I remember this vividly. It was during our first year of marriage, just a few weeks before Christmas. We had driven to our landlord’s home to pay the rent for the small house where we were living. By “small,” I mean the house was no bigger than 800 square feet—featuring a tiny living room with no furniture, a small kitchen and dining area that lacked a table, and a bedroom with a fire-damaged mattress. We paid our monthly rent of $50, and while we were there, we noticed a Sears catalog on the table. Sensing our interest, they gave it to us, their outdated Sears catalog.

What’s that? Are you laughing at what seems like an absurd gift? Please don’t. You weren’t there. You can’t imagine the isolation and loneliness a young couple feels when they are poor and cut off from the more prosperous community surrounding them. When you see a less fortunate person in a shopping mall, it’s important to understand that they are living in a vastly different world—a world of survival, not pleasure. We couldn’t afford anything in that Sears catalog, but it became a source of dreams for us.

Yes, dreams. When we returned to our small house, we spent the evening imagining the many appealing items displayed in the catalog: new window curtains, perhaps a throw rug, clothes, a washing machine, and a complete set of dinnerware. These items formed the basis of our dreams, aspirations we envisioned for our lives after my military commitment, which was still a few years away.

There was more to our visit. Our landlords were a couple in their 50s, living in a lovely brick home. When we entered their residence to pay our rent, we felt a sense of stability, safety, and an assurance for the future that we couldn’t grasp during my military service. The stark contrast between their lives and ours was staggering; we felt as though we were in a world far removed from theirs. The dreams ignited by that Sears catalog created a bridge for us to contemplate a better future.

That I remember what could have been a trivial experience underscores its profound impact on our young lives. Whenever you encounter struggling young couples, know that there is no quick fix or simple monetary gift that will resolve their challenges. Their path to a better life unfolds slowly: offer them hope, nurture their dreams, and help them find a way forward. This support is a gift far more valuable than money. They need someone to help them see beyond the clouds to the sunshine ahead. That simple gift of a Sears catalog shattered our cloudy overhang and empowered our dreams—dreams that, over time, we turned into reality.

Years later, we reflect on that period of our lives, marked by a lack of phones, TVs, or other items that symbolize stability and belonging to an established community. Even with so little, we always felt we had so much. We had a place to live, there was always food available, and we found ways to entertain ourselves and enjoy life. I miss the simplicity of that time and the dreams we shared. That Sears catalog fulfilled its purpose: we could envision that our situation would eventually change, that life progresses in stages. Dreams are built on what we can visualize, and from there, we move through life’s transitions. Those memories are priceless.