AuthorAvokadoReading3 minViews6.6k.Published by31.03.2024
They say that if life hands you lemons, make lemonade. We all know that this is easier said than done, yet nothing is truly impossible if we set our minds to something and put in a lot of effort to achieve it.
Cara Brookins ended up in a violent marriage. She left her husband, took her kids with her, and started over in a new house since she was a mother of five and understood she had to protect her kids from the toxic environment they were made to live in. How was it accomplished by her? by creating her own construction blueprints and viewing YouTube videos that demonstrated various building skills, such as installing plumbing, running a gas line, laying a foundation, and erecting walls. It sounds amazing, doesn’t it?
Now that she’s thinking about it, she acknowledges that it has been impossible the entire time.
Cara, a computer programmer analyst, came up with the idea to build her family’s new home from the ground up because she couldn’t afford to buy a house big enough for all of her children at the time she started building it in 2007.
Cara described the feeling as being that “if anyone were in our situation, they would do this.” “I know it sounds crazy now, but no one else saw it like this.”
She borrowed about $150,000 for construction and paid $20,000 for an acre of land.
Her children helped build their 3,500-square-foot home; the eldest was only two years old at the time and the youngest was seventeen.
Since there was no running water on the property, her 11-year-old daughter Jada had to use buckets to carry water from the neighbor’s pond. Her son Drew assisted her in creating the plans. After that, she combined it with concrete bags weighing eighty pounds to create the foundation mortar.
The children would visit the site and assist every day after school. This tenacious mother paid $25 per hour to a part-time firefighter with building experience to complete the most difficult tasks. He was “a step ahead of us in terms of knowledge,” she recalled.
The family finally moved into Inkwell Manor on March 31, 2009, which was named in honor of Cara’s aspiration to become a writer.
“We felt ashamed that the only option available to us was to construct our own shelter,” Cara remarked. “We weren’t particularly proud of it, but it ended up being the best thing I could have done for myself.”
“Anything is possible for you if I, a 110-pound computer programmer, can build a whole house,” she exclaimed.
She continued, stating, “Select one goal and stick to it. Choose a big project you’ve always wanted to do, start small, and take the others who also need to recover with you. That has a great deal of power.
This isn’t it one of the most amazing tales you’ve heard recently?
If this family’s tenacity inspires you as much as it does, please SHARE their amazing tale on Facebook with your loved ones!
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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