Mothers – Tattoo It On Your Heart

Empty Arms to Full Heart: One Mom’s Story

This particular Mother’s Day is perfect. For the first time in two decades, it doesn’t break my heart. Twenty years ago, Mother’s Day was far from perfect. Fifteen years ago, it was difficult. Ten years ago—you get the idea…

Windsong

I needed to return and see if it was true. My sudden departure and extended absence left me longing for closure. I hadn’t said goodbye to my childhood home in Jamaica. Up the winding mountain route with its lush tropical vistas, past the vendors of fruit and roadside roasted corn. Over Flat Bridge edged with inches-high stone hemispheres and hung just over the troubled Rio Cobre River. In heavy rains, the waters cover the bridge, but not on this day. Through the cool shade of the bamboo arched Fern Gully roadway to Windsong, Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Ocho Rios, where I grew up. I prayed the new owners would let me on the grounds and was grateful when they welcomed me.

Childhood Christmases in Jamaica

Long talks and late-night laughter filled the warm December days and cool nights in Jamaica, my childhood home.

Missing from the Manger

Christmas 2017

In the year of our meager manger, a snowman made of sand, a lone shepherd, and two sheep showed up for the annual frenzied day-of-decoration at our home.—Sans Mary, Joseph, Jesus, or anyone else.

A Second Wind & Christmas Clementines

~Second Wind~

With Christmas days away and money scant for gifts, I determined to live up to my nickname, the Queen of Make-Do.

Piece of My Heart

Hi, my name is “Ridiculous” and sometimes it’s “Crazy,” and I am a P.O.T. (Parent of Teen). My support group is Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and other mothers. My only escape is prayer.

So I prayed, “God, give me children lest I die!” and He gave us children. Then, sometimes I want to die. And we parents do die, right? Every. Single. Day. For-the-rest-of-our-lives.

Yeah, this is where I live and I can’t move out because it’s a lifetime lease. How about you fellow P.O.T.s? (And yes, you POPs (parents of prodigals), MOPs and MOAs and ones in between those too.) Do you ever tell God, “Hey God, this was Your idea! You told me to be fruitful and multiply. So God, You have to help me! Help me help them—in Jesus’ name, amen. Please.”

I don’t drink, I don’t swear, and I don’t believe in happy pills, but there’ve been times I wished I did. I used to swear a lot, especially right before I became a Born Again Christian. But then I gave my heart to Jesus and I had no inkling to swear again—until my firstborn turned fifteen. Then I found myself going, “mmmmm…help me Jesus!” And there are three more after her!

Chosen

Guest Post by Norma Poore (and some bonuses)

At six years old I was a red-headed, freckled-faced little girl and an orphan once again. I believed I was unlovable. With the death of my foster mom, I was taken from my beloved family who could no longer take care of me.

Part 2: A Conversation with U.S. Army Chaplain, Special Needs Parent and Writer Brad Lee

Welcome to Part 2 of 2 of A Conversation with United Army Chaplain, Special Needs Parent, and Writer Brad Lee. In this video segment Chaplain Lee is joined by his wife, Lori and they share more about life as a military family with six children, one of whom has Downs Syndrome and Autism. Lori gives insights on how we can support military wives and parents of special needs children and more.

#FaithOverFear from the Perspective of a Mom, Nurse, and Teacher

There’s only one explanation for Robin—Jesus. And also for her sons Miles and Jake. Robin and Jake are nurses currently caring for Covid19 patients. Miles serves as a teacher in Malaysia. Robin is also an award winning author, speaker, and leader of Higher Ground Outreach ministry for incarcerated women. What an honor to interview them during Teacher and Nurse Appreciation Week and in time for Mother’s Day, and to share their timely and timeless, inspiring and joy filled stories with you in these two videos and the article that follows.

The Little Things

Rachael_M_Colby_Tattoo_It_On_Your_Heart_For_the_Prodigal's _Mom_The_ Little_ Things.jpg It’s easy to miss the journey en route to the destination—to overlook or brush aside the little things, the simple things.

Sometimes in the midst of all the crazy tug of war and the growing pains I wonder what my kids are thinking. What memories do they have of growing up? So, I was blessed to overhear a conversation between my daughters about a little boy they babysit sometimes. Here it is:

“He’s got a great personality. But I just want to take him and mold him—give him my childhood. I want to take him to the library and make him sit there and read for hours!”

101_0302-001 I’m so glad we have those memories. We were the only ones with a book bag with wheels at the time and we always had library fines; still do. I often fell asleep reading my children bedtime stories.

Anna Lisa my little bow legged ballerina has turned into a beauty. Her name means bountiful and gracious or graceful—and she is. It doesn’t seem that long ago that she was popping the heads off her Barbie dolls, and then she graduated to lopping chicken heads off on a Kenyan mission trip.

“Mom,” she said. “ I’m late because on my way home there was a pick-up truck in front of me filled with dirt and it smelled like Africa—so I didn’t take my turn. I followed it for awhile just so I could smell it.”

One evening she stood sobbing in the living room after a really rough day as summer camp unit director. “Anna,” her father said, “You don’t have to work there. You could get a job at another camp where the kids are easier to deal with.”

“But I don’t want to quit. I love it there.” she said as tears streamed down her face. Rachael_M_Colby_Tattoo_It_On_Your_Heart_#ThankATeacher

She loves the tough kids. She graduated last May and now she is an English teacher. She is one of my 11 interviewees in my prior article featuring teachers.

Sometimes those little things aren’t so little—like taking your kids to the library. Like the smell of Kenyan dirt and how the simple smile of a little child can light the darkest place.