Miracles are sometimes just common sense

Mark got laid off in October after 14 years at the plant. Fourteen minutes later, his entire career was gone. His wife Lisa stopped shopping—not because she was lazy, but because every notification on her phone was another bill they couldn’t pay. By December, the fridge held nothing but ketchup packets for dinner. Their three kids, all under 10, stopped asking Santa for toys. They already knew.

Lisa called me on a Friday night. She didn’t cry. She just whispered, “We can’t put anything on cards. We need food, not shame.”

That Sunday, we sat at their kitchen table with old 401(k) statements, mortgage papers, a calculator, and a pot of strong coffee. That’s when we discovered Mark had $32,455 sitting in an old 401(k) from a previous job—money they had completely forgotten about. Most people don’t know you can access it legally without penalty if you follow the right rollover rules. The old company never tells you. They just leave it there, quietly collecting fees.

Sunday afternoon we rolled it into a new retirement program that instantly added a 27% bonus. The account grew to $41,217—without touching the principal. A few days later, we safely withdrew $4,000. When you’re broke, $4,000 feels like four million.

Over the next ten days, we secured a home equity loan that gave them $10,000 immediately. Suddenly, groceries appeared. The heat stayed on. Presents were wrapped. Rent was paid. Car insurance was current. They could finally breathe.

On Thursday morning, the kids came running in screaming. Amazon Prime packages had arrived. Real bikes—not discount junk. Lisa didn’t cry. She sobbed right there in the driveway, mascara running, snot and all. “Thank you,” she managed to say. I cried too.

Mark starts a new job Monday—same town, same plant, but now their mortgage payment drops by $1,200 a month. The 401(k) stays, quietly growing.

That money was never dead. It was held hostage. And sometimes the rescue comes in a red sleigh.

If you’ve got an old 401(k), a forgotten pension, or equity in your home and you’re staring down a Christmas that feels impossible, text me. 989-310-6311. I’ll show you exactly how much you already have wrapped under the tree—no fees, no gimmicks, just help.

Lisa still texts me every Christmas Eve. She sends a photo of the kids opening gifts. The caption is always the same: “Thanks for not letting us be the sad family.”

Your old retirement money isn’t just a retirement plan. It’s Christmas money. It’s rent money. It’s “Mom doesn’t have to cry tonight” money.

Text me. Tell me what you owe. Tell me what you’re scared of. I’ll tell you exactly how much is waiting in your past.

It’s not Santa. But it’s close enough.

989-310-6311