A Place to Stay (Part 3): Found by the Amish

Author and Amish taxi driver Haley Straw shares part three of a four-part Christmas series. It follows the true story of a young boy from Chicago, whose longing for warmth and belonging sends him on an unlikely winter journey toward an Amish community he’d only read about in a library book.

This retelling draws from the original “Please Let Me Stay” account shared in a private family history book. If you missed part one, you’ll find it here, and part two is here.

When the Journey Breaks Open

Some journeys don’t end where we expect them to. They end where exhaustion finally loosens its grip—and where help is already waiting.

Part 1 told us how a boy’s dream of home was born in the pages of a library book. Part 2 showed us the cost of chasing that dream through snow, hunger, and fear.

Part 3 is where the story turns. Not because W.M. had reached the Amish on his own—but because, when he could go no farther, they came to him.

What follows comes directly from W.M.’s own words, preserved in his family’s private history book. Only light edits have been made for clarity. The heart of it remains exactly as he lived it.

Waking to White Walls

As I slowly woke up, I became aware of activity around me.

I was lying in a bed with things hanging over my head, and people gathered at the foot of it. I pretended to still be sleeping, opening my eyes just a tiny bit so I could see what was happening.

I saw a tall lady dressed in white—she must have been a nurse.

“We don’t know who he is,” she said. “As he was being brought to the hospital, he kept saying, ‘Amish.’ We’ve called for some Amish to come see if we can unravel this mystery. Oh—here they come now.”

I could not believe my ears. The Amish were here.

Beards from the Book

Two men walked into the room, and they looked just like the men in the pictures from the book.

The tall woman introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Miss Joyce Barr, a social worker with the State of Indiana. This young man was found with his foot caught on the step of a semi-truck. He was very cold. We don’t know who he is, but he kept saying ‘Amish’ in the ambulance.”

I opened my eyes a little wider, trying to take it all in. The men stroked their beards as they looked at me.

“I don’t think we can help you,” one finally said. “We aren’t missing anyone.”

Miss Barr shook her head. “What are we to do? Our agencies close over the holidays. The hospital wants him discharged as soon as he wakes up—there’s nothing physically wrong with him, and no one to pay the bill. We may have to place him in a foster home.”

A Word That Felt Like Cold

A foster home.

I didn’t know what that was—but the word foster sounded like frost, and frost was cold.

I had already been cold enough. Please, don’t send me somewhere cold again.

Miss Barr continued, “Mr. and Mrs. Henry Yoder are approved for foster care, and they are Amish. Do you think they would take the boy until we decide what to do?”

One of the men nodded. “Yes, I believe they would. Their family is coming home for Christmas, but I don’t think they would mind having this lad.”

Questions Without Answers

By then, they noticed I was fully awake.

Miss Barr began asking questions.

“What is your name?”

“W.M.”

“What does W.M. stand for?”

“I… I do not know.”

They asked more questions—questions I couldn’t answer, and questions I didn’t want to answer. All I wanted was to go to the Amish home.

So I stopped answering. And somehow, that was answer enough.

Christmas Eve at the Yoders’

Miss Barr drove me to the Henry Yoder home.

The next few days are a blur in my memory. The sounds, smells, and sights were more than my tired head could hold.

By December 24th, I barely remember eating supper. The table was covered with food.

They told me they were going to pray before we ate. I didn’t know what that meant.

“Fold your hands,” they said. “Close your eyes.”

I tried to swallow, but there was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t move.

I watched more than I spoke.

The chatter, the warmth, the love—it filled me with emotions I had never known before. It was too much for a boy from the south side of Chicago.

A Place to Sleep

That night, I slept on a cot in the hallway next to Eli’s room. He was six months younger than I was.

I fell asleep quickly—exhausted from everything that had happened.

For the first time in a long while, I slept somewhere warm.

The Softest Thing on the Road

Reflecting on this part of W.M.’s story, I’m reminded of how grace often arrives like a soft landing, after the danger has passed and fears have given way to surrender.

Courage takes many forms.

Sometimes it looks like a boy whispering Amish into the dark. Sometimes it looks like strangers willing to open their home on Christmas Eve.

Hope in something doesn’t always make it so. It gives us the momentum to reach a point where a solution is actually possible.

And grace? Grace is the moment when the door finally opens—and you’re invited to stay.

Christmas morning arrives in a home that is not his—but feels like it might be. In Part 4, a boy joins chores, prayers, and a table longer than anything he has ever seen. When the family bows their heads, his own prayer rises unplanned—and breaks him open. What follows will shape the rest of his life… and leave readers with a question that still aches decades later.

Haley Straw is a barefoot Amish taxi driver with a storyteller’s heart and a knack for collecting the kinds of tales the Amish whisper on long night drives. She shares those stories — including this Christmas series — the way they were given to her: gently, gratefully, and with a little lantern-light warmth. You can find her books and free Amish-inspired goodies at haleystraw.com.

Get the Amish in your inbox

Join 15,000 email subscribers. No spam. 100% free

 

 

 

Subscribe