Spiritual struggle isn’t rebellion—it’s a cry for guidance.

In a post-pandemic, media-saturated world, our kids are hurting.

On Friday, 4/28/23, The Restoration House began with an earnest prayer and a big dream.

Praying together and studying God’s Word as sisters in Christ was nothing new to us. Since the pandemic, Friday nights had become sacred ground. At the time, I (Callie) was mothering three teenage sons, Crystal was raising three daughters—two in their teens—and Erin was an aunt to three. What changed that night was the weight of our prayers. A burden for our children, their friends, and a generation of youth we could not ignore.

All three of my sons attended the same high school. Earlier that week, they came home shaken, telling me a girl had overdosed.

"I watched her die, right there in the hallway, Mom."

It came amid the steady stream of familiar updates—vaping incidents, broken homes, quiet struggles. But the words that stole our sleep were these: “Another classmate was absent today. She attempted suicide.”

"What is our duty in this present crisis, Lord?"

That Friday night, the questions came fast: What do we do? How do we help? Then a simple idea emerged. On alternating Friday nights, we would open our home—welcoming our children and their friends for a meal, worship, and time in God’s Word. A space to be seen and reminded they were not alone.

The pandemic ended. The lonliness didn't. And our kids are paying the price.

The Restoration House prayer journal we had made with our first entry.

A Prayer, A Plan & A Purpose

Immediately, we knelt on the floor and prayed earnestly—for our children, their friends, and the youth of our city, county, and nation.

We knew where true peace, lasting joy, and real hope are found—in Christ alone. Each of us had experienced the costly restoration of our own hearts, and it had not come easily. I learned long ago that you cannot give what you do not have. Through our testimonies of heartache, hardship, and abundant mercy, we knew firsthand that there is nothing too broken for God to restore. How could we keep that to ourselves?

From 8 to 90 & Counting

April 28, 2026, marks three years of gathering every other Friday night in a small house with big hearts. Eight young people came that first night; more than ninety have come through our doors since. Only heaven could count the laughter, hugs, tears, prayers, praises, meals, treats, and love shared within these walls. We have seen souls brought into the Kingdom of Light, baptisms witnessed, suicide attempts stopped, ashes turned to beauty, anxieties relieved, traumas tended, and burdens shared. We have grown together in Christ into a true family—where everyone belongs, and as long as there is breath in our lungs, there will always be a seat at our table.

Thank You Mr. Frank

What began with three women and a prayer—while each of us fought our own battles—would not exist without Frank's support. He stood quietly with us from the start and now leads with steady strength. His ability to bring laughter while teaching lasting lessons is a joy to watch. Together, the four of us love more kids than we ever thought possible to call our own. And as much as we have poured out love, what we have received in return is immeasurably greater. We are forever changed.

Our Prayer

Dear God, for from you are all things and to you are all things, you deserve the glory. One more, Lord. One more.

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