motivation, to show them that if I could do it, so can they. I’ve received messages from people across the world, telling me they’d contemplated suicide, but my story gave them hope. Good came from the bad. I achieved my goal.”

But she doesn’t let it go to her head.

“I’m not perfect. Don’t paint me out to be,” she said. “Everyone has a story. Mine is horrific, but my pain is no different from the prostitute’s or the next person’s. I’m no one special, please put that in bold letters. I’m a mother. I just want to sit down and have dinner with my kids every night.”

And in the mornings, she will make her children breakfast: biscuits, bacon and eggs.

Dr. Durden

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

At the end of each day, after plastic surgeon, Dr. Frederick Durden, has worked a long shift and kissed his three children goodnight, his prayer is the same: please let me be useful to others and help me honor the blessings I’ve received.

“Let me be clear,” said Durden, 44, when asked about his success. “I’m very thankful for mercy, favor, and my blessings, and I use them all for God’s glory. I find great satisfaction in knowing I woke with the intent to do a good thing and am so happy when I accomplish that. I know I’m blessed in terms of what I am, what I do, and where I come from. I recognize what everyone has done for me to be here.”

Durden refers to himself as a “Grady baby” when explaining how deep his roots run in Georgia. He was born at Grady Hospital, grew up in Atlanta, and attended both Morehouse College and Emory University.

“I had amazing role models,” said Durden. “My grandfather was a sharecropper and he taught that trade to his five sons. All of them had less than a high school education, but they went on to be successful. I watched them and I learned. You get up and work; there is no excuse. I didn’t know I’d become a doctor one day, but I knew I’d be successful because I knew how to work hard, and I was surrounded by support and love.”

When he begins to say who in his life has had the most impact, his deep voice breaks.

“My mother had a traditional role at home until my dad left, then she became the head of the household,” said Durden. “I’d see her at night, reading her Bible, rocking, worrying, but she was strong and never complained. Anything I did was met with ‘I’m proud of you, baby, you get out there and get it.’”

During his time at Morehouse, he was surrounded by great men, great stories and legacies to fill the gaps from his father’s absence. That said, he bears no bitterness toward his father, whom he has not seen since his teen years. He does not judge him, he forgives him, and hopes he might reach out one day, maybe even meet his grandchildren.

Durden and his high school sweetheart, Tonia, have one daughter, Zoé, age 5, and two sons, Frederick, 3, and Isaiah, 1, who is named after Durden’s grandfather, the sharecropper. In 2015, the family chose to move to Fayetteville, not far from the Cancer Treatment Centers of America in Newnan, where Durden is a plastic and reconstructive surgeon.

“I chose CTCA because it’s different from other places,” said Durden. “They focus on both holistic medicine and traditional medicine to take care of cancer patients. The spiritual aspect really spoke to me, too. You don’t have to be afraid to pray with a patient.”

One patient Durden didn’t expect to cross paths with is his sister, Linda Jackson.

“You don’t imagine yourself ever having cancer,” said Jackson, 49, who is being treated for colorectal cancer. “I don’t know how I’d get through this process without my brother. He isn’t my doctor, but it’s a blessing that he’s there. He shares the medical side, I share the patient perspective, and we help each other. I love and appreciate him dearly. But he always says don’t thank me, thank God.”

Somehow, despite his 12-hour weekday shifts and four-to-six-hour weekend shifts, Durden found time to create a cancer support group at Cornerstone Baptist Church, where he and his family attend each Sunday. As with his sister, he learns so much from the group he leads. He carries the insight with him and applies it with patients.

“I’m very thankful for all the blessings I receive, and I think it’s my responsibility to take those blessings and use them to serve others,” said Durden.

If you tell Durden’s mother that he attributes much of his success to her, she takes no credit.

“God gives him another chance every day,” said Mary Durden. “Fred believes that you give, and you shall receive. He believes in treating others how you want to be treated. I’m proud of him. He’s come a long way, though he doesn’t look at himself like that. He cuts the grass, he’s a great husband and father, always trying to do the right thing, always putting God first. We believe you pray, and God will see you through. We learned that from my mama.”

The apple doesn’t fall far in the Durden family.

Dyslexic Mama on a Mission

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Joy Mitchell’s eyes filled with tears when she saw her family smiling from the stands of the University of Alabama coliseum. Shoulder to shoulder they stood, her husband, her siblings, her five children, all to watch the highly successful CEO earn her bachelor’s degree.

Joy’s college journey did not go as she hoped after high school. As the youngest of four, her mom frequently reminded her of the value of education. Her older sisters both earned their doctorates, her brother graduated from Georgia Tech, but, unlike them, Joy struggled with reading and writing. She attended Georgia College for a while, she moved back home and tried cosmetology school for a semester, then attended Georgia State for a short time.

“It was so hard, there were many challenges, and I felt like I’d failed,” said Joy, 41. “Still, it was important to me, and I knew I could do it. My heart wanted it.”

While living back at home, Joy began working alongside her mother, who sold used furniture. Joy and her boyfriend Brett Mitchell, her husband now for 19 years, drove all over town, delivering the furniture from the back of Brett’s pick-up truck.

“I loved working and began seeing a bigger picture. I wanted to transition into new furniture,” said Joy. “I grew up in Gwinnett and had a great support system and network. I made a plan and I hustled.”

Joy’s business, Office Creations, a corporate furniture company, was founded in 2001. She utilized many skills her mom imparted, but many lessons were learned in the baptism-by-fire approach. As her success began to grow, so did her family.

Joy, who splits her time between Atlanta and Sea Island, has four daughters and one son, spanning from ages 8 to 17. Though she’d proven she could be successful without a college degree, her desire for it never waned. While pregnant with her fourth child, Joy secretly began classes at Georgia Gwinnett College. She only attended for one semester.

“I quit and felt like I’d failed again,” said Joy.

Joy’s daughter OletaKate, now 15, began struggling with reading and writing in elementary school. Joy saw so much of herself in her daughter. She could read the same paragraph five times and not comprehend what she’d read.

“Through the process of testing we discovered OletaKate is severely dyslexic,” said Joy. “My husband and I looked at each other and realized I was dyslexic, too. I spoke with my mom about my struggles from childhood and instantly it all made sense and it was actually exciting. When someone who’s dyslexic realizes there’s hope, it’s a game changer.”

Since the dyslexia journey began, Joy has learned how to better retain information, audible books being one of the best methods. This discovery reinvigorated her desire to earn her bachelor’s degree, if not for herself, then to show to OletaKate how it was possible for her.

“I saw the University of Alabama was offering an online hybrid school opportunity,” said Joy. “I applied without telling my husband and kids and when I got accepted, I sobbed. My kids’ response was ‘you’re going to Alabama?’ because we’re Georgia fans, but they were proud.”

A decade had elapsed since she’d been in school. Mitchell retook many classes and adjusted her days to get the work done. Office Creations had grown exponentially (annual revenues up to $42 million) and her kids were all involved in extracurricular activities. Mitchell took classes from 5 to 7 a.m. before the kids were up, then again from 8:30-10:30 p.m. after they went to bed.

“My kids saw the work, they saw I had to step away and prioritize what I wanted, and what could drive opportunities for our family,” said Joy. “What others see is a successful business owner, but my kids got to see all the effort and I’m grateful for that.”

The validation she felt was immense and her desire to learn only intensified. Once again, in secret, Mitchell applied to a school, this time to the University of Georgia for her executive MBA. A year later, she walked at her second graduation ceremony.

“It meant the world to watch my mom get her degrees,” said OletaKate. “She reminds me all the time that even if I get a bad grade, or if I’m struggling, I can work for whatever I want. Seeing her do it made me see I can do it, too. She is who I want to be one day.”

Through happy tears, OletaKate held a sign at her mom’s graduation ceremony with bold writing that read “I am so proud of you.”

Miracle Match

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Jeanine Ramirez was making plans for the end of her life when a call from Bixby, Oklahoma, changed everything.

“Jeanine, I’m a match,” said Jimmie Deibert as soon as Ramirez answered.

“For what?” asked Ramirez.

“I’m giving you my kidney,” said Deibert.

Ramirez, of Milton, was shocked to learn she was in kidney failure during her annual physical in 2018. She was asymptomatic, but the combination of migraine medication Topamax and pain reliever ibuprofen caused her creatinine levels to skyrocket. She did her best to slow the progression, but in June 2021 her kidney function dropped to just 9%.

“My arms and legs started to hurt, I had shooting pains that made me wonder if I was having a heart attack, I had no energy or appetite. My body was incredibly itchy because my phosphorus was so high,” said Ramirez, 46. “My doctor said that without a transplant I had about six months to live.”

Ramirez, a single mother, panicked about what would happen to her daughter Kyra, 17. Who would take care of her if she died? Would they respect her wishes and love her daughter well?

When work friend, Jane Bridges, asked Ramirez how things were going, honesty was the only answer.

“I immediately asked what I could do,” said Bridges, 52, of Melbourne, Florida. “I went online to Emory’s site to see if I could be a donor. I wasn’t eligible, but I wasn’t going to let a friend die because of my inaction.”

Though Bridges and Ramirez are co-workers at Cancer Treatment Centers of America, they’d never met in person. They both work from home in their respective states. When Bridges asked Ramirez for permission to email her contacts about the crisis, Ramirez said yes, please.

“I’ve worked with Jeanine for about 12 years, but have never met her in person, and had no idea about her health status until I read Jane’s email,” said Deibert, who works at the same company as the ladies and is based in Oklahoma. “Something about her story and knowing her through the years, I just felt like God was speaking to me. I felt like he was asking me to be the one.”

Within an hour of receiving the email, Deibert went to the Emory transplant website and began the process to see if he was a match. By the end of September, he received the news.

“Oddly, I wasn’t surprised that I was a match,” said Deibert, a father of two teenaged sons. “I had a feeling from the beginning. I told my wife, Laura, I thought the opportunity was God’s plan and her reply was ‘I can’t argue with that.’”

The Deiberts flew to Atlanta on Oct. 7 to meet Jeanine and her daughter and undergo more tests.

“That visit really confirmed everything,” said Deibert. “Jeanine is an awesome person and seeing her with her daughter made everything feel even more right.”

The surgery was scheduled for Nov. 11, Veteran’s Day, which felt especially poignant as Ramirez is a veteran.

“I kept my guard up right until surgery,” said Ramirez. “I was nervous something would go wrong. I arrived at the hospital first and was scared until I heard the elevator doors open. I turned to see Jimmie and his wife praying.”

The three prayed together in the waiting room before Ramirez and Deibert were taken to side-by-side operating rooms. Six hours later, the operations were complete and Ramirez’ new kidney was functioning perfectly.

“By the next day my energy was like a 16-year old’s,” said Ramirez. “I was walking the halls and felt better than I had in probably 30 years.”

Bridges, determined to continue helping however she could, drove up from Florida and cared for Ramirez for two weeks after surgery. It was the first time they’d met in person.

“It was emotional, but also so familiar,” said Bridges. “I had to go help her. I just had to. If there’s something you can’t do personally, don’t sit back and put your hands up. There’s always something you can do.”

Both Ramirez and Deibert have thrived since the transplant. About three to four weeks after surgery, Deibert returned to his regular gym visits and has zero restrictions. Ramirez’ new kidney is functioning at 100%.

“I’m Kyra’s cheer coach at the high school and I’m her Girl Scout troop leader, as I have been since she was in kindergarten, but now I have so much more energy to enjoy this life,” said Ramirez.

Ramirez, Deibert, and Bridges agree their bond will endure. They are family now.

“We all just celebrated the two-month anniversary of “Sidney the Kidney,” said Ramirez. “I’m overwhelmed by my blessings and thankful for every day. When I hear Jane and Jimmie’s names, my heart does a backflip and I smile.”

For Jimmie, the opportunity to be a living donor has affirmed what he’s always known.

“You hear the saying ‘it’s more blessed to give than to receive’ and it’s absolute truth,” said Deibert. “What a huge joy to give such a gift. How often do you get to directly and immediately save someone’s life? I don’t say that to pat myself on the back, Jane was just as important as Jeanine’s advocate. It was God’s plan and we got to be part of it. How awesome is that?”

Dude 21

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Three weeks before he died in June 2021, Chandler Patterson stood at his wedding rehearsal and professed his love for his family and friends. On Friday, hundreds of his loved ones gathered to raise a glass of Dude 21, a beer created in tribute to Chandler by his bride, Alyssa Patterson.

Chandler lived his life for God, country, and family. His parents instilled in him a servant’s heart, a desire to give back to his community, which is what led him to firefighting in the city of Gainesville, a job he loved and, his family says, would have continued through retirement.

When Chandler and Alyssa met in the fall of 2019, they fell quickly. In fact, on their first date, Chandler told Alyssa he was going to marry her one day. Two weeks later they were exchanging “I love yous” and meeting one another’s parents. Chandler proposed 11 months later and they said their vows before an audience of 250 on June 5, 2021.

“It was like a fairytale,” said Alyssa, 24. “He loved me so well and was everything I ever wanted. I’m so thankful he was mine, even if for just a little while. Knowing what I know now, I’d do it all over again.”

The newlyweds enjoyed a weeklong honeymoon in Cancun, then returned to their new home in Braselton, where they were excited to settle into a routine as man and wife. They hosted their families for the first time on Father’s Day, and six days later, while out on Lake Tugaloo with a group of buddies, Chandler was killed in a boating accident.

“I couldn’t move when we got the call. I couldn’t speak,” said Alyssa. “All that was going through my mind was ‘we just got married. How is this happening?’”

On July 2, just shy of their one-month wedding anniversary, Alyssa eulogized her husband before a crowd of 1,000, not counting the thousands who watched the livestream.

In the seven months since losing Chandler, Alyssa, a sales implementation specialist for an insurance company, has relied heavily on her faith to guide her through the onslaught of grief. She attended a retreat in November for young widows, sponsored by Be Still Ministries, and she has been surrounded with support from friends, family, even strangers.

A week before Christmas, Alyssa visited StillFire Brewing in Suwanee with her sister and friends. As she sat on the patio, drinking her favorite sour beer, Gummy Bandit, she thought about Chandler.

She’d brought him to StillFire on one of their first dates.

“StillFire is everything Chan loved,” said Alyssa. “It’s an old firehouse turned brewery that offers live music. It’s the perfect spot.”

Thinking back on their many visits to StillFire, an idea struck Alyssa. Chandler rode on engine 21 and was well-known for calling his friends “dude,” which is why the fire department had patches with “Dude 21″ created in his memory. What if StillFire brewed a beer for in honor of Chandler called Dude 21, she wondered. Could they do that?

“She sent me an e-mail all about Chandler and it tore at my heart,” said Phil Farrell, brew master at StillFire. “I shared it with the partners, and it was decided within five minutes: we would make this happen and fast.”

Alyssa and her family graciously accepted Farrell’s invitation to join him as he created Dude 21, a flavorful IPA that has the number 21 used repeatedly in its formulation. And, of course, they scheduled the beer release for Jan. 21.

“We made six kegs of beer and we’ve already busted through three of those,” said StillFire partner and general manager Aaron Bisges early in the evening at the release. “The good news is, on Monday Phil and the team will be back in the lab to make more. This is one of the biggest responses we’ve ever seen.”

StillFire is also sending a few kegs of Dude 21 to Universal Joint, a bar near Chandler’s hometown in Rabun County.

After the crowd cheered and toasted to Chandler, the family was invited in the back where Farrell gave them a surprise. StillFire dedicated a fermentation tank, complete with American flags and a firefighter hat, to Chandler “Dude 21″ Patterson.

After months of darkness, multiple family members said the night was a welcome opportunity to celebrate. It was filled with things Chandler loved and the people he loved most. Prophetic words from his rehearsal speech echoed among the crowd, words that will long outlive the man.

“If you want to be happy, you have to invest in people,” Chandler said in his speech. “My grandfather always said ‘when you die, what are people going to say about you? Are they gonna say ‘man, that guy drove an awesome truck,’ or ‘that guy had nice clothes.’ No. When you’re gone people don’t remember those things, they don’t care about that. People care about who you are and your heart. Granddaddy always said if you invest in people, you will always be rich. If you have a full heart, you will be rich. I’m not perfect at all, but I do love people. I’ve failed at many things in my life, but I don’t fail at loving people … I love you guys.”

Ryan Cone

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

After seeing his father’s list of unfulfilled dreams, Ryan Cone was determined to honor his father’s memory by making his own dreams come true.

“I took care of my dad the last couple years of life while he fought cancer,” said Cone, 41. “We found an old list of goals, things like: go to Hawaii, start a cigar company. Dad said “don’t be like me. I’m 57 years old and I didn’t do any of those things because I was fearful.”

He got stuck in a rat race, he needed to provide for his children, and he couldn’t take any risks.”

Cone was 18 years old when his father died. The loss sent him down a path of self-discovery. He began contemplating the deeper questions in life. He wanted to learn what it takes to be successful, and he started by figuring out his personal definition of success.

“I started reading biographies and motivational books,” said Cone. “When I was 23 years old, a senior at Georgia Southern, I started interviewing people, at least 100, to see how they mapped out their successful lives. Someone suggested I called Tommy Newberry. He became my coach and that changed everything.”

Newberry is a best-selling author and business coach based in Atlanta.

“Ryan had big goals, needed coaching, and said he’d need a scholarship for the coaching,” said Newberry. “He said ‘I promise if you do this, I’ll become one of your best clients, maybe your very best.’ He met that promise by his 10-year mark.”

Cone is a commercial real estate agent in Atlanta. By age 29 he owned his own company, which morphed a couple times before becoming Cone Commercial. With Newberry’s help, Cone learned to place equal emphasis on five areas of life: faith, business, spirituality, health and family.

“I realized that my definition of success is balance in all those buckets,” said Cone. “Financial freedom is huge, but I also wanted to dive into my spiritual life and be a charitable person. I want to be fit and healthy, and present for my wife and kids. I want to be the dad who never misses a game or recital, who can put his phone away and focus on what’s right in front of him.”

Cone starts each day with a morning ritual. He wakes early, drinks a full glass of water, does 15 breath reps, stretches and says affirmations. From 7 a.m. to 10:30 a.m. he plans out his entire day and tackles his most daunting tasks. He likes to schedule at least an hour of alone time every week, whether taking a long “God walk” at sunrise or going to hit golf balls.

“None of my best thoughts have happened when I’m around other people,” said Cone. “It’s good for me to have that quiet time to set my intention and meditate on my goals.”

It’s been 18 years and Cone still receives coaching from Newberry. They speak bi-weekly and communicate through e-mail and text frequently. They meet for a full day once a quarter, along with a group of other entrepreneurs like Cone.

“Not all my clients are as disciplined as Ryan,” said Newberry. “While it takes some a while to implement my principles, Ryan calls within 12 hours with follow-up questions. Balance can be so hard for a business owner to attain. It’s easy to become a workaholic, or to abandon your health, your marriage, your faith. But Ryan sets goals in every area of his life and implements them.”

Cone has been married to his wife, Stephanie, since 2005 and they share two daughters, Aubrey, 8, and Madelyn, 6. He often writes affirmations on Post-Its for his daughters and puts them on their mirrors. He created a nighttime ritual with the girls that he calls “Maker, Mission & Mate,” something he picked up in a parenting seminar years ago.

“My girls know who their maker is, they have a mission in life, and I encourage them to pick a good mate in their future,” said Cone.

Cone also upholds a “Good Husband List,” which consists of date nights, affirmations, gifts of service, and “etched memories,” where, every six months, he creates a special experience for his family, which is most often a trip.

Though Cone leads a good life, he is no stranger to challenges. He has dealt with a health issue, and, like many, his business came to a halt at the beginning of the pandemic.

“Storms are going to happen, it’s inevitable,” said Cone. “It natural to focus on the negative, but if you have a safety net with affirmations and goal setting, if you have faith in a higher power and can be transparent with your emotions, the storms are easier to weather. Anxiety happens to everyone, but a plan for the valleys helps us climb the mountains.”

Cone sets goals as far out as 30 years from now. The ritual of goal setting keeps him focused on living the life he contemplated at his father’s bedside years ago.

“I may not be Arthur Blank, but in my sphere of influence, I want to help change others for the better,” said Cone. “Success in business is great, but I want to be known for honesty, charity and good character. I want to be a nice person, a good father, a good husband. I will be grateful for each day and chase my wildest dreams. I know my dad would be proud.”

Young Philanthropists

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

What breaks your heart? What makes your heart happy? That’s how it all begins at Kids Boost, a nonprofit where kids are empowered to use their passions for good. The answers to those questions serve as a launching pad for young philanthropists, ages 8 to 14, guiding them to organize and lead a fundraiser for a cause that matters to them.

Kids Boost executive director, Kristen Williams, worked for 15 years as a child life specialist at Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. Around 2012, Williams met a kid named Jared, a former Children’s patient, who wanted to give back to the hospital, but was unsure of what to do.

“He didn’t want to just collect things, he wanted to do something bigger,” said Williams, 42. “He’d suffered a severe arm injury years before and part of his therapy was rock climbing. We met and I tried to help him find a way to fundraise through something he loved, and that’s just what he did. He created Jared’s Climb for Kids. Stone Summit donated the time for him to climb and friends and family pledged donations for every wall he climbed. He raised $2,500.”

Williams’ lightbulb moment occurred at Jared’s check presentation.

“I saw this kid who’d been through so much, beaming with pride,” said Williams. “Wouldn’t it be awesome, I thought, if every kid had the opportunity to use what they love to help a cause that’s important to them? As a mother of a son, I knew I wanted to raise my child to be philanthropic. I wanted it for all children, really. I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. It’s like my soul was on fire.”

Williams dreamed about starting Kids Boost for about two years before taking the plunge at the end of 2014 when she attained her 501c3 non-profit status. She continued to work at Children’s Healthcare as able on weekends and poured herself into Kids Boost, which was especially difficult as a single mother.

“I joke that we’ve lived off peanut butter and a prayer,” said Williams, whose son, Parker, is 14. “No one gets into the nonprofit world for money, that’s for sure. There are no benefits and it’s so much work. But it’s also the most rewarding risk of my life.”

When a kid decides to take on a Kids Boost project, they meet with Williams or one of the two other coaches, they’re given a $100 start-up fund, and a fundraising plan is created. The kids learn many business skills, like money management, marketing, even the importance of a thank you note. Their first “no” is celebrated with a gift card to Dunkin Donuts.

“We practice their pitch and prepare them to hear the word no,” said Williams. “We tell them it’s not fun to hear, but you have to keep going, keep knocking and you’ll get that yes.”

The average project spans about three months. The average funds raised is $1,800. Recently, a booster raised over $27,000. To date, 204 kids have completed a Kids Boost project and raised $367,000 and growing. Kids Boost has supported 113 nonprofit organizations around the world.

“It is my hope that kids will catch the bug and become lifelong philanthropists,” said Williams. “I’d love to see Kids Boost chapters open across the nation. I’d love for signing up to run a Kids Boost project to be as common as signing up for piano lessons or soccer. There is great emphasis on sports and academics, rightly so, but what are we doing to teach our kids to be good people?”

Thalia Fung-a-wing, now 12, was 11 when she asked her parents if she could do a Kids Boost project.

“She wanted to fundraise for the End It Movement, which raises awareness for human slavery and trafficking,” said Gabrielle Fung-a-wing, Thalia’s mother. “She learned about the organization through our church, Passion City Church. As a parent, you want to shield your children from those topics for a while. I wasn’t ready to have some of the conversations necessary when she came to me about human trafficking, but she’s very mature for her age and this opportunity allowed me the chance to have a really open, honest conversation about what’s happening all around us and what we can do to help.”

Thalia’s project was set to run in the spring of 2020, but COVID made conventional plans a challenge. Since Thalia is a big fan of cooking, she and her Kids Boost coach decided she could create her own cooking show on YouTube. Viewers were granted access to the protected site by making a donation to the End It Movement. In the end, Thalia raised $1,370.

“It felt so good to hand over the check,” said Thalia, her inflection punctuated by squeals of enthusiasm. “It made me so emotional, and I was, like, trying not to cry because I had worked really hard. I was just so happy I got to do my part to make the world a little bit better.”

Saint Imelda

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

When her brown eyes meet those of someone in need, a Bible verse echoes in her thoughts.

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” — Matthew 25:35

“Is this you God, I wonder, is this you asking for my help,” explained Imelda Solano. “I ask and think, who am I to say no?”

Solano, 48, grew up in the Catholic schools of Lima, Peru. The motto “servian,” which means “to serve,” is a mentality woven deeply into her being, as inherent as her blood type or bone structure. She sees herself as a servant — a happy, determined one.

Solano, of Brookhaven, has worked for the Archdiocese of Atlanta for 14 years, first as the Hispanic ministry coordinator at the Cathedral of Christ the King, then in the Office of Life, Dignity and Justice. Aside from her altruistic work duties, she volunteers countless hours a week with Saint Vincent de Paul Society, an international volunteer organization in the Catholic Church, as well as Christmas Connections: Adopt-A-Family, and the Compassion Kitchen Project. She is a consummate connector, linking those in need to those who can provide. People seek “the lady at the church,” her reputation a testament to goodness, her assistance like gold. Those who bear witness to her selflessness consider her more saint than servant.

“Saint Imelda, that is what we call her,” said Isabel Rice, co-founder of the Compassion Kitchen Project. “I’ve known her 15 years and she’s never wavered. She has a heart for service with a boots-on-the-ground approach. She’s under bridges, on the side of the road, she listens to every story from veterans, the homeless, single moms. She believes in the dignity of life and offers people hope, respect, and joy.”

When the Compassion Kitchen Project launched at the height of the pandemic, Rice called her friend Solano to see if she could help link restaurants to those who are food insecure. Solano responded immediately, establishing more than half the distribution locations, from a trailer park in Jonesboro, to the Basilica downtown. She personally distributes meals every Tuesday and Thursday. When Christmas Connections: Adopt-A-Family began 14 years ago, they provided gifts for 75 families. The program now serves over 550 families, in great thanks, Rice said, to Solano.

“Imelda was also the one who brought vaccination sites to the local Hispanic community,” said Rice. “She organized a COVID vaccine clinic at the Christ the King Mission on Buford Highway. She scheduled all the dates, had a translator on hand to educate people and answer questions. Imelda even speaks to and trains other volunteers, down to the nuances of how to interact with vulnerable people. She is amazing.”

Solano is passionate about the Hispanic community.

“I am an immigrant,” said Solano. “I know how it feels to be by yourself in a new country, nowhere to turn. My prayer is that if someone seeks help, I can be the one to provide it.”

Though her entire biological family still lives in Peru, Solano has found an extended family in those she serves. She’s been invited to first communions, baby showers, and baptisms.

“Oh, she is my sister,” said Alejandra Gutierrez. “When my parents needed immigration lawyers, she found one. If we are ever short on paying a bill, she finds the money. If we are sick, she brings us food. For Thanksgiving, she calls to be sure we have enough food and that my children have all they need – for 15 years now. Whenever I thank her, she stops me, tells me not to even think about it because we are family. She is a blessing. I think God has a plan for everybody. I’m so thankful he made her part of ours.”

Solano’s phone number has been passed like warm dinner rolls through the Hispanic community. She answers her phone at all hours from the Brookhaven apartment she shares with her two rescue dogs. She has changed her phone number twice due to incessant calls, but still leaves her ringer on each night. She does not complain about exhaustion, she is not easily overwhelmed. She champions others’ challenges until she finds a resolution.

Years ago, a woman arrived from Mexico and approached Solano for help in finding her son. The last the woman knew, he was living in Atlanta, then moved to Los Angeles. The woman could not speak English, nor could she read or write. Solano was determined to help her. After months of work, Solano discovered the woman’s son had been homeless in L.A. and passed away.

“It was terrible news, but I gave her closure. She returned to Mexico, her mission was complete,” said Solano, emotion trembling in her soft voice. “I kept thinking about my mother, hoping someone would do the same for me. I had to help for the sake of all mothers.”

When Christmas comes, Solano will be sure to phone her mother in Lima, she’ll spend time with her local “family” and friends, maybe cook, go to a movie, read. And, of course, she’ll be at the church, where everyone knows they can find her, Saint Imelda.

Teen Creates Lacrosse Experiences for Special Needs Children

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

The Wolfpack stands roared and eyes brimmed with tears Oct. 3 – the day Max Howey, a 6-year-old boy with Down syndrome, scored his first ever lacrosse goal. It was one of many hallmark moments dreamt up and orchestrated this season by 13-year-old lacrosse player, Grayson Carvel.

“It all started over the summer with my coach for my travel team,” said Grayson, of Acworth, who plays for North Paulding Wolfpack in spring and fall and Crossfire during the summer. “Coach wore initials on his helmet to represent and honor his grandfather and that inspired me. I wondered who I could play for. A couple months later I was thinking about people who can’t play lacrosse because of disabilities. That’s when I started to volunteer with Trailblazers.”

Paulding County Trailblazers is an organization that offers athletic programs for individuals with special needs. When Grayson finished his lacrosse practices, he headed over to Trailblazers to help with soccer practice.

“There’s one kid who is non-verbal, autistic and epileptic,” said Anthony Carvel, Grayson’s father. “His dad told us his son didn’t interact with people much, then I see him holding Grayson’s hand, running around the field. It chokes you up as a parent. These days, when so many kids are focused on appearances and social media, Gray is thinking about making all kids feel included. His mom and I are proud, to say the least.”

Grayson’s volunteer time with Trailblazers answered the question he’d been asking himself. He knew who he wanted to play for, whose initials he wanted on his helmet: those of special needs kids. His big idea for Giving with LAX hatched.

“I decided I’d honor a different special needs kid in the community each week,” Grayson explained. “I’d wear their initials on my helmet to honor and recognize them and make them feel like part of the team. I’d invite them to watch practice and even participate in a game.”

Four kids were honored during Grayson’s fall season and all of them, as well as their parents, were thrilled by the invitation.

Max Howey’s older brother, Watson, plays on the same teams as Grayson. Max loves people and loves to attend the lacrosse games but keeping the gleeful little guy off the field can be a big task.

“When Grayson reached out about Giving with LAX, we knew Max would love it because he’s always trying to get on the field anyway,” said Max’s dad, Dustin Howey, with a laugh. “My wife, Rene, and I were all for it and so impressed by Grayson. He has a heart for people with special needs, he truly wants to be involved and help. It’s amazing to me that someone his age would have the thought and heart to do something like that.”

Grayson’s intentions toward his honorary players were infectious. Soon his teammates were donning initials on their helmets and taking time to interact with the players of the week. They’d take team pictures together, post them on social media, and Giving with LAX even garnered the attention of a lacrosse equipment manufacturer, East Coast Dyes, who sent custom lacrosse sticks. Professional lacrosse teams, including Georgia SWARM, also follow Giving with LAX on social media.

“Our community has been so into this and I’m so glad,” said Grayson. “I want to continue growing season to season. My goal is to spread awareness about inclusion for all these kids and I just want to put smiles on their faces.”

Anthony says he and his wife are excited to see where Grayson takes Giving with LAX, and they’re happy to help him get there. They are currently working to get established as an official 501(c)(3), so Grayson can think of more ways to enhance the kids’ lacrosse experiences and create long-lasting memories, just as he did for this season’s players.

When Max had his turn to take the field, his father stood on the sideline and watched his youngest son charge the goal. The Wolfpack players made a show of pretending to block Max, but took fake falls, allowing Max to burst through. When the blond little boy, outfitted in a Wolfpack helmet and jersey, approached the goal, he launched the ball from his stick and, as if in slow motion, watched as it rolled over the line. The team swarmed around him, cheered, and slapped high fives as Max raised his stick in the air and yelled, “Woo hoo!”

“It was emotional watching Max out on that field,” said Dustin. “While we want him to have the same experiences as other kids, we know he’s not like them and that’s OK. Still, it’s special for us to see him be included. We greatly appreciate Grayson for giving Max that moment.”

After his big game Max, who is partially verbal, looked at Dustin and said three words that affirmed the bright smile on his face.

“Daddy, I’m happy.”

Jackson Warren Honors His Father, a Fallen Soldier

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Jackson Warren is the spitting image of his father, Army Sgt. 1st Class Charles Warren, who was killed in Iraq in 2005. The resemblance is especially undeniable when Jackson strums a guitar.

Charles was deployed in May 2005 and killed that August when a car detonated at a checkpoint. Many soldiers were killed instantly. Charles was injured severely but was conscious for a while. He knew help was coming and he asked about the well-being of his fellow soldiers. He also spoke of how he’d never see his daughter, just 1 month old at the time, and he prayed. Charles lost consciousness in the helicopter and could not be revived.

Jackson, now 18, was just 22 months old when he lost his father, too young to remember him. He has relied on family and friends to tell him stories about his dad over the years. He’s learned his father was kind, funny, musical, and he especially loved to sit around and casually play his guitar. Jackson was in the first grade when he began begging his mother, Carol Warren, for guitar lessons.

“I caved when he was in the second grade,” said Carol. “He wanted to play because his dad played. I wondered if he was too young for lessons, but how could I say no? I work to be mom and dad to Jackson and his sister, Maddie, but I always want to make sure Charles still has his place in this family and that the kids know him in the best way I can provide. For Jackson, music was the perfect way.”

Carol registered Jackson for lessons at Music Authority in Cumming, where Jackson began weekly lessons for 30 minutes at a time.

“Learning how to play guitar at 8 years old was hard, but I stuck with it,” said Jackson. “Mom made me practice for 30 minutes a day and I think I began to find my groove by age 9. Music instantly makes me happier, and it makes me feel closer to my dad.”

Jackson owns about eight guitars, but he plays his dad’s honey-hued acoustic guitar at home all the time.

“I gave Charles that guitar for Christmas in 2003,” said Carol. “It was a really expensive purchase for us at the time, but he wanted it so badly. He was self-taught and he loved to play it. It was a Takamine guitar. I didn’t know anything about the brand back then, but now I know all about all kinds of guitars because of Jackson.”

Jackson, a senior at Lambert High School in Suwanee, now plays bass, guitar, and piano. Most of his free time is dedicated to music. He’s in the jazz band at school and he still goes to Music Authority, where he takes three lessons a week. It’s also where he works and where he performs with his student band, Eclipse.

Music Authority opened in 2002 and has been owned by Andrew and Melissa Loggins, since 2004. They define it as a music destination that offers performances, lessons and repairs. They teach 600 students a week and host two to six shows a month, all student-based productions. Their students range from age 4 to senior citizens in their 80s. Melissa has been Jackson’s instructor for a decade and has come to know him and his passion for music very well.

“A couple years ago Jackson performed in a show we produced called ‘Gone,’” said Melissa. “It was a show about people who inspire us, who aren’t here anymore. Jackson spoke about his dad.

He’s talked about his dad publicly many times over the years, at his schools and Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. It’s obvious that representing his dad is important to Jackson.”

Jackson honored his father at Music Authority’s Fall Festival on Oct. 16, a performance benefiting Any Soldier, a nonprofit that sends care packages to the military.

Jackson’s younger sister, Maddie, 16, also takes music lessons at Music Authority. Their mom said she loves that her home is filled with music. She knows it would make Charles smile.

“I greatly enjoy watching them play,” said Carol. “Jackson has always been a shier kid, but music brought his personality out and made him more outgoing. He lights up a stage and I know when he’s up there that he feels so connected to his dad. I think about that as I watch and I can imagine Charles, watching over him. I know he’s so proud.”

Mothers Bond Over Tragedy

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

They were strangers just weeks ago, but now Jennifer Stanford and Kristen O’Brien are dear friends, bonded by trauma. Their homes are hundreds of miles apart, but, for now, they reside in the same place: Shepherd Center in Atlanta. Both women had their nightmares realized recently when their sons, their firstborns, were in horrific accidents, leaving them paralyzed.

It was 2 a.m. on Aug. 7 when Kristen and her husband Tim received a call at their Lexington, KY home. Their 21-year-old son Britt, who had traveled to Atlanta with friends, mistakenly dove into the shallow end of a pool and broke his neck. Desperate to get to their boy, who had been airlifted to Grady Memorial Hospital, the terrified parents chose to travel separately for fear of traffic jams and flight delays. Tim drove to Atlanta while Kristen flew.

“I arrived first to find Britt alert, smiling as always, seeming as though nothing was wrong – except he couldn’t move,” said Kristen.

Britt plays lacrosse at Centre College back home in Kentucky. He’s 6 feet 3 inches tall with a big personality to match. Doctors told Britt’s parents that his summer of intense workouts may very well have saved him.

“He nearly drowned in his accident, and he developed pneumonia after,” said Kristen. “He broke his C5 vertebrae. The prognosis in the ER was bleak. They gave Britt a 3 to 7 percent chance of moving anything beneath his shoulders again.”

After a surgery and weeklong stay at Grady, Britt was transferred to Shepherd. The O’Briens were grateful, as Shepherd is ranked in the top 10 rehabilitation centers in the United States, specializing in, among other things, spinal cord injuries.

Two weeks after Britt’s accident, on Aug. 21 in Chapin, S.C., Julian Stanford, 17, headed home after his shift at Higher Ground, a restaurant where he has worked for over a year. It is the perfect gig for a boy like him, who loves meeting new people and is known for his kind disposition. His mom, Jennifer, was tracking Julian’s drive on her phone via the Life360 app when suddenly, just a mile from home, Julian’s car stopped. She gave the app a chance to refresh, then tried Julian on his cell phone. When he didn’t answer, she grabbed her keys. She opened the garage door and heard sirens. She knew.

“I arrived at the same time as the ambulance,” said Jennifer. “The fire and police departments were already there. I ran to a lady, a police officer, and saw Julian’s car in the ditch. I begged the lady to let me go to him. I told her I’m a nurse, told her maybe I could help. She wouldn’t let me. I held on to her and cried uncontrollably. I was in my pajamas and rain was pouring down.”

It took an hour to remove Julian from his vehicle. He was conscious the entire time. The EMT’s allowed Jennifer to ride in the ambulance with him. Julian was alert and talking, but unable to move. The doctors shook their heads after his MRI and CT scan, telling Jennifer and husband Chris that Julian’s is what they call a complete injury at the C4 and C5 vertebrae. They said he will never walk again.

Julian had immediate surgery at Prisma Health Richland Hospital in Columbia, S.C., to repair his vertebrae and relieve compression. He was transferred to Shepherd 10 days later.

By this time, Britt had been moved from Room 403 in the ICU to a regular room down the hall.

“One of Britt’s doctors, Dr. Elmers, came into our room one afternoon and asked if I could return to Room 403 when I had time,” said Kristen. “She said there was a mom there who was struggling. She asked if I would give her a hug.”

Kristen took the familiar steps down the long, quiet hall and found Jennifer in Room 403. Within minutes, their eyes were glassy with tears, their arms wrapped around each other.

“That was it,” said Kristen. “We had an immediate connection. Just like that we had someone who knew exactly what we were going through and understood the severity of the situation.”

Though family and friends of both Britt and Julian have been amazingly supportive, this, the mothers say, has been a lonely, isolating experience. They both have husbands and other children at home, states away. COVID-19 restrictions allow for just one parent to stay with each patient. Leaving the hospital is not permitted for the parents, except for special circumstances. They sleep in the room with their boys and guests are only permitted outside at a gate that runs along a noisy stretch of Peachtree Road.


“Shepherd is an amazing place, and they do all they can to facilitate visitation, but it’s hard not to feel like a prisoner under these circumstances,” said Jennifer. “I’m so thankful to have Kristen. She knows what to say, she knows what I’m going through, and vice versa. It is so hard to go through the worst time of your life and be deprived of human connection. Thank God I can hug Kristen.”

Julian and Britt have become friends and are able to visit one another’s rooms occasionally. They both have tentative discharge dates. Julian’s is in November, Britt’s December.

They have been told healing from a spinal cord injury is like watching a slug cross the street. Both boys have had small victories and the mothers pray many more lay ahead.

“For many of us here at Shepherd, hope is all we have,” said Jennifer. “Everyone here has a story like ours. One event that changed their life in a second.”

Sometimes in the evenings, Jennifer and Kristen step away from their sons for a moment to sit together in the lush confines of Shepherd’s Secret Garden. They share what’s on their minds, words of support, and hope. Sometimes they drift into a peaceful silence, so honest and comfortable, as if they’ve shared not mere weeks, but years.

Harts of Teal

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Kim Airhart sat in the waiting room, knowing bad news loomed as she read the words on the wall over and over: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God.” John 14:1. It’s been more than 18 months since her fight with ovarian cancer began and that’s still the verse she clings to.

As the mother of five young children, Airhart wondered if her symptoms could mean she was pregnant. She was bloated, constipated, needed to urinate frequently, and felt unusually tired. When the pregnancy test was negative and the symptoms persisted, she followed her gut and went to the doctor.

“He said I had cancer of ovarian origin, then he listed off the places it had spread,” said Kim. “I looked over at Chris and he just closed his eyes. We cried and on the drive home Chris said he couldn’t lose me. We talked about the kids, how I couldn’t leave them.”

Kim received the diagnosis on a Thursday in February 2020 and began treatment the following Friday. She was 41 years old, living in Madison, Mississippi. Kim and her husband Chris quickly decided to move back to Georgia to be near family. They were Fayetteville residents by April.

Andrea Sisler, of Senoia, was also diagnosed with ovarian cancer in February 2020. When she shared this with her daughter’s orthodontist, Brian Bragassa, he asked if he could introduce her to his sister: Kim Airhart.

The women became quick confidantes, sharing in their emotions, trials and hope. They both underwent what’s hailed as the “mother of all surgeries,” hyperthermic intraperitoneal chemotherapy, or HIPEC. The procedure calls for a long incision, from chest to low abdomen. Visible tumors are removed one by one, then a hot chemotherapy bath is poured into the abdomen. The incision is stitched up, the body is shaken for an hour and a half, then the incision is reopened, and the abdomen is rinsed with saline before being stitched up again. Patients respond differently, but both Sisler and Kim fared well.

Both women were declared cancer free around September 2020, but with the threat of a high recurrence rate, they remain cautious and vigilant. They are also motivated to help other women.

“I kept having this nagging feeling to do a fundraiser,” said Kim. “I thought about a color run and people were so receptive. It wasn’t my plan to have a nonprofit, but I felt like God was, and still is, leading me.”

Kim told Sisler about her idea for a nonprofit and the two became a team. Education and faith are the benchmarks of their mission.

“Ovarian cancer is a beast,” said Sisler, 57, a mother of four who is also a breast cancer survivor. “So many women have no awareness of ovarian cancer. I’m a registered nurse and I didn’t even know the signs and symptoms. This cancer is so hard on your body and spiritually, it just requires you to dig deep. I don’t know how people do things such as this if they don’t have faith. What got me through is knowing there’s always hope in Jesus and I’m going to be OK no matter the outcome. This is the message we want to share with other women.”

Kim named the nonprofit Harts of Teal: “harts” for her last name, Airhart, and teal is the color of the ovarian cancer ribbon. There’s also a butterfly that looks like a semicolon, signifying that their story is not over.

The foundation hosted their first event, the Harts of Teal 5k and 1 Mile Color Run, July 10 in Peachtree City. There were 566 registrants and more than $70,000 was donated to raise awareness of ovarian cancer and fund early detection research.

“My goal was one thousand dollars; I didn’t know what to expect,” said Kim. “I’m just so grateful and so encouraged to keep going. Harts of Teal has helped me reclaim my life. It catapulted me out of a terrible mental space and pushed me to get back out, meet people, help people. There’s so much information women need to know. There’s a blood test, the CA125, that could detect ovarian cancer earlier. Most women don’t know that. And the symptoms can be so subtle that women may dismiss them or think they’re too young for ovarian cancer. They have to know that’s not true. We have to tell them.”

Chris has been shoulder-to-shoulder with Kim throughout her battle and says Harts of Teal has given her a new lease on life.

“She’s gone from not knowing if she’d make it and worrying, to being very concerned with other women and their stories,” said Chris. “When it clicked in her head that she could help and educate other women, she turned a corner. I couldn’t be prouder. This is not a simple feat. She puts the kids to bed, then stays up late stuffing thank-you envelopes to donors. We can’t even go for a walk, or a golf cart ride without her handing a woman a symptom card.

“She has a strong will to survive, to help others, and to see her kids grow up. That’s what will keep her going.”

Special Kneads

Originally Published in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

They were challenged to raise $100,000 in six months and it looks like they just might pull it off.

Tempa and Michael Kohler are the owners of Special Kneads and Treats, a nonprofit bakery in Lawrenceville that employs only special needs individuals. This spring, at their Third Annual Gala-Q event, one of their benefactors, Clyde Strickland, stood and announced that if the Kohlers could raise $100,000 by Sept. 20, he would match those funds to help them pay off the bakery’s mortgage.

“We love what they do to help people, the way they love on them, create jobs for them. They are an inspiration,” said Strickland, 82, the CEO of Metro Waterproofing. “I don’t doubt they’ll meet their goal, as God always meets his goal. All we have to do is challenge the people who love him.”

As of Aug. 7, the Kohlers had raised $85,293.29. They’ve received donations online, in the bakery, and through their eBay store.

“Having this money to pay off our mortgage will free up over $2,000 every month,” said Tempa Kohler, 53. “We have a 12,000-square-foot building, but only utilize 6,000 square feet. We could work toward renovating the rest of our building, opening more storefronts, and hiring more employees.

They currently have 28 employees and 219 on the waiting list, some of whom have been waiting almost five years. The mission of Special Kneads and Treats is to empower special needs adults to find meaningful, gainful employment.

“They aren’t just volunteering. That wouldn’t fix the problem,” said Tempa. “We aren’t a training program. We don’t want them to learn something, then go back to the sofa.

There aren’t enough employers hiring special needs adults and we want to change that. Employers don’t understand how awesome these individuals are. They come to work every day, they love what they do, they’re eager to learn, happy, friendly – who wouldn’t want that in every employee? We have yet to find someone we cannot find a position for. We have nonverbal individuals, wheelchair-bound employees. They all take on a task and thrive.”

The idea for Special Kneads and Treats was born from the Kohlers’ desire to find a place where their son, Bradley, 31, could work. Bradley has Fragile X Syndrome, a genetic condition that causes mild to severe impairment.

“Bradley played in a special-needs baseball program for years and we knew he’d age out when he turned 22,” said Tempa. “We and the other parents wondered what our kids would do, where they’d go. I’d always loved decorating cakes as a hobby, so I told everyone I’d open a bakery where our kids would work. We didn’t have any money, no clue how to launch a nonprofit, but we thought ‘God, if this is truly something you want us to do, we know you’ll make it happen.’”

After a series of what the Kohlers believe were divine interventions, they opened their 501(c)(3) bakery on Jan. 24, 2014.

They worked 90 to100 hour weeks for the first six months, reduced that to 80 hours by the year mark, and happily keep a more balanced schedule these days. Bradley works three full days a week and likes to consider himself upper management, joked Tempa. He’s good at taking instruction, but he loves to find jobs for others, too.

“All our employees gain confidence, social skills, and friendships,” said Tempa.

An employee of five years, Ian Pearce, who has high-functioning Autism, confirms.

“This is my first job I’ve ever had,” said Pearce, 23. “It really helps me build myself up as a person, because when I started, I was very shy and introverted, and didn’t talk to people much. I am still introverted, but not as shy. I talk to my co-workers a lot; I’m outgoing with customers and this job has also helped me become a leader. I help some of the other employees with their tasks, like taking out trash and I teach them the ins and out of working the front of the shop. I also make cupcakes, icing and choccorn, which is white chocolate-covered puff corn, one of our most popular items.”

The bakery offers 26 cupcake flavors daily. They also sell vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free, and all-free items. Tempa trains the employees to decorate and some, like siblings Cody and Courtney Southerland, have found they have a strong knack for the task.

“They can decorate really well on their own and they have both grown so much socially,” said Tempa. “What a difference it makes to give someone a sense of meaning, somewhere to go and have responsibility. It’s like we say: “everyone kneads to be kneaded.’”

With just weeks to go to their challenge deadline, just weeks until they can make big dreams a reality, the Kohlers have full faith that God will continue to make big things happen for their little bakery that could.