When I was little, I apparently had very klutzy dolls, because I was always bandaging up their “boo boos.”
When anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, without hesitation, I wanted to be a nurse.
I entered nursing school in the fall of 1966.
I had visions of floating into each injured or sick person’s life and doing something magical (that “something” I expected to learn about in nursing school) that would fix everything.
However, right away I discovered that there were some illnesses far worse than the ones I knew about. There were pains that went beyond agony and did not stop.
There were people who died, some not peacefully.
I almost quit in my first year. I was making good grades, but my heart was being broken over and over again.
I remembered giving an impassioned speech in my senior high school career class. I ended with the statement, “To be a nurse is to walk with God!” I wondered where He was.
I did stay in college for four years and graduated on June 4, 1970 with a BSN.
This picture was taken on that day.
I had not learned anything magical about how to fix people, but I had learned a tremendous amount about God’s Presence in the midst of suffering.
I had learned how some people were able to suffer and still be witnesses of God’s Love.
And I had seen the nurses who never quit. They never gave up. They stayed in the trenches, so some could get out.
Graduation Day was only the beginning of the nursing journey. Life after that day took me to many places as a nurse. I would have to write a book to share it all (and who knows, maybe I will!).
The one thing that sums it all up is still “to be a nurse is to walk with God.” But remember God goes all kinds of places you might not choose.
I taught nursing after a long career of working in hospitals. A student asked me if I had it to do over again, if I would still want to be a nurse.
I had to do some serious thinking before I answered.
My answer is yes. When God taps you to go on a Mission with Him, it’s an honor. Accept it with humility.
Happy Memories to the 1970 Nursing Class of Medical University of South Carolina!
It still amazes me how a song from the past can magically take us back to where we were when we first heard it.
Tonight I heard the song, Magic Moments, sung by Perry Como. There is a good chance you youngsters have never heard of him.
But in the late 1950s, when I was a child, he hosted a variety show on tv. Perry started his career as a barber, but his smooth, easy voice was soon noticed, and the rest, as they say, was history.
My memories of Perry are only a gateway to my memories of what it was like to watch tv in those days.
The tv was much smaller than our big screen of today. There was no remote. Often the youngest, most able bodied person was tapped to go to the tv and turn a knob to change the channel.
There was no streaming. Channels were limited to what you could get from the tv station located closest to where you lived.
We lived in a small town between several major tv stations. We could get two channels from Augusta, Georgia, two channels from Savannah, Georgia and two channels from Charleston, South Carolina. We were amazed at all these choices.
There was a slight hitch, however, to getting a clear picture. The antenna on top of the house had to face in the perfect direction. To accomplish this, someone had to turn a device on top of the tv to move the antenna.
Periodically, usually after the winds of the thunderstorms that frequented that area, the antenna would get stuck.
When that happened, one person would have to go out and watch what was happening with the antenna while someone inside moved the device back and forth.
It usually required a third person to stand at the window and relay messages back and forth between the person watching the roof top antenna and the person inside fiddling with the tuner.
If that did not work, someone would have to go up to the roof and pull and push on the antenna to get it moving.
Of course, by this time, we may have missed the show. Again, there was no streaming. The show came on and ended at defined times. If you were not there, you missed it.
And speaking of missing it, many people took their bathroom breaks on the commercials. If anyone took too long, there were shouts of, “Hurry up! It’s starting!”
Since the time limit of the commercials was brief, usually only one person at a time could go to the bathroom. Anyone else would have to wait for the next commercial.
TV shows were family friendly. No cussing. No sex. Even married couples slept in separate beds. No political overtones except heavy doses of patriotism.
There were mysteries, westerns, cartoons, and family shows. There was comedy and variety shows. The choices were outlined in a little book called TV guide, which arrived in the mail every week.
We all reviewed the guide and agreed on what to watch. Since there were family favorites, it was usually an easy choice. But we understood that in the case of dissension, the parents decided.
There was only once I can remember that my mother cast a vote against my father. I begged to watch a much publicized episode of the Ed Sullivan show. He was going to introduce a young boys’ band from England. They were called The Beatles.
My mother thought we should see what all the fuss was about. My father tried to keep an open mind. But after a couple of lines, he folded his arms and said, “That’s disgusting. Turn that noise off.”
My mother suggested he go get a snack from the kitchen. He did. We watched it!
My father was a mailman and also an avid gardener. This meant weather forecasts were important to him. The world stopped when the weatherman came on (And yes, for some reason they were all men.)
Living between Augusta, Savannah and Charleston, he watched them all and tried to “average” them to figure out the weather for our location. I was amazed at how many times he got it right!
And remember, watching the different locations required a quick tune of the channel dial and turning the antenna.
Anyone watching the turning antenna on our roof every night between 6 and 7 probably shook their heads and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just Horace getting the weather!” (And sometimes people would call to see what he had calculated our weather to be.)
Those times were family times. We smiled, laughed and sometimes cried together. We watched the news and were amazed that we could find out what was happening outside our little town.
My parents would be amazed at the television of today. The big screen tv with surround sound and endless choices of what to watch is far more than they could have imagined back then.
Being able to watch when you decide to watch and just putting it on pause when you want to go to the bathroom would wow them.
But even more, having a remote where you can change the channel from the comfort of your chair, all without messing with an antenna, would be truly amazing to them.
I enjoy the way things are now, but I also enjoy the memories of that time from long ago when we shared magic moments.
If you would like to remember (or if you are younger, just imagine), close your eyes and listen to Perry. Here is the link.
We are excited to share we are close to publication of our next book!
Sent From Heaven, Why You Are Here was the first book of a projected Heaven trilogy.
Now comes the second book, Heaven On Earth, Your Mission! The first book explored how carefully God prepared us to come to earth. This book explores what we do while we are here.
As with so many other projects, what someone said of us long ago is true. I dream it up, but Jay makes it happen! I just write. Jay does all the rest. And “all the rest” is most of it.
However, all the credit goes to God, Who has allowed us to come along with Him while He continues to create.
Please pray for us as we enter the home stretch of another publishing adventure!
There are many moments that give previews of the adults children will become. Today I am thinking of one of them.
Our daughter was single digits in years. She attended a summer camp. Part of the activities was to compete in a swim meet at a local pool.
As the eager participants got ready to swim, they discovered the camp had made a mistake and somehow our daughter’s name was left off the list. Everyone felt bad, but since all lanes were filled, at first it appeared she would not be able to swim.
However, finally a decision was made she would swim … alone … after all the others had vacated the pool. One might have thought pity for the poor kid who got left out. But true to the woman she would become, she took that moment and made it her own.
She swam purposely and beautifully and all eyes were on her with awe and approval. When the moment of applause and cheers came, she knew they were all for her. And I was one proud Mama.
Various other times in life, it appeared the deck was stacked against her, but she did not give up. She has a courage and drive within her that is surely God given.
Sometimes the outcome was what she wanted. Sometimes it was not. But in every case, people remembered the courageous child/teen/young woman who gave it her all.
And many times on subsequent picks, she was selected because of the courage and skills she demonstrated earlier.
I think of her when I hear the song, The Impossible Dream, because it describes her so well. But I also smile to realize how many dreams were not impossible. Because she gave it all she had and trusted the rest to God, the impossible happened.
I can hardly wait to see what’s next.
“The Impossible Dream”
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star!
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far!
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star!
music by Mitch Leigh
lyrics by Joe Darion
With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible!
I remember the moment it was confirmed I was going to have the joy of being a mother. There were no at home pregnancy tests in those days.
You had to go to the doctor and tell them about your new GI symptoms, increasing bust size, and menstrual periods being late.
You then had to have tests and wait for the results to see if you had a disease or something much more joyful to look forward to.
Jay and I were both home the afternoon the nurse in the doctor’s office called with the results. She said, “Congratulations, Mrs, Jones, you’re going to be a mother!”
And, of course, more accurately I was already a mother at that time. Jay and I sat on the floor under that wall phone and held each other, as it sank in that our lives were about to change monumentally.
And it did. From the first feeling that a butterfly was loose in my body to the poking, prodding and frank kicks from inside, Jr. made her presence known.
We had to call her junior because we did not know whether the baby was a boy or a girl. In those days, people often did not know until the baby was delivered.
Jr. and I had quite a bond after I passed the point of thinking I was going to throw her up. In fact, we had such a bond that she attempted to make it a permanent arrangement. The due date came and went, and she refused to budge.
At over ten months, I told the doctor if he did not do something, I would lie across the door to his office and make his patients step over me.
The threat worked. She was evicted the next day by C section. This was good with me since she was breech and the size of a one month old.
It’s been quite a few years now, but I still remember the wonder of holding that beautiful baby and realizing I was really a mother. Jr. became Jennifer.
And oh the stories I could tell about being a mother to a child, who was both sweet and sassy, charming, witty and at times too smart for me to have a good comeback. When you are ready to lecture your kid for what appears to be a problem and then they give you an explanation that you know should not make sense, but it does … you’re stuck.
Jennifer taught me so much about life. Her endless questions and comments caused me to reevaluate what I thought I knew.
We always talked. When she was younger, she rode with me. When she was old enough to drive, I rode with her. The car became our chat room. Problems were solved. Dreams were hatched.
I never understood the feelings of sadness I had after Jennifer was born. After all, my body was celebrating relief after the long pregnancy. Jennifer was still right there with me.
And yet a part of me wanted us to be attached forever. Maybe it was a premonition of what would come years later.
Motherhood is about giving your child both roots and wings. Roots were easier than wings. After navigating childhood and teen years, there came the big change.
College began to put physical distance between us. Careers after college increased the distance. We talked. We FaceTimed.
But I had to face the fact my baby was not an extension of me. She was not even a copy of me. She had grown up ideas that were different from me. We both had to learn that was ok.
And then came the next delight of life. Jennifer gave us a son in law. And I got to see my daughter as a wife. This started a whole new way to bond as we could talk woman to woman about our men.
And then came the next peak of motherhood. Jennifer became a mother and I became a grandmother!
And the joys just kept coming. She and the family moved back to our area. They live right down the road. So, not only do I get the joy of seeing the grandchild grow up, I get to see the mother Jennifer has become.
It’s quite an experience to hear her say things I once said to her. And also to hear what I did not say. I am a lot more relaxed with the grandchild, who pretty much has me wrapped around his little finger.
Grandma advocates for him regularly and tries to get his Mom to lighten up. When I tell her I am the mother and what I say should go, she tells me I am like the Queen Mother, loved and respected, but essentially having no power.
And so we continue on this Mother’s Day 2026. I am filled with gratitude that God gave me the honor of being a mother to a remarkable young woman who is also a wonderful mother.
As we now celebrate Mother’s Day, let us not forget there are many who cannot celebrate in the same joyful way.
I invite you to join me in prayer for these mothers.
Those who did not have loving mothers. Their memories are painful.
Those who were left by their mothers. A part of them remembers growing near their mother’s heart, but they never had the joy of a continued sharing of life.
Those who had abortions and regret it. Many carry the silent grief of all they could have had, but chose not to. No matter what the reason for their choice, their hearts still remember what they tried to get their bodies to forget.
Those who are raising children, who are challenged by disabilities. They carry burdens every day as they help their children face the world. They are tired. They are stressed. But they never give up.
Those whose children have left and never returned. They carry the pain of waiting for the phone call or waiting for the closed door to open again.
Those whose children have chosen badly, in spite of all their efforts to teach them and guide them. They are horrified, as they visit their children behind plate glass or in cemeteries. They still ask themselves what they could have done to prevent such tragedies.
Those whose children have died, whether it was from miscarriage, illness, accidents or senseless violence. They still seek answers. They still long for their children.
Those who long to be mothers, but it has not happened yet. They are already mothers in their hearts, but their bodies are not there yet.
Those whose mothers have died, whether young or old. They were not ready to let them go. They long to spend this Mother’s Day with them. They need their touch just one more time.
We see all of you in spirit and ask our Father God, Creator of the universe, to lift you up and strengthen you and give you renewed hope and faith.
You are treasured mothers and daughters. We remember you and lift you up.
As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you. Isaiah 66:13
Today I am remembering an important mother I never met … well not in the usual way anyway.
Her name is Amanda.
We are not related in the traditional way of kinship, but our DNA resides in a common place.
This is how it happened. Amanda was born and grew up in Honduras. She married and had four children.
It was not an easy life. There were financial challenges. In time she and her husband divorced.
Amanda came to the United States. She went through all the steps to become an American citizen.
She left her children in the care of her mother and sister in Honduras while she prepared a home for them in the United States.
When the time was right, she moved them to America. She instilled in them Christian values, a strong work ethic, and a desire to get a good education.
Her youngest son is our son in law. He is the father of our grandson. One of his greatest desires is to see his son grow up in a stable environment and have the opportunities to be all his son was created to be.
I had hoped to meet Amanda one day, but that will have to wait for heaven. Amanda was promoted a couple of years ago.
But one day, we will meet and perhaps we shall gush over our children and grandchildren and how God worked it all out to bring a young boy all the way from Honduras to eventually meet a young girl from Kentucky in a city far away from where either of them started.
And perhaps she and I shall recognize each other as distant relatives on earth, but daughters of the same Father in Heaven.
Thank you, Amanda, for never giving up on your dreams.
Thank you for assuring your children were cared for while you prepared a place for them.
Thank you for instilling in them the values that count.
I am sure you are proud of the man your son has become. And we are thankful he is a part of our family now too.
We are thankful for the legacy you left on earth and we will remember you in love. Until we meet in person one day, I know you will be enjoying Heaven.
Jay and I dated for two years before getting married. During that time, if I called his mother anything at all, it was Mrs. Jones.
After we decided to get married, she told me I did not need to be so formal anymore. I asked what I should call her. Jay suggested, “Just call her Mom.”
Mary Jo was horrified. It was as if someone had suggested taking away something of infinite value she would never relinquish.
She told both of us, “Absolutely not. I am Mother to only one person in the world and that is Jay. You can call me Mary Jo or Jo, but not Mom.”
And so began my life with Mary Jo that extended for 33 years.
She was totally loyal to anyone who gained her trust and totally confrontative with anyone who crossed her.
She was opinionated and always ready to take on any debate because she was convinced she was right and the other person just needed to be shown the error of their ways.
She was a financial genius. She and her financial advisor moved stocks around like they were day traders.
If we were going to buy anything, she was sure she could get a better deal. And she usually could. She was still “wheeling and dealing” a couple of weeks before her death.
She lived a fascinating and varied life. Even though she traveled the world, she always came home to Elizabethtown, Kentucky.
She, like her mother before her, was a genealogist. She was deeply rooted in the history of her native Hardin County, Kentucky. She researched and wrote extensively about the people and events.
While she was very skilled in tracing ancestry, she said a person’s life should not be reduced to just a line on a chart. She made every effort to find all she could about the people themselves.
She lived the truth that every life has a story. She was keenly aware she had a story and she was quick to tell it to anyone who would listen.
Near the end of her life, she realized she would not always be around to tell her own story. So more and more, she began to trust me with intimate glimpses into her life.
For all her accomplishments, what I shall remember most about her is how she loved those close to her.
She was a devoted daughter to her aging mother.
She gave her heart to a young soldier named Jim Jones. Their love lasted a lifetime. She said she would not want to live one day without Jim Jones. She did not have to. She died four years before he did.
She was a devoted Mom, who was involved in every chapter of her son’s life. She loved him totally and completely.
She was a doting grandmother. We never had to guess what our daughter should call her. As soon as she learned I was pregnant, she informed us she would be Granny and Jim would be Grampy. And they were.
And yes, even though initially there were some growing pains in allowing another woman to love her son, she adjusted to me.
Even though she never let me call her Mom, she showed her love for me. She called both Jay and me her children.
In her latter, reflective years, Mary Jo and I had many deep conversations about life, love, loss, the past and the unknown future.
No one would have guessed it, but she was a deeply spiritual person. She attended church, but her deepest worship came outside, walking in the woods, bird watching or simply reflecting on the wonder of God’s Creations.
She would not have wanted to wither away in a failing body. God took her quickly and unexpectedly.
In some ways, the massive stroke was like her life, a grand finale of a fireworks show. When it was over, we could only sit and try to process what we had seen.
I delivered the eulogy at Mary Jo’s funeral, carefully picking the parts of the story she was proudest of. I was very aware it was her story and she would liked to have been the one to tell it.
Mary Jo left us many things, both tangible and intangible. But one of my greatest treasures is on a scrap of paper.
Mary Jo had carefully written the last lines to Nancy Newhall’s poem. She kept it near her and read it frequently. She knew wherever her earth journey was going, she would eventually reach the top. And it would be worth the climb.
She wrote it to read it. But I think she also wrote it so we would know where she had gone and where to join her one day.
You shall top a rise and behold creation.
And you shall need the tongues of angels to tell what you have seen!
My Mother was a pray-er. She believed life was an ongoing communication with her Creator.
She talked to God, but more importantly
she listened.
And she never told God what to do.
Many of my prayers tend to be “Oh God, please do this like this.” I present the problem, tell God what He needs to do to fix it, and I tell Him when I need it.
Not my Mother. Her prayers were like hymns of thanksgiving. She spoke God’s Name with reverence and awe. She was aware she was in The Presence of God Himself.
She thanked Him that He was with her always and that He was with the person she was praying for.
She asked that the person become aware of His Presence and be filled with Love, Joy, and Peace in His Presence.
She thanked God that He had created that person with His Perfect Plans in mind. She did not try to tell God what she thought those Plans were. She simply rested in the certain knowledge that God knew The Plan and she thanked Him He was working out that Plan.
She asked if she was supposed to play a part in His Plan for that person, to please show her what He wanted her to do.
She thanked God for how He had brought that person to her attention and for the privilege of praying for them.
She prayed for everyone, including those who had brought her joy and those who had brought her pain.
She prayed for people she read about in the paper, people she heard about on the tv news, those she saw on the side of the road, those sitting in doctor’s offices, etc.
She considered every fire or police siren a call to prayer. She prayed for those responding and those being responded to.
She never complained or asked for release from any place she was. If she was a patient in the hospital, she considered it her mission field assignment. She prayed for the patients, visitors and staff.
She never tried to interfere with God’s Timing. Even though she would express a little bit of human frustration at times, she always knew God’s Timing was perfect.
She believed there was much to learn during those times of waiting on The Lord.
She frequently quoted Isaiah 40:31.
But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint.
She would say, “Be patient. God is filling you up, even now, with strength.”
If I whined about the lack of progress in a day, she would say, “He gives you just what you need now. He gave you enough strength for now, but He knows you need to rest a little longer, so He does not give it to you all at once.”
Even in the midst of what I thought were horrible circumstances, my mother pointed out the perfection of God’s Timing.
She would think of something else that had happened that was also awful and say, “Isn’t God Merciful that He did not allow those things to happen all at the same time! God is so Good to us.”
My Mother’s favorite book, next to The Bible, was a small book called The Practice Of The Presence of God by Brother Lawrence.
She practiced so much and was so completely aware of God’s Presence, that I think slipping out of her human body seemed no more consequential than losing a few hairs.
She had been in The Presence of God and she continued to be, as she is now.
Jesus, praying to God said,
“Now this is eternal life: that they know You, The Only True God, and Jesus Christ, Whom you have sent.”
