This month, something big happened. After months (okay, years) of daydreaming, note-jotting, and soul-searching, I made the first real step toward turning The Kringle Cause from idea to action.
Oddly enough, it started with a book.
Actually, several books. I picked up a stack of nonprofit guides in both print and audiobook form—figuring I could soak up the info during work breaks and on my drives between two jobs. Among them were The Little Book of Gold, The Little Book of Boards, and a few other titles that gave great insights into leadership and fundraising.
But the one that really hit me was Start a 501(c)(3) Nonprofit That Doesn’t Ruin Your Life by Audrey Chisholm. Long title, but exactly what I needed.
The more I read and re-read it (sometimes reading along with the audio version), the more it clicked. This wasn’t just a list of legal hoops — it was a clear, heartfelt guide to doing it the right way. And it made something crystal clear: yes, I could file for 501(c)(3) status on my own… but I’m also working two jobs, juggling life, and trying to build something meaningful from scratch. One mistake could delay everything.
So I did what the book said: I visited Chisholm Law Firm’s website and scheduled a consultation.
A few days later, I met with Sean O’Keefe, one of their consultants. I took PTO from both jobs just to make it happen. And it was worth it. Sean was kind, professional, and gave me a ton of information without ever pushing for a sale. When he told me the cost, I’ll admit—it felt like a mountain. I thought, “There’s no way I can come up with this right now.”
Still, I held onto the hope that something might fall into place.
Sean followed up just like he said he would. I was honest: I didn’t have the money yet. I’d tried a few things that didn’t pan out, and the only real option I had left was slowly saving from my second job—money I’d intended for emergencies and, let’s be real, catching up on bills.
That’s when he told me about their payment plan.
The firm would start working on all the formation paperwork now, and the IRS application would be submitted once the balance was paid in full. It wasn’t a free pass—but it was a runway. Enough to get moving without standing still.
So I signed. I paid the first $500, and just like that, we were off.
This month didn’t end with a launch party or ribbon-cutting. But in a quiet way, it may go down as one of the most important parts of our story: the moment a dream met a deadline—and became a plan.
