Before the Crisis Begins: My Story & Why REC Haven Inc. Exists

Some stories begin quietly — not with a single dramatic moment, but with years of watching love practiced like a rhythm. REC Haven didn’t start when I filed paperwork or chose a name. It began when I was a little girl growing up in a home where compassion wasn’t taught — it was lived.

My parents opened their doors and hearts to so many children over the years. Some stayed for a night. Some for a season. Some simply needed a warm meal or a safe place to breathe. Our home was full of laughter, tears, chaos, second chances, and a kind of love that didn’t require anything in return.

I watched my parents welcome every child with the same tenderness they gave us — no hesitation, no judgment.

To them, love wasn’t something to ration.

It was something to give, freely and abundantly.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but those moments were planting something deep inside me.

A truth that would eventually become the foundation of REC Haven:

Love can be a place.

And some kids don’t have one.

The Calling That Wouldn’t Let Me Go

As I grew older, became a mother myself, returned to school, and tried to balance all the spinning parts of life, one thing stayed constant: a pull toward children and families in need. Even during seasons when fostering or adopting wasn’t possible, the calling didn’t leave.

It whispered in moments of quiet.

It tugged during the hardest days.

It grew louder when I tried to push it aside.

Until it wasn’t a whisper anymore. It was a direction.

Isaiah 117 House was the first place where I could live out that calling in real time — stepping into the gap for kids during the darkest hours of their lives. Even in four-hour shifts, even in busy seasons, I could show up. I could love. I could be present.

And it’s where one night changed everything for me.

The Night That Broke Me Open

She was 14 years old.

A child who had already survived more than most adults do in a lifetime.

She had watched strangers rotate through in four-hour waves for days.

No stability.

No familiar face.

No one who stayed long enough to earn trust.

The second I walked in the door, she ran to me and hugged me tightly.

Then she asked:

“Are you my new mom?”

There are questions that don’t leave you.

This one carved itself into my heart.

I wanted to say yes with everything in me.

Yes, I’ll stay.

Yes, I’ll hold you in all your broken pieces.

Yes, you matter.

Yes, you’re wanted.

Yes, you’re loved.

But I couldn’t promise what I couldn’t give.

So I redirected her to dinner — because sometimes redirecting is the only way to hold yourself together in front of a child who’s spent too much of her life falling apart.

Later that evening, she asked for shoes — shoes she picked for herself.

A choice she had never been given before.

Another caregiver drove out after 8pm to buy the exact pair she wanted.

When she held those Nike Dunks, she whispered:

“I’ve never had anything that was just mine.”

That wasn’t a statement about shoes.

It was a statement about worth.

Then came the s’mores request at nearly 9pm.

We improvised with Oreos and whatever we had.

She ate only three.

She didn’t want the sugar — she wanted normal.

She wanted childhood.

But the moment that shattered me came when she heard she’d be placed in temporary care.

Her questions spilled out through tears:

“Why doesn’t anyone want me?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Why can’t I be normal?”

“Why am I not loved?”

These weren’t questions.

They were wounds she carried like truth.

I couldn’t erase her pain.

I couldn’t fix her story.

I couldn’t give her the permanence she longed for.

But I could sit with her.

I could hold space.

I could make sure that—for those hours—she felt wanted, seen, and safe.

Walking out of that shift, I knew something with absolute clarity:

No child should ever reach the point where these are the questions they believe about themselves.

When You See Enough, You Can’t Unsee It

Those moments changed me.

They made it impossible to ignore what I already knew:

Families need support long before crisis.

Children need love long before intervention.

Parents need someone to help them stand before everything falls apart.

I saw the truth nobody says out loud:

• We are losing children long before the system steps in.

• We are losing families behind closed doors long before anyone notices.

• We are waiting too long to support the people who need help the most.

And I kept asking myself:

What if someone stepped in sooner?

What if there was a place for families to breathe before life broke open?

What if children had a haven before trauma shaped their identity?

That’s when the whisper became a mission.

That mission became a vision.

And that vision became REC Haven.

REC Haven: The Legacy Born from Love

REC Haven stands for Refuge, Encouragement, and Care — but at its heart, it stands for something far deeper:

It is everything my parents taught me.

It is everything that little girl inside me believed.

It is everything that 14-year-old wished she had long before the night she asked if I would be her mom.

It is everything families deserve but often never receive.

REC Haven is the place where:

• Kids feel chosen before they feel broken.

• Parents find support without shame.

• Families find tools, resources, and encouragement before they fall apart.

• Love shows up early, loudly, and consistently.

This isn’t crisis response.

This is crisis prevention.

It’s the space between surviving and healing.

Between fear and hope.

Between “I don’t know what else to do” and “We’re going to be okay.”

Why REC Haven?

Because I grew up in a home full of love, and I want every child to feel even a piece of what my parents gave so freely.

Because no child should ever have to ask why they weren’t wanted.

Because no parent should have to break in silence.

Because love should show up before the system does.

Because God planted this calling in my heart when I was nine, and it never stopped growing.

Because every child I’ve held, comforted, or cried over still walks with me.

Because I know deep in my soul that I’m meant to build the haven I wish that 14-year-old girl had years before she ended up in my arms.

Because this is my purpose.

My legacy.

My offering.

My heart on display.

A place where love is loud,

where compassion is the standard,

where families rise again,

and where no child ever wonders if they were worth choosing.

This is my why.

This is my story.

This is REC Haven.

By: Katelyn Puckett, Founder of REC Haven Inc.