My name is Craig Richardson. I’m a disabled Army veteran, former military police officer, and someone who has spent years learning how to live after surviving more than most people know how to carry. I joined the military to follow in the footsteps of my father, a police officer who died in the line of duty when I was five. What I found was trauma, betrayal, and a body left broken by war, car accidents, and years of service. What I lost was direction. What I gained—eventually—was the realization that I wasn’t the only one searching for peace.

For years I struggled with PTSD, traumatic brain injuries, and the aftermath of a life that rarely made space for healing. I spent time in VA hospitals, in dead-end jobs, and at rock bottom more than once. For a long time, survival was the only plan. I did what I had to do—lied on job applications, worked through pain, slept in a camper when I had nowhere else to go. But through it all, I kept fighting, not just for myself, but for the hope that something better was possible. And somewhere along the way, I found stillness again—not in a therapist’s office, but next to a creek, with a fishing rod in my hand. But I didn’t get there alone.

It was Jessica—my wife, my partner, and the heart of this mission—who encouraged me to keep going. To believe there could be something more than survival. Without her strength and her belief in me, Still Waters wouldn’t exist. It wouldn’t even be a thought.

That peace became something worth sharing. That’s what led me to help create Still Waters. I don’t want others—veterans, kids, or anyone carrying invisible wounds—to wait years to feel seen. If I can offer them even one quiet moment of belonging, one memory that reminds them they’re more than what’s broken, then that’s a life well lived.

Jessica Richardson has spent her life fighting for those who can’t always fight for themselves. As a former child advocacy professional, she worked with high-risk and at-risk children across the state—stepping into some of the hardest moments in a young person’s life and doing everything she could to help them find safety, stability, and hope.

What most people never saw was the pain she carried beneath the surface. Jessica once broke her back—and still pushed through recovery to keep working, because stopping wasn’t an option. That’s the kind of person she is. Quietly strong. Relentlessly loyal. Someone who shows up, even when no one else does.

Her fire comes from her father, Dale—a kind and steady soul who battled cancer for years before passing away. He was her biggest influence, her emotional compass, and the person she misses every day. Jessica sees him in the way she parents their daughter. In how fiercely she protects her family. In how she leads with compassion, but never backs down when something matters.

Today, Jessica helps lead The Still Waters Project—not from behind a desk, but from the heart. Her mission is simple: to create spaces where kids can be kids again. Where the noise of trauma fades for a while, and peace has room to breathe. This isn’t just something she helps run. It’s something she lives for.

Still Waters wasn’t born in a boardroom. It came from pain, from exhaustion, and from two people trying to build something better after life nearly broke them in different ways. Craig carried the weight of war, trauma, and loss. Jessica carried the heartbreak of watching children fall through cracks that never should have been there. Neither of us were looking to start a nonprofit. We were looking for peace—for ourselves, for our family, and for anyone who had forgotten what that word felt like.

What we found was that peace didn’t live in a job or a paycheck. It lived in quiet moments. In fishing poles and still mornings. In watching a kid smile who hadn’t smiled in a while. That’s when we realized: healing doesn’t have to be complicated. It just has to be offered. Shared. Made real.

We built Still Waters to give that healing away—to veterans, to children, to families, to anyone who’s tired of holding it all in. This isn’t just our project. It’s our purpose. And it’s only just beginning.