If you are a mother, you are likely to scroll through your pictures at night – just after you put your kids to bed. And, if you’re anything like me, you don’t just stop at today’s images.
Tag: Mother
I took my 1-year-old on a mission trip. Here’s what happened
It’s a scene no mother envisions: your 1-year-old child running barefoot through a church made of two double-wides in the middle of West Virginia. And, yet, this is a quintessential moment from my first mission trip with my daughter.
To be honest, it was a beautiful sight. You see, in coal country, there is an emerging trend to combat vast unemployment, uncomfortable outside aid, and limited access to essential services.
Cease having children.
When I agreed to join this service opportunity, I didn’t realize that my little girl would be the youngest child I would encounter on the trip. I live in the Deep South, and babies are everywhere. But this is not true in the heart of Appalachia, and it would be my daughter who gave this community what I could not: hope.
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The Thanksgiving Torch
I started a fire…in the kitchen…the day before Thanksgiving. Needless to say, I make a terrible Southern woman.
Family, at All Costs
When I was single, I indulged in Hemingway. I have always been equally fascinated and repulsed by his life. His words – the ones that alcoholism and recklessness produced – sang to me a song my heart knew so well: Love hurts.
Early in my blogging journey it became clear to me that I was no Hemingway – that the kind of sacrifices famous writers have made were no option for me.
My family will always win.
Rest in Me*
Today we embark on our first mission trip together. We’re not traveling to Africa or China. Our service will be in the mountains of West Virginia.
Mountains Beyond Mountains
I don’t believe loving someone is ever easy, especially when it’s a stranger.
Yesterday, I shared a piece I wrote the day after Election 2016. Emotions were high, much of our nation was baffled, and experience reminded me that loving people is complicated.
But, just three days later, the hand I was dealt was angry, white, and male.
And for the very first time, I absorbed hatred in the presence of my children.
The Ugly Years
Just before I graduated high school, I got this amazing idea: chop off all of your hair (think Mandy Moore c. 2003). Ashamedly, I did not have Locks of Love in mind. No, I was entirely selfish.
I wanted a new start.
You see, hair has always been my calling card. I have never dyed or treated my hair and somehow – by the blessing of God – I maintained golden locks for the first three decades of my life.
My mother’s experience, however, would foreshadow my own: blonde until babies. And, right on time, I gradually lost my sun-kissed signature hair in the years following childbirth.
But it was impossible for me to predict the other changes that were simultaneously emerging – the widening hips, the spider veins, and the wrinkles.
The ugly years, without my consent, had arrived.
Go, Sell, and Give*
It all felt like a drug deal gone bad.
There I was, in the dark of night, driving to a gas station to meet someone I barely knew. An exchange was to occur.
Only, this time, I was the supplier.
Motherhood will make you do crazy things.
The Ride of 2016
I don’t know about you, but Election 2016 has left me pretty nauseated. I no longer enjoy the news, small talk, or Facebook.
It’s like the whole of politics has played Grinch for all of 2016.
I think we’d like our happiness back.
