my mother at such a young age, I always dreamed about the type of loving family I would have when I grew up. I married my wife, Linda, when I was twenty-four years old. She was only eighteen at the time. I loved her dearly, but the truth is that as time went along, I became more devoted to making money than to her.
With a partner from law school, I opened a law office in Montgomery, Alabama. Through that business partnership, we made money in just about everything we tried. We sold tractor cushions, we published cookbooks, we sold candy. Everything we did turned into money.
I bought a beautiful house for Linda and hired a maid to help her with the housework and our two children. I made sure she drove a Lincoln Continental. My partner and I bought 2,000 acres of land. We bought cattle and horses. We had a fishing lake, a lake house, and speedboats. And we still attended church pretty regularly. I had set my goals and surpassed them. I was feeling good about my life.
When, in 1964, the company treasurer walked into my office and announced that I was worth a million dollars, I wasn't even surprised.
“What's your next goal?” she asked me.
“Ten million,” I answered without hesitation. “Why not?”
But not too long after that, Linda walked into my office and told me something that changed my life forever.
“Millard, I don't love you anymore,” she said through her tears. “You are married to your business. I loved you at one time, but I don't even know who you are any more. I can't stay in this loveless marriage.”
I was so stunned, so shocked, that I don't even remember what I said. Every single thing I had ever been involved with in my life up to that point had been a success. Success was all I knew. It had never even occurred to me that my marriage wouldn't be a success, too.
From where I stood, I had a wonderful wife whom I loved dearly, lovely children, a beautiful home, a successful business. Everything was great. But from where Linda stood, she saw an empty life. And she was a smart lady. She knew the difference between a house filled with things and a home filled with love.
I promised her things would change. But they didn't. A year later, Linda left me and went to New York to seek counseling from a pastor she knew. I felt helpless and, for the first time in my life, totally out of control. I had no idea what to do. I was terrified that I might lose her. So I followed her to New York.
When I saw Linda in New York—and saw the sadness and despair all over her face—it just broke my heart. I resolved to do whatever it took to keep our family together.
Right there on Fifth Avenue, we took each other in our arms and cried. “Linda, I never wanted to make you unhappy. I love you so much,” I told her that day. “I never meant to turn away from your love.”
We hailed a cab and told each other all the ways we had each backed away from each other and the Lord and focused our attention on other things. “Linda, I know what we should do,” I said, and I looked at her. “I think we need to give away all our money. We need to give it away and make ourselves available for whatever God wants us to do.” And she agreed.
The very first thing we did was to go home, pick up our kids, and spend some time together as a family. We drove through Georgia and Florida, just taking the time to get to know each other again. On a whim, we drove to Americus, Georgia, to spend a few hours at a place I'd heard about called Koinonia Farm. I had a friend at the farm, and he introduced me to Clarence Jordan. We ended up staying a month.
Clarence was a radical Christian, and he thought our idea to give our money away made perfect sense. In the middle of the South, Clarence and his wife Florence had founded Koinonia as an integrated community for people to live together and support themselves in harmony. Clarence was way ahead of his time. The love we felt at Koinonia and the beauty of our acceptance there was something we never forgot.
Then we went home and made the necessary arrangements to give away our money. We made sure it would go to people who truly needed it. With every dollar we gave to help someone else, the better we started to feel. As we unburdened ourselves from the weight of our worldly possessions, we waited to see what God wanted us to do.
Two years later, after working with a church-related college, we returned to Koinonia Farm. There, with Clarence Jordan, I organized a housing program called “Partnership Housing” for local poor families. The homes these families were living in were little more than shacks, if that. Most had no plumbing or insulation, and the electricity consisted of one light bulb hanging from an exposed wire. The roofs did little to keep out leaves, much less water. These landless families had no hope to afford anything better. But we wanted to give them that hope.
The first house we worked on was for Bo and Emma Johnson. Sadly, Clarence died of a heart attack before that house was completed. But Linda and I were committed to finishing the work. And when we did finish, the Johnsons had a solid, concrete-block house with a modern kitchen, an indoor bathroom, and a good heating system. Their monthly mortgage on a twenty-year loan was $25. They cried. We all cried for the joy and love we all felt.
For five years, we built houses for people, and we clearly saw the difference decent housing made in people's lives. Then, for three years, we built houses in Africa. In 1976, we returned to Americus; it was then that we founded Habitat for Humanity.
Habitat is based on the guiding principle that all people deserve a decent place to live. And with enough people working together across this planet, I am convinced that we can abolish poverty housing altogether. So far, Habitat has provided housing for more than 350,000 people in more than 1,500 U.S. cities and sixty other countries. In 1998, we dedicated our 70,000th house.
Habitat doesn't work in a vacuum. The homeowners-to-be work directly with us to build their homes. And during that time, wonderful relationships are forged. But the most wonderful times of all are the dedication ceremonies, when the homeowners receive the keys to their new house and a Bible. Not much in my life touches me more than that. Every time, it's just one big love fest when the homeowners realize how many people really do care about them and are willing to turn that love into action.
I remember one homeowner in Wisconsin. She wanted to speak to the volunteers when she received her keys and Bible, but she couldn't say a word. She just cried and cried. She had asked her neighbors to come over so she could show them her beautiful new house, and they were so excited.
“Look at this beautiful bathroom. Oh, look at these cabinets—and this door.” You could hear the excitement in the neighbors’ voices as they filed through the house. But the woman couldn't answer them.
You just can't underestimate the impact that a safe, decent house can make on a family's life. I met one young boy who told me that his new home changed his outlook on school.
“I used to be bad in school. The teacher thought I was a bad person. But I was just worried we would have to move back into our car. Now, I get Bs all the time,” he said proudly.
As she shook my hand, one mother told me her new home improved her son's health. “Timmy used to have asthma all the time. But now our house is warm and safe, and he's off all medication,” she said with tears in her eyes. “He feels great.”
A solid home can absolutely transform a child's life, but Habitat's homes transform the volunteers, too. How can you not feel the love that comes from dozens of people working side by side for days at a time toward a common, worthwhile goal? Yes, we get sweaty and caked with dirt and paint, and more tired than we thought was possible. But we're doing the work the Lord told us to do—we are taking care of His people. What could possibly feel better?
I doubt anyone has felt Habitat's power to transform lives more than I have. I was on the verge of losing everything that truly meant anything to me. I had gone so far down the wrong track that I hadn't even noticed how empty my life had become. But when I turned my attention to helping other people, I healed myself and I healed my relationships with the people I loved.
In some ways, I'm the same person I was all those years ago. I'm still a hard worker, and I still want to succeed at what I'm doing. I'm still at the office at 5 A.M. sometimes. I'm still