SEPTEMBER LETTERS: THE SEASON OF TRUTH

“A Paladin sees beyond the horizon and listens beneath the noise — holding both sight and silence as sacred tools.” -The Paladin Creed

The Doorway We Stepped Through

September arrives like a lantern in a long hallway — not bright, but steady. A month that asks us to stop pretending things were easier than they were. A month that asks us to speak plainly about the road behind us, and the road ahead.

This is our truth.

This is our beginning.

This is the cost of choosing alignment over convenience.

June: The Collapse and the Return

In June, JR was unexpectedly denied reentry into the United States after we returned from visiting his sister during a family emergency. I had accompanied him, thinking we would only be gone for a few days. Instead, we found ourselves caught in a confusing and frightening border process involving old records, unanswered questions, and a situation neither of us had fully anticipated. We were held for hours while officials reviewed and clarified the matter.

After that, JR was questioned privately. During the process, a personal disclosure related to pain management created another complication under federal rules, even though the issue was treated differently at the state level. It was one of those moments where the gap between personal life, legal systems, and border policy became painfully real.

I took him to a hostel in Vancouver, then returned to Seattle alone and submitted my two weeks' notice. Within those two weeks, I left my job. I sold what I could, packed my belongings into my van, and drove north to meet him at the hostel.

We had only one plan: Stay together and keep working no matter what.

But on some days, I regret crossing the border. Not because of him—never because of him—but because of the burdens that followed us. The bureaucracy. The waiting. The winter that is approaching in which we may not have enough cushion for.

But love has its reasons. And faith has its own logic. And destinies as intertwined as ours cannot simply be destroyed by countries, borders, money, or politics. I know something far greater is at play. A pattern we both have lived within the trials and tribulations of life.

The stars aligned for a certain purpose. Perhaps I was taking too long to quit my job. To leave Seattle. Holding on once again to environments and possessions that no longer serves the greater destiny.

All I do know is the part of me that told me to trust the process. To go back to him. To believe in him and most importantly to protect him.  I trust the part of me that said, keep building anyway.

And look at where we are now.

I need to keep reminding myself of what we have achieved in such a short period of time, despite our struggles and challenges. We started from nothing. I had no experience in publishing, book or web designing—absolutely nothing.

Yet here we are, with a fully functioning website. Ten books published on Amazon. Five eBooks released. Our monthly newsletter now online. An online store with a growing catalog. Our donation projects. And Six Universes in motion.

There is no turning back now.

“Life is not so simple — it bends, it breaks, it rebuilds itself in the quiet hours between dreams.”  - Paladin Studio

The Church 43

One week after reuniting, we were searching for a honey bucket—the most essential item for van life. Not glamorous. Not symbolic at first. Just dignity, sanitation, and survival.

But sometimes my inner compass seems to have its own intelligence. I followed it quietly, letting it guide us through neighborhoods lined with beautiful homes, massive trees, and parks tucked nearby. I could already imagine walking Panda there, moving through those streets without resistance, as if some part of me recognized safety before my mind could explain it.

And then, almost absurdly, we found what we had been looking for: a honey bucket sitting beside a church with a “for sale” sign.

We stopped. I took care of what needed to be taken care of. Then we wandered closer. The church was beautiful in the way forgotten things can be beautiful—quiet, waiting, holding some unspoken memory in its walls. That was when JR noticed the number 43, and something in both of us went still. The moment felt strangely aligned, as if hardship had led us to a doorway disguised as an accident.

The number 43/7 is my life path number. JR’s birth number is 16/7, and his life path number is 11. In numerology, 7 and 11 are often seen as deeply intuitive, spiritually attuned numbers—a pairing that speaks to reflection, faith, and higher purpose.

The connection felt immediate. But what did it mean? Was it the Universe reminding us that even when the path looked impossible, we were still being guided? Was it asking us to hold on, not to the building itself, but to the vision it awakened in us?

We parked beside it for a week—sleeping in its shadow, breathing beside its stone walls, and imagining what it might feel like to transform a church into a production studio. Not just a studio, but a living sanctuary. A place where Paladins could gather, create, connect, and remember that art can be more than expression; it can be service, meaning, and purpose made visible.

There was something tragic and hopeful about it all: that our search for a toilet could lead us to a sanctuary; that poverty could place us beside a dream; that survival could open a door into vision. We were not there because life was easy. We were there because life had stripped us down to what was necessary, and still, something beautiful found a way to call our attention.

It was not a place to live. It may never be ours. But it became a marker—a reminder that even in uncertainty, there are signs; even in chaos, there are coordinates; even in lack, there can be alignment.

Sometimes the Universe does not speak through comfort. Sometimes it speaks through abandoned buildings, roadside necessities, and the strange mercy of being led exactly where you did not know you needed to be.

“A Paladin protects what is fragile, honors what is unseen, and stands where others turn away.” -The Paladin Creed

July 7: The Marriage That Was a Shield

When JR blacked out for the second time, something in us stopped waiting for life to become certain.

We did not choose marriage because the world around us felt ready.

We did not choose it for flowers, photographs, applause, or the illusion of a perfect beginning.

We chose it because love, when it is real, becomes more than feeling. It becomes shelter. It becomes witness. It becomes the hand reaching through fear and saying, I am not leaving you to face this alone.

We married because alignment matters, and because destiny does not always arrive dressed as ease. Sometimes it comes through illness, uncertainty, and the sudden knowledge that the person beside you has become part of your sacred responsibility.

When you love someone enough to protect them, you choose the path that allows you to stand beside them when the room turns clinical, when the questions become urgent, when strangers ask who has the right to speak on their behalf.

You choose the signature that says, I belong here. I know him. I love him. I will advocate for his care.

You choose the vow that becomes a key—one strong enough to meet hospitals, borders, paperwork, and every cold wall life places between two people who are meant to protect each other.

Marriage, for us, was not an ornament.

It was a shield, a sanctuary, and a promise made in the language of protection. It was hope taking legal form. It was love choosing its post beside the door and saying, Whatever comes next, I am here.

The Weight of His Past

In his late sixties, when most people are preparing to rest from a lifetime of work, JR found himself in Canada still trying to survive. He was beyond retirement age, yet the need to support his family pulled him back into labor at the very moment he was supposed to stop working in order to qualify for his pensions.

To qualify, he was required to remain in Canada for three months without employment. During that waiting period, he was expected to live in a shelter and simply endure.

Reflections on Poverty

During his time in Canada, JR saw other seniors begging and realized this was not the life he wanted. He took a cash job and sent his earnings back to his wife and her family in Mexico — giving them everything he had.

The Consequences of His Choices

Despite everything he had endured and all he had tried to do, the system still denied him his pension.

When he returned home, he found that the ground beneath him had shifted again: there were no savings left, and the marriage he had once known had already broken in ways he could no longer repair.

Still, he stayed. He stayed for the animal shelter, for the lives that depended on him, and for the two dogs who remained his loyal companions through the wreckage. He and his wife lived separately, yet some thread of friendship survived between them. For all that had been lost, she had preserved one irreplaceable thing: his body of work, typed and saved onto a CD—the only piece of that former life that endured.

She passed away several years ago. Then, after the recent deaths of his two dogs, the last anchors of that chapter were gone. What remained was grief, but also an opening. With nothing left to hold him to Mexico in the same way, JR knew it was time to leave—not as someone escaping his past, but as someone carrying what survived into whatever life might still be waiting for him.

Robbed in Texas August 2025

In pursuit of a new beginning, JR let go of his house and the animal shelter he had built, leaving behind the life that had once given him purpose. But when he arrived in Texas, another loss was waiting: the last $4,000 he had was stolen from him.

They took everything and knocked him to the ground. What saved him was the backpack on his back, cushioning his head from the concrete. Inside it was the CD that held his body of work, along with a little clothing. Out of everything he had carried through the years, that fragile archive survived.

Challenges in His 80s

Now in his 80s, JR faces additional challenges. His Old Age Security (AOS) and Canada Pension Plan (CPP) payments—barely $1,000 a month—may be considered too high to receive his GIS.

We are still waiting. Still hoping. Still trusting that his GIS is not being denied. We hope our research is wrong. And the long wait is just part of the process.

A Reflection on Loss

This situation highlights the irony and tragedy of JR's life:

• He has lost everything.

• He has given everything.

• He continues to strive to rebuild his life from the remnants of his devotion.

The Reality of Our Present

We are honest and transparent enough to say this:

We are living on $1,000 a month from JR’s benefits and the remnants of my savings. We are building a studio from grit, not comfort. We are writing books from parking lots, parks, recreation centers, Tim Horton's, and the edges of uncertainty.

We are looking for:

• a fundraising agent

• a literary manager

• a booth to begin promoting our books in person

• a true community of Paladins seeking a greater purpose and mission

We are not ashamed of this. We are not hiding it. We are not pretending we are further along than we are. This is the truth of creation. This is the truth of devotion. This is the truth of rebuilding a life in your 80s and 40s with nothing but imagination and stubborn faith.

“A Paladin follows the path that calls from within, even when the world demands an easier road.” -Paladin Creed

If Miracles Do Not Arrive

We are also honest enough to say this:

If miracles do not arrive soon—if the path does not open, if the finances do not stabilize, if winter becomes too heavy—we may sell everything and begin again elsewhere. We have talked about joining the Peace Corps, returning to Cambodia, or teaching again, something we both once loved.

We may take our work into the world. We may serve while we create. We may keep building our books from the road, from another country, from wherever life asks us to be.

But we do not look at our lives with self-pity. We have created something that is already breathing its own life into existence, and we refuse to call uncertainty a tragedy. It is simply one of the futures we are brave enough to hold in our hands.

There is faith in believing that love has its reasons, that alignment has its consequences, and that sometimes the next chapter is not a house, but a horizon.

“A Paladin walks by inner light, guided not by certainty, but by the truth that refuses to stay silent.” -Paladin Creed

September: The Season of Truth

This is where we stand now:

Two people who chose each other. Two creators who refuse to give up. Two souls who found a church when they were looking for a honey bucket. Two artists who believe that stories can be born anywhere — even in poverty, even in uncertainty, even in the hardest months.

September is not a fresh start. It is a confession. A lantern. A truth.

We begin again. Not from zero — but from honesty.

We are two creators rebuilding from the edges of uncertainty. Your presence here matters more than you know. Thank you for reading, for witnessing, for believing.

Yours truly,

The Paladins