Tag Archives: parenting

To my 19 year old daughter

My Dear Daughter,

There is much I want to say to you. I have so many hopes and dreams and fears for you; I can’t even begin to explain it all. But more than anything I want you to know

I BELIEVE IN YOU

I LOVE YOU

I WILL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU, NO MATTER WHAT

I want to tell you that I DO remember being your age. I remember the feelings you probably have right now – wanting to grow up, assert your independence, have fun, and at the same time realizing what grown-up life is all about and sometimes feeling like maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

I want desperately to warn you about all the dangers and pitfalls in growing up – all the bad things I’ve seen, all the holes I’ve watched my friends fall into, and even the deep pits I found myself climbing out of time and again. I want to encourage you not to travel down some of the roads I went down at your age. I want to steer you where I would have chosen, if I could walk some paths over again. I want to spare you from making the same mistakes I made. I want you to know

YOU ARE VALUABLE

YOU ARE PRICELESS

YOU ARE A CHILD OF GOD

Ultimately, I know that sometimes you need to figure things out on your own. Sometimes you have to live and learn to truly understand. You have to try life on to see how it fits. Just promise me that while you are living and learning that you will

NEVER STAY STUCK

That you will always

Keep Moving FORWARD

Because, my love, I will warn you that life happens FAST. Every year of your life accelerates exponentially with time. If you have big dreams, GRAB THEM NOW! It will never get easier, there will never be a more perfect moment, than right now.

TRUST ME!

I have such dreams for you, baby girl! I know that you are called to so many wonderful things, and I am humbled that I get to stand by your side as your mom and watch you grow into young adulthood.

NOTHING CAN STOP YOU!

BE DETERMINED!

Set the life you want to live in motion NOW!

And don’t forget our “Family Rules” …

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And of course,

That I LOVE YOU,

And that I am

ALWAYS

                  HERE

                               For

                                        YOU!!!!!!!

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a broken best

This partial post was written by my friend, Nicole A Webb.  Her selfless love hosting a child with cancer, on a medical mission from Africa, will inspire you to give your best as well, even when it’s broken.

I stared at the form in front of me searching for a box labeled “imposter”.  I was not her “parent” or her “legal guardian”. I felt I had no right to sign for her medical care, though there was a single piece of paper on file stating otherwise.  I made a hasty in the “other” box, then walked away avoiding eye contact with the receptionist.  With each step to the waiting area, my weight doubled under the knowledge that I just gave permission for a child who is not my own to be poisoned.

Ma had been with our family just two weeks before her first chemotherapy treatment.  She came to the States from Cote d’Ivoire, Africa, through a medical missions organization.  Doctors in Africa originally thought she had glaucoma, and that she would return to her family after surgery and a 2-month stay.  Doctors here determined she instead had retinoblastoma, a rare form of eye cancer.  One eye couldn’t be saved.  A lengthy treatment plan was put into motion to save her life, then to save her eyesight.

“Ma Sylla,” the nasally voice of the in-take nurse roamed across the waiting room and scratched my ears like sandpaper.

“It’s Ma, like the month of May,” I said, attempting politeness.

“I’ll make a note of that on her chart,” the nurse mumbled.  They never said it wrong again.

I felt an immediate pang of guilt for my abruptness.  I don’t know how her name is actually pronounced, or what her family calls her.  Ma, like the month of May, is just the name we imposed on her.  She had only been on this earth a sickly single year, so she was unable to otherwise correct us.

After taking her weight, height, blood pressure and temperature, which terrified her, we made our way to an infusion chair.  We were given a blanket and pillow and told to make ourselves comfortable.  As if.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Ma had buried her head into my chest during her vitals and only now, several minutes after the nurse had vacated our presence, did she dare to take a peek.  She gazed up at me with her one remaining dark chocolate brown eye.

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Please click here to read the ending to this inspiring post and learn more about Nicole and her family.