From 11 years of age until I got married at 18, I earned money by babysitting.  I went to a medium-sized church with a great number of young families, so I had jobs aplenty.  During the school year, my Friday evenings and Saturdays were often spent caring for little ones while their parents would get away for a few hours to catch their breath.  Most summer days were dedicated to hanging out with these same little ones while their parents completed whatever tasks they had to accomplish that day. I was with some of these families almost as often as I was with my own and was greatly influenced by some of the moms who would entrust me with their children.

One such mom was named Carla.  Carla was a warm, outgoing woman who loved deeply.  13 years my senior, she related well to teenagers as it hadn’t been too many years that she was a teenager herself.  She was a young mom with one child when I first began babysitting for her. Her son was a wavy-haired blondie with big blue eyes and chubby cheeks.  Ryan and I hit it off right away and he quickly became one of my favorites to babysit because of his spunk and big heart. Carla was in school at the time, so Ryan and I spent many warm, summer days together at our local swimming pool while Carla was in class.  I would sit on the edge of the shallow end while he would play energetically which was true to his nature. I don’t know what it was, but the kid and I just clicked.

 Over time, my relationship with Carla developed into more of a big sister/little sister bond than a young mom occasionally hiring a teenage girl to babysit her child.  Carla (who by this point had 2 children) and her husband would invite me over often. At times it was to babysit and other times it was to simply hang out with their family. Time has a way of blurring memories, so I don’t even remember what we would do when I was at their house.  I just remember how I felt: secure, accepted, and comfortable. I was a young, quiet teenage girl trying to figure life out. I was insecure, still missing my dad who had passed away 5 or so years before, and was in an ongoing process of trying to work through the dynamics of a blended family.  I know that God put Carla in my life as she connected so deeply with me. She spent hours upon hours with me and took me many of the places that she went including prenatal checkups. I didn’t care where we were or what we were doing, I just loved being with her. She took a great interest in my life and loved me well.

During my freshman year of high school, I found myself in an unhealthy relationship with a guy that I am going to call John out of respect for his family with whom I still have contact.  John had a very sad childhood and carried the baggage of that into our relationship. Due to neglect that he suffered and broken relationships with those closest to him, his biggest fear was more loss.  That translated into a very controlling relationship. We are all broken people, aren’t we? We all have our baggage. We all have our faults. I hold nothing against John, honestly. If anything, I feel compassion because I know how incredibly deep his wounds were.  During our on-again, off-again 2 and a half year relationship, I did not make the best choices. I also didn’t understand how to set boundaries and, being a nurturer, I often overlooked and excused harmful behaviors.  

During one of our break-ups, I began opening up about the unhealthy nature of our relationship.  I was very beaten down at this point and was racked with guilt and shame. I’ll never forget the day I confided in Carla.  We were riding in her car through town and the conversation had such an impact on me that I actually still remember exactly where we were.  She began asking me questions and as I answered, her responses were filled with such grace. She did not offer unsolicited advice nor did she criticize me in any way.  She didn’t try to lord her wisdom over me, rather, she began sharing with me about her years as a teenager and some of the struggles that she had. She put herself in my place and instead of showing any sort of judgment, she showed complete empathy.  

Unfortunately, my relationship with John ended in a very tragic way.  On the morning of May 10, 1993, I talked to him mid-morning at my school locker and everything seemed fine.  After saying goodbye, I began walking toward my next class but felt the urge to turn around.  John was still leaning against my locker watching me walk to my class. He smiled and waved and watched until I was no longer in sight.  That would be the last time I’d see him. I later found out that he walked out of school about an hour later after telling some of his friends that he may not be back.  This was the last day John was seen alive. A 15-day search and investigation ensued but to no avail. I was called out of class a few days after he was last seen and was interviewed by 2 private investigators.  I was in no way a suspect in any sort of nefarious activity, but the investigators were trying to find any possible leads that would take them to John. To say the waiting was stressful is an understatement, especially at 17 years of age.  I did everything in my power to keep myself busy. I mention this time of life in this tribute to Carla because she was my saving grace through this whole ordeal.  

On May 25, I was hanging out at Carla’s house which I often did.  I have no doubt that she had invited me over this particular day to keep my mind busy. That evening, the phone rang, so I answered it since she was putting the kids to bed and her husband was resting on the couch.  A lady from church asked to speak to Carla, but I told her she’d have to call her back. Gwen said it was an emergency and I could tell by the urgency in her voice that I must pass the phone to Carla.  Within a few minutes, she came and found me.

“Kendra, they found John.  He’s dead.”  

Life had become too much for John.  He had been hurt severely by an immediate family member the day before he disappeared.  He had told me all about it, but I didn’t realize just how deeply wounded he was because he told me in a very nonchalant way (though now I know that this was a way to mask his pain).

I can’t tell you how much it meant being at Carla’s house when I received this news.  I was in a home where I knew I was well-loved and supported and I know it was completely orchestrated by God.  He knew that I needed Carla at that moment. Simply being in her presence in those moments after such devastating news was so reassuring.

Carla, I am a TERRIBLE long-distance friend.  I do not keep in touch as I should, but I pray you know how much I love you.  The impact you had on me as a preteen and teenager was immense. You poured so much time into my life and helped shape me into the person I am today.  Every hour that you spent with me (and there were hundreds of them) is time that I will forever cherish. I hope you feel honored by this post, though I don’t feel like this even begins to express the amount of appreciation I have for you.  

And now for my readers, who touched your life as a teenager?  Who selflessly poured time into your life as Carla did mine? Reach out and let them know the impact they had on your life.  Don’t Wait until it’s too late! Send them flowers, send a text, mail a card, take them out to lunch. And then post about it on my FACEBOOK page.  Please take this challenge with me as explained in the post found HERE. I hope this will eventually take off and we will all step out of our comfort zones in order to reach out to others.  Whatever you do, DON’T WAIT!!!

When I was 11 years old, my church hired a new youth pastor.  Tim Mobley arrived with his wife, Pam, and their 1-year-old daughter, Joy.  Tim and Pam were a young couple, just in their early thirties (maybe even late twenties?) and were easy to love.  You know the kind of people that you feel like you’ve known forever as soon as you meet them? The kind that are super friendly and make you feel special every time they talk to you?  That was Tim and Pam. Pam was outgoing, warm, and always knew what to say. Tim was a crazy, fun guy who was a blast to be around.  

Shortly after coming on staff at our church, Pam asked me if I’d like to babysit.  I had loved children since I was a small child myself, so I jumped at the chance. I had just turned 11 and Joy was 13 months old (we are 10 years apart, almost to the day), and I’m not exactly sure why Pam trusted me since I was so young, but this was the start of a beautiful relationship.  I spent many, many days at Tim and Pam’s babysitting. Joy was like my little sister that I never had but always wanted.  

Tim and Pam were not typical youth pastors.  Their home was open several evenings a week to our youth group.  We’d congregate at their house and simply hang out with no agenda.  They would both invest hours upon hours in all of us as they took the time to learn the intricacies of our lives and what was important to us.  Pam would dig deep into our hearts and minds as she’d focus on whomever she was talking to at the time with her undivided attention. She was sincerely interested in what we had to say and that was obvious by the way she would actively listen while asking questions and encouraging.  I’ve never had a conversation with Pam where I left feeling down. Tim loved to laugh and have a good time with us, but he could get serious and lovingly challenge us when needed. Like Pam, he really heard us when we spoke and always had the best advice.  

Wednesday night was our youth service and our youth group quickly grew in size.  Tim and Pam spoke about Jesus every week in a real and exciting way. I had been raised in church but had never heard the gospel quite as they presented it.  They challenged us to really get to know Jesus. They reminded us of His love and of the importance of following Him and sharing Him with others. They took us deeper and deeper into His Word and encouraged us to do the same on our own time.  They taught us about the dangers of drinking and partying and premarital sex. They touched openly on every subject that pertained to teenagers. And not only did they teach us these things, but they lived it. Their faith was real and genuine and contagious.

Tim and Pam’s time at our church obviously didn’t last forever.  When it came time for them to leave, I was crushed. They had found a position at a church about 45 minutes away.  As a teenager, changes like that can feel devastating. The teen years can be so difficult. Trying to figure out who you are, what you believe, and how you want to live your life can be gut-wrenching to work through.  Finding someone who supports and encourages you through that is priceless. So when they left, it was a big blow.

I don’t know how it came to be, but once they were settled in their new house, Tim began picking me up on many Friday afternoons so that I could spend the weekend with them.  He would come on Friday around dinnertime, which was rush hour, and the entire trip (from their house to mine and back) would take about 2 hours of his time. I would spend the weekend with them and soak in every moment.  I’ve often wondered why Tim sacrificed his time for me. Why would they take the time to open their home to me weekend after weekend? I believe the answer to this question is easy. God had His hand upon me. He used both Tim and Pam to pour into me and show me His love.  I was at a complicated stage of life, still navigating life without my dad as well as adjusting to life in a blended family. Their influence had a huge impact on my spiritual formation and I still to this day think frequently of things they taught me.

One of the things I love the most about Tim and Pam is that even 30 years later, they are still working with youth.  For some people, youth ministry is a stepping stone to a higher position. For the Mobley’s, it was their life calling.  At this point in their lives, they have touched thousands of teenagers and young adults. I feel INCREDIBLY blessed that I am one of those lives.  They now live in Belgium where they have lived for several years and have a non-profit organization called Outpost Expeditions.  Check out their website HERE.

Tim and Pam, thank you so much for all the time you spent with me so many years ago. Tim, you became more like a father figure to many of us than a youth pastor. I love that you were never afraid to question decisions that I made, yet would respect whatever choice I ultimately came to (for example, when I decided to get married at 18). Yes, I was blessed with 2 great fathers, but you were yet another powerful male role model in my life. Pam, thank you for the hours and hours that you spent with me. For recognizing and encouraging my gifts and talents. You are the one who ignited my love for singing and I still use that gift today as I serve on the worship team at my church. Thank you for singing loudly as you sat next to me on so many Sundays so I could hear your beautiful harmonies. I will forever say that you are the one who taught me how to easily harmonize to any tune I hear. Pam, there are words that you said over and over to me which echo often in my mind. “Kendra, you may have lost your biological father, but God will forever be your daddy. All you have to do is climb up in His lap and talk to Him.” These are words that have gotten me through many rough days. I love you both with all that I have in me and pray that I will one-day touch half as many lives as you have.

Now for my readers, if you’ve been taking this journey with me, you should have contacted a few of your life influencers by this point as mentioned in the blog post found here.  Whom have you contacted? Who touched your life as a teenager? Who poured into your life and influenced your spiritual formation?  Don’t wait to reach out to them and let them know. Send them a card, give them a call, take them out to dinner. Look outside of yourself and reach out!  And then let us know whom you contacted on our FACEBOOK PAGE.  

Last, if you’d like to take this journey of reaching out weekly to your own personal life influencers, subscribe to this blog in the right-hand column of the homepage to get notifications when a new post is up.  We are told in Hebrews 10:24-25 to spur one another on toward love and good deeds and to encourage one another. So, that is my role here – to spur you on. REACH OUT! I am urging you to look beyond your small corner of the world and let those who have touched your life know how they have done so.  Encourage them as we are told to do. And Don’t Wait until it’s too late!

Thank you for such a wonderful response to my last post which can be found HERE.  It was obvious that Diane Shelton has touched many lives over the years. I hope she felt honored and loved by every comment and word that was written about her.

This week I am featuring a woman whom I am blessed to call Aunt.  My Aunt Cheryl has influenced my life many times over the years, but there was one summer in particular that she went above and beyond.  Let me give you a little backstory.

The spring after my dad died,  my mom got remarried. A kind, soft-spoken, Christian man, who was a single father of a 7-year old son, visited our church one Sunday my mom caught his eye.  Mom said as soon as they made eye contact, she knew he was going to call her. He did, in fact, just 2 weeks later. The next 3 months were a whirlwind and our family of 3 became a family of 5.  I was absolutely thrilled to have a new dad and brother. 

When summer hit, my aunt offered to take my brothers and me for 6 weeks.  She has 2 children who are right around our ages, so she knew it would be a fun summer for all of us. My parents were working hard to join two households and my Aunt Cheryl recognized that time alone was just what the newlyweds needed.  

I’ve often wondered if my Aunt Cheryl knew what she was getting herself into.  I was still extremely fragile emotionally as my dad had only been gone for about 7 months.  Back in the mid-eighties, the general consensus was that children were resilient and would bounce back after a loss.  There were no support groups and no one put their children in counseling. I can attest to the fact that this belief is wrong.  I did not know how to verbalize my feelings, so I simply cried. Alot. I developed a fear of more loss, so I needed an adult with me at all times.

I know that having 3 extra kids for 6 weeks had to be exhausting.  Meal preparations, laundry, cleaning, refereeing arguments between two 7-year olds, an 8-year old, an 11-year old and a 12-year old.  And then there was me. I was a full-time job all on my own. Aunt Cheryl never got a break that summer. Everywhere she went, I had to be with her.  And the times that she went out alone (because God knows she needed it for her sanity), I would stand at the door and cry while she left. I remember her dropping us off one night at a gym.  I have no clue what we were there for (maybe skating?) and I’m pretty sure they had to call her to come back for me because I was a basket case.  

But, as exhausted as she had to be, Aunt Cheryl never let me know.  I felt nothing but love and understanding from her. I remember crawling up in her lap countless times and she’d simply hold me close.  She let me be her little shadow that entire summer and I felt safe as long as she was around. 

Even though it was a very emotional summer, Aunt Cheryl still managed to make it a great one for us.  She bought all 5 of us kids our own pack of playing cards which brought about many, many games of War, Solitaire, Spit, and many others.  I learned how to swim that summer as we spent hours every day in her in-ground pool. The warm, Carolina sun is good for anyone’s soul, especially if water and cousins are involved.  We all had a favorite song during that summer, so Aunt Cheryl bought us all a 45 RPM album of our favorite songs. We would listen over and over and sing our hearts out. My favorite song that summer was “Hello” by Lionel Richie and I still feel nostalgic on the rare occasion that I hear that song.  

My Uncle Tony (whom I love with all of my heart, too) was at work during the week, but in the evenings and on weekends he was also an angel.  He was always so kind, loving, and patient with all of us. He is a quiet man, but his presence was also very reassuring for me.

The summer of ‘84 could have been very different.  It had the potential to be a very negative memory, but my aunt made it anything but that.  And, who knows, maybe I wasn’t as emotional as I remember being. Maybe this was just the way I felt inside. But, no matter what, voluntarily taking on 3 extra children and doing so with such grace deserves recognition, even 35 years later. Thank you, Aunt Cheryl, for loving me when I was probably tough to love. Being a mom now myself, I know that clingy kids can be very tiring.  You’ve been supportive of me my entire life and have made a difference in my life. 

And now for my dear readers:  Who had a huge impact on you as a child?  Who opened their home to you and showed you unconditional love?  Who has loved you through a major loss? Who spent time with you and helped make you the person you are today?  Don’t wait! Send that person a card, give them a call, send them a text, send them flowers, take them out to lunch, or make a simple video on your phone.  Let them know how they’ve impacted you. And then be sure to post about it on our Facebook page. Don’t wait until it’s too late! 

P.S.  You can now subscribe to Don’t Wait to get notified when a new post goes up!  Enter your name and email in the right-hand column of this site to get notifications.

When I was first born, we had neighbors whose backyard met up with ours.  Steve and Diane Shelton had 3 children (David, Kim, and Nicole) who were close in age to my brother and me. I spent many, many days and nights at the Shelton house and my memories are now such treasures.

During my dad’s battle with melanoma, while I was just a small child, the Shelton house became a safe haven for me.  My dad had always been unbelievably strong in my eyes. Yet, suddenly he was having surgeries, skin grafts, and chemo treatments.  He went from a strapping mid-thirties year old man who would take us on long bike rides to a fragile shell of a man who could barely walk to the corner of our street (and we were only the second house in).  Cancer absolutely ate him alive and my brother and I watched the inevitable process take place.

Over a period of 4 years, there were times that I felt very uneasy around my Dad.  I didn’t know what to do with my apprehensions and emotions. Many days were too much to bear.  So, I would walk through my backyard to the Shelton’s house. I was always welcomed with open arms and was treated like a member of their family.  Diane and her husband, Steve, would help me process through things in an age-appropriate way by asking simple questions: “How is your dad today? How are things at your house?”  And I knew I could say as little or much as I needed to (though I’m sure I rarely said much). I was shown so much love and compassion which made an unbearable situation become just a little more bearable.  

At the Shelton house, I always got lost for hours in imaginative play. Kim, Nicole, and I would escape to our imaginary worlds as we set up pretend hospitals, played school, entertained ourselves with Barbie dolls, or anything else our young minds could dream up.  I remember a time when Diane brought home leftover envelopes, letterhead paper, “While You Were Out” pads, rubber bands, tax forms, pens, and so on from a tax service where she temporarily worked. `She carried home boxes of these leftover office supplies with us girls in mind.  For weeks on end, we did very important work as we filled out various business forms with our fancy looped handwriting that we called cursive. We “mailed” envelopes, wrote checks, and took phone messages. This captivating, lifelike world became a place of solace for me when my reality was extremely sad and grim.  

The night of my dad’s visitation (or wake/viewing, depending on where you live), I remember standing in the back of the chapel at the funeral home with Diane and my mom.  I was only 7 years old and felt completely lost in a world of grief. My heart was racing and my stomach felt queasy. I had seen my mom cry enough tears and I didn’t want to see her cry another, so I had to make my visit quick.  I stood upon the tiptoes of my black patent leather shoes in the back of the room gazing over the rows of pews that separated me from my daddy’s casket. I caught a quick glimpse of him laying at the head of the room in his dark blue casket.  I had never seen so many flowers altogether in one place. He was obviously a very loved man. In his hands was a light green piece of paper folded in half to make a card with the words, “Get Well Daddy” written in crayon. It was a card I had made for him at school one day during my free time.  The quick peek had been almost too much to bear, so I quickly looked up at Diane and said, “I’m ready to go.” I gave my mom a quick hug and then escaped the dark, somber room with Diane by my side.

The last 35 years have clouded many of the memories in my mind, but I know that upon leaving the funeral home, Diane took me back to the Shelton home, which had become my home away from home.  My solace. My place to escape from the pain felt at my house. I know that I was loved on patiently by an amazing lady who became a second mom to me.

Diane, you will never know how much my time with you shaped me into who I am today.  I’ve only scratched the surface of all of my years of memories with you. You were our neighbor for 10 years in 2 different neighborhoods.  I will always remember the loving atmosphere that your home provided, the hundreds of sleepovers I had with Kim and Nicole, the cinnamon rolls on Saturday mornings, playing in Steve’s fishing boat in your garage, banging on your piano, curling up on your couch to watch movies, and the list goes on and on and on.  Most importantly, I will never forget the unconditional love that your family gave me at an intensely crucial time in my life. I love you.

And, Steve, just because this was written for Diane does not take anything from you. I will never forget your gentle, calm presence. Thank you for always making me feel loved and cherished. I’m so thankful that God knew exactly what I needed when he put you in my life so many years ago.

And now for my dear readers:  Who had a huge impact on you as a child?  Who opened their home to you and showed you unconditional love?  Who spent time with you and helped make you the person you are today?  Don’t wait! Send that person a card, give them a call, send them a text, send them flowers, take them out to lunch, or make a simple video on your phone.  Let them know how they’ve impacted you. And then be sure to post about it on our Facebook page. Don’t wait until it’s too late! 

I’m hoping by now that you have contacted the first person on your list of “Life Influencers,” which is what these special people will be referred to from this point on (see my last post HERE if you have not).  For me, my mom is number one on my list. She is the person that I can call at any time of the day or night for any reason whatsoever. I have the freedom to say whatever I need to as I’m working through tough times in life and she will still love me without judgment.  I know if I send her a quick text asking for prayer when things are tough, she will immediately call out to God on my behalf. I can talk about things with my mom that I wouldn’t dare talk to anyone else about, and I know she guards my secrets. Out of all of the things I can write about her, there is one thing that my mom has taught me that stands out above the rest.  Let me start from the beginning.

In 1976 I was born into a picture-perfect family.  We lived in a small town in southeastern Virginia and, to be honest, our life was pretty close to perfect.  My dad was an education specialist at a prison in my home town and my mother was a stay-at-home mom. Dad went to work every morning, was home by 4:15, and dinner was on the table at 4:30.  Mom tended to the needs of our family throughout the day and was home every afternoon when my brother and I arrived from school. We were that picture-perfect little family that you’d see in a movie.  My parents created a peaceful environment in our home full of love, respect, and security. We never knew heartache until that fateful year.  

In 1979, my dad had a mole taken off the back of his hand.  He found that putting his hand in and out of his pocket irritated it, so he had it removed.  His doctor sent it off to be biopsied, just to be on the safe side. The biopsy came back clear, but within a short amount of time, the mole grew back again. Another biopsy was performed and when the report came back, dad was told that the mole was not malignant, but was the type that could become malignant.  His doctor opted to admit him to the hospital to excise the area where the mole was removed, clean the area out, graft skin from his inner thigh to the area on his hand, and remove all lymph nodes under his arm.  The biopsy came back clear, so my parents breathed a sigh of relief and our lives carried on. 6 months later, my dad noticed a knot on the inside of his elbow. Another biopsy was performed and my parents were given life-altering news.  Dad had cancer.

Over the course of the next 4 years, dad went through countless surgeries and treatments.  During this time, my mom’s insurmountable strength became apparent. Throughout the entire ordeal, she was a steady force that remained by my dad’s side.  She traveled the 2 hour trip back and forth from our town to the facility where dad’s doctor was located countless times for chemo treatments, surgeries, tests, scans, and consultations.  She kept my dad encouraged and on track all while managing our household. She was a rock for our family during a tumultuous season of life.  

My mom’s love for my dad was matchless.  Near the end of his life, it became too difficult for him to sleep in their bed. He found that the couch was far more comfortable and manageable.  Mom didn’t want to be apart from him, so every night for 5 months, she slept on a folding lawn chair lounger padded with blankets next to my terminally ill father.  Dad’s wish was to remain at home until the end. In-home hospice care was at its early stages of development, so that was not an option for our family. The last few weeks of dad’s life were spent comatose in a hospital bed in our family room as mom nursed him until the bitter end.  At 34 years of age, she watched as her best friend and soulmate declined and eventually succumbed to death.  

The entire way through my dad’s fight with melanoma, mom’s faith never wavered. She believed with certainty that God was going to heal dad.  She never doubted for one second that God would choose another path for his life.

Of course, God didn’t heal dad.  Why? He could have. Mom asked that He would.  She believed with everything in her that He would.  Dad was only 37. Mom was 34 years old and was left with 2 children.  So, why did God choose not to heal him? Mom could have gotten bitter and angry and turned her back on God. But, what she taught me next has carried me through many dark days.  

Shortly after Dad’s death, Mom came across Isaiah 55:8-9 which says,

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”  

This verse brought my mom immediate peace.  She accepted that even if she didn’t understand it, God’s ways and thoughts are higher than ours.  Mom taught me that perfect faith is accepting God’s will no matter what that may be. It may not make any sense whatsoever.  It may seem cruel and unreasonable. BUT, He knows what is best for you and for me, even if we can’t see it.

Losing dad left a huge void in our lives.  But, over time God began to fill the hole that was left by sending an amazing man to marry my mom.  My “step” dad and I bonded quickly and God used him to heal my heart. He raised me, treated me as his own, and loved me unconditionally which lessened the sting of losing my first dad.  

But, in 2009, one of my worst nightmares came true.  My dad laid down on the floor to take a nap and never woke up.  How could this happen again?

Two days later, I was at my parents’ house and mom got in the shower.  I slipped in the bathroom after she was in because I was worried about her being alone.  She had no idea I was in the bathroom when she began praying a prayer that will stick with me forever.  Through her tears and sobs, she cried, “Lord, thank you for Steve. Thank you that you allowed me to be a part of his life.  Thank you that you blessed us with 24 years of marriage.” This soliloquy continued at a time when I could barely think straight because the grief was so heavy.  Mom had been widowed for the second time, once at 34 and now at 59. Yet, her faith never wavered. Oh, she had rough days. She cried daily for months. She went through one of the darkest times of her life.  But, she grabbed hold of the feet of Jesus and never let go.

Throughout my life, my mom has impacted me more than any other woman on the planet.  She has taught me the most important lesson that she could ever teach me: to love and serve Jesus even when life doesn’t make sense.  Anyone who meets her can plainly see her faith in Christ. The woman is rock solid and can’t be shaken by any circumstance in life. Is she perfect?  No, but she’s perfect for me. Mom made it through being widowed not just once, but twice thanks to God’s grace, mercy, and peace. I’m happy to report that she remarried in 2012 to another incredibly loving man, but that is a story for another post.

I would love to hear the way you have chosen to honor the first life influencer on your list. Go to my FACEBOOK page or comment on this post and fill us in.  I’d love to hear all about the interaction. If you haven’t done so yet, there’s still plenty of time. Remember, don’t wait until they’re gone when it’s too late.

And let’s not forget to live like my mom.  Pray for unshakeable faith. Trust in God’s plan no matter how it unfolds for you.  And share your faith with others the way Mom has with many others. Make sure that you don’t wait!