Once Upon a Time…

Now that I’m a mother of twenty/thirty-somethings I find it refreshing to go through their early photo albums; when they were really young.

I regard fondly the exuberant, toothless smile on my oldest’s face during a photo shoot at Olan Mills poised with a piano, shiny chin, one year old.


First portrait years before selfies!

The little boy, whom I worried about unpacking his brown paper bag and eating lunch all alone on his first day at Montessori Children’s House and School, (MCHS) is now a free lance film editor and post production-ist all the way-away in California.


Self portrait at Disneyland

I look at my youngest son with delight in his Flintstone car and fancy suit taken one Christmas.


Car enthusiast

The little boy who would run over to me at the park and complain that a girl was asking him to be her friend, has parked fancy cars at expensive hotels and restaurants, been sponsored as a rock climber and is now married, living in a Tiny House and co-founder and speaker for the non-profit, Window to the Wild.


Wildlife enthusiast

I smile with my eldest daughter, carefree, hair in a long braided pony, foot firmly planted on the three legged cow stool that got lost in the move somewhere.


Always with a smile…

The little girl who had to wear an eye patch growing up and rushed to the help of anyone who needed it, served as a missionary on Mercy Ships and is now a full time nanny, loves to travel and is making a difference in God’s world.



I giggle when I look at my youngest holding up an outfit with a quizzical expression on her face.


Should I put these on now?

The little girl who changed clothes several times before breakfast and started ballet and theatre at a young age, is living with her husband on our property in the peace and quiet of rural Texas and still dresses the part as she leaps between jobs at the dance studios where she now works.


Still got the leaps!

As a new, young mum I had plans for and murmured thanksgivings over my babies.

I could not know the trials and tribulations that would rise up to strengthen or dishearten them but I did know I could lay foundational habits to sustain them,

and say prayers for their well-being.

I could let them go when the time came to fly the coop,

and Trust them: Trust myself: Trust God.

No mother sees the prisoner, the addict or the terminally ill,

the victim, the criminal, or the abused in her slumbering child.

Her heart would shatter into a thousand pieces if she did.

Her hope would break anchor and float away with her dreams and blessings.

Instead she sees the promise, the happiness, the joy, and wraps her arms a little tighter around her dozing toddler and vows to keep her safe for as long as she can.

Then gently kisses his brow and watches the smile as it plays across his face,

Full of Grace.

Now that I’m a mother of twenty/thirty-somethings I find it soothing to go through their early photo albums to remind me that once-upon-a-time they were young and innocent and completely mine.

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2018-05-08 21:43:06 Reply

and mine!


2018-05-13 04:29:14 Reply

Thank you for sharing your lovely writing and memories. Really enjoying your podcast and your interview with Carol Barnier.


    2018-05-14 16:04:14 Reply

    Happy you found me. Thanks for the appreciation.

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