A letter to the person in the garage

You don't know this exists yet.

Somewhere right now you're in a garage or a workshop or a spare bedroom that smells like sawdust or solder or paint that hasn't dried. You're making something. You've been making things for years. Maybe decades.

You're good at it. You know you're good at it. The handful of people who've seen your work tell you it's beautiful.

But you can count those people on one hand.

You don't have a website. Or you have one your nephew made in 2019 and it still says “Coming Soon” on three of the pages. You don't post on social media because you don't know what to say under a photo of something you made with your hands. “Here's a thing I built” doesn't feel like enough and everything else feels like bragging. So you don't post anything.

You've thought about craft fairs. You've looked at Etsy. You've read about the fees and the photography requirements and the shipping labels and the customer service emails and the SEO optimization and you've closed the laptop and gone back to the workshop because at least in there the work speaks for itself.

“I like to make them for the people.
For their pets.”

Paul Allabaugh · March 8, 2026

Paul Allabaugh was you.

Not like you. Not similar to you. You.A man who could build something stunning before lunch and couldn't figure out how to get it to the person who would have cried when they saw it. He made wooden rainbow bridges for people whose pets passed on. Painted arcs of wood that hold the weight of a memory. He made hundreds of them. His workshop was full. His garage was full. His living room was full.

He sold almost none. On March 30, 2026, the gap got wider than he could survive. Read Paul’s full story →

We built Rainbow Bridge of Hope to sell every bridge Paul left behind. They're selling. The campaign is working. And when the last bridge finds a home, we need someone to make the next one.

Not a factory. Not a brand. A person.

Someone who builds beautiful things in a garage at midnight and wonders if anyone will ever see them.

A message from Jason · Video coming

What happens after the last bridge finds a home.

Paul built every Rainbow Bridge by hand. When the last of his is gone, the grieving pet owners don't stop arriving. The families don't stop needing something to hold. The mission outlives the inventory.

If you're a maker — a woodworker, a painter, a welder, a potter, an artist of any material — and something in this story reached you, I want to talk. We're not looking for a replacement for Paul. There isn't one. We're looking for the next chapter. The next maker who wants to build something a grieving family keeps on their mantle for twenty years.

You'd come in under your own name, your own style, your own hands. Rainbow Bridge of Hope is the door. Pat is in the coalition. 988 stays on every page. We'll walk you through how this works.

If that's you — read the rest of this page, then reach out. We'll talk.

(Filming this as soon as we can. Until then, this is the message.)

We're not asking you to be Paul. Nobody can be Paul. We're asking you to be the next chapter. To take the audience, the brand, the community, and the story that Rainbow Bridge of Hope already built and make it yours. Your style. Your materials. Your hands. Under the Rainbow Bridge of Hope name, with 988 on every page, because that's what this mission is and always will be.

How It Works

50%

Goes to you. Your livelihood, not volunteer work.

30%

Runs the operations that get your bridges to people.

10%

Funds suicide prevention. Because that never stops.

10%

Goes to a charity of your choosing. Your mission at the table.

You don't have to be good at marketing. You don't have to know how to build a website. You don't have to write emails or run ads or talk to strangers at a craft fair. We do all of that. You just have to be good at making beautiful things and willing to let someone else get them to the world.

That's the gap Paul couldn't cross. We close it. For him. For you. For every craftsman who ever wondered if the work was worth it when nobody was watching.

If that's you, go to the link below. Tell us who you are. Tell us what you make. Show us one photo. Jason reads every application personally.

We figured it out too late for Paul. We won't be too late for you.

Apply as a Successor Craftsman

Tell us who you are. Tell us what you make. Show us one photo.

If you or someone you know is struggling:

Call or text 988

Because Paul said tomorrow too.

#SaveOneThenMORE

“No weapon forged against you will prevail.”

Isaiah 54:17

For the makers

When the last bridge sells, the mission doesn't end.

Paul made every bridge by hand. When the last of his finds a home, the inventory is gone — but the grieving pet owners don't stop arriving. The families don't stop needing something to hold.

We're looking for the next maker. A woodworker. A painter. A welder. A potter. A photographer. An illustrator. A sculptor. An artist of any medium who can build something a family keeps on their mantle for twenty years. You don't have to be Paul. Nobody can be. You can be the next chapter — under your own name, your own style, your own hands.

Photographers, illustrators, metalworkers, glass artists, weavers — the medium doesn't matter. The grief doesn't pick a form. Whatever you make, if it can carry someone's love for the animal they lost, this door is yours.

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