Dear Little Girl…The Chair Before Mine
Sometimes the greatest inheritance isn't money, possessions, or even words. Sometimes it's watching someone faithfully meet with God day after day. On what would have been my mom's 90th birthday, I discovered that the chair before mine became the foundation of my own faith... and I never truly saw it until now.
Dear Little Girl,
Before there were Two Chairs...there was one.
Today would have been my mom’s 90th birthday.
For My Mom on What Would Have Been Her 90th Birthday
And today, I finally understood where my own chair began.
Ninety Years Old!
How has it been almost ten years since we said goodbye?
Some days it feels like a lifetime ago.
Other days, I still find myself reaching for the phone at three o'clock.
Because for years, that's when we talked.
Almost every day.
You would be sitting in your prayer chair, rosary in hand, looking out the window at the children walking home from school. You loved watching them. You prayed for them, even if you didn't know their names.
I can still picture you there.
My Mom’s Prayer Chair….legacy of faith.
And I don't think there's been a single day since you've been gone that you haven't crossed my mind.
They say time heals.
I think time softens.
The ache isn't as sharp as it once was, but love has a way of leaving fingerprints that never disappear.
Maybe that's why the saying is true...
The greater the grief, the greater the love story was.
And ours was a beautiful one.
Today is another beautiful day in our family.
It's Alex Foley's wedding.
On your birthday.
He didn't even realize it until I told him.
He smiled the biggest smile.
And all I could think was...
Mom would have loved this.
Yesterday I found myself wondering...
What if God let you come to the wedding for just five minutes?
I can see it so clearly.
You'd walk in wearing that dress you loved so much—the one you wore to Robin's wedding.
Your beautiful red hair.
Your rosy cheeks.
Your little nose.
Your pink lipstick.
Those sparkling blue eyes that somehow smiled before the rest of your face did.
I miss this little firecracker!
You wouldn't rush.
You'd simply stand there for a moment...
taking all of us in.
Then I think you'd smile and say,
"Heaven is more beautiful than you can possibly imagine."
"Trust Him."
“Keep Praying…”
You always trusted Him.
Every single day.
You sat in your prayer chair with that worn prayer pad—yes, I still have it—and faithfully prayed through every name on your list.
People counted on your prayers.
Dad used to laugh and say,
"Your mom has the direct connection."
I believed him.
I still do.
One of the last conversations we had was in the ICU.
I asked if you were scared.
You folded your hands in your lap, looked at me, and quietly said,
"Sure...but we all have to do it."
At the time, that answer unsettled me.
I didn't want my mom to be afraid.
But today...
I think if you could speak to me now, you'd smile and say,
"Don't be afraid, my angel."
That's what you always called me.
Your angel.
I miss hearing that.
I miss your blue eyes.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of them in Graeme's face, and for just a second...
it's like seeing you again.
I see you in other places too.
I see you in my heart for forgiveness.
In my love for people.
In my compassion.
In my desire to pray before I panic.
And then, as I sat here writing this letter...
I realized something that stopped me in my tracks.
You had a prayer chair…
I have Two Chairs…
I always thought…my Two Chairs were born out of my own heartbreak.
Out of losing you.
Out of losing my marriage.
Out of learning to trust God in the hardest seasons of my life.
But maybe...
they began long before that.
Maybe they began with a little girl watching her mother faithfully return to the same chair every day to meet with God.
You planted seeds you never got to see bloom.
Those seeds carried me through your death.
They carried me through betrayal.
They carried me through grief.
They carried me back to hope.
And now they are carrying other people too.
You never knew your faithful prayers would become someone else's healing.
That's your legacy.
Not because you wrote a book.
Not because you stood on stages.
Not because the world knew your name.
Because you quietly showed up to meet with God every single day.
And a little girl was watching.
Mom...
You taught me about prayer.
You taught me about forgiveness.
You taught me about serving others.
You taught me what compassion looks like.
You taught me to keep showing up when life hurts.
You taught me that faith isn't built in extraordinary moments.
It's built in ordinary, faithful ones.
Fifty years from now, I hope people remember you as the redhead with the faithful prayer chair.
The woman who believed God heard every prayer she whispered.
The prayer warrior.
Her final prayer list…..
The cook who made everyone feel at home.
The mom whose greatest sermon wasn't something she preached...
It was the life she lived.
And today, on your birthday in Heaven, I hope you're celebrating with Dad.
With your family.
And if you're with my baby...
Would you hold that little one close for me?
Tell them how deeply they are loved.
Tell them their mama thinks about them often.
And one day...
We'll all be together again.
Until then...
Know this.
Because you loved me...
I am okay.
I am better than okay.
I am whole.
Love,
The little girl who finally realized her faith began in the chair before hers.
The Vacation That Reminded Me How to Be Present
What began as a vacation to Mexico became an unexpected lesson in presence. Through quiet mornings, meaningful conversations, and God's gentle reminders, I discovered the greatest treasures weren't the ones I traveled to find.
There are vacations where you come home with souvenirs.
Then there are vacations where you come home different.
When Trey and I booked our trip to Secrets Huatulco, I thought what I needed most was rest. After the past several years of walking through mental illness, family struggles, grief, uncertainty, and rebuilding a marriage, I was simply tired.
I thought paradise would fix that.
Instead, paradise exposed something I didn't know I was carrying.
The first thing I noticed wasn't the breathtaking cliffs or the turquoise Pacific Ocean.
Magical Conejos Bay in Huatulco, Mexico
It was the furniture in the lobby.
"This place feels old," I thought.
Even sitting in one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen, I was looking for what was missing.
Isn't that funny?
Sometimes we spend so much time searching for the next better thing that we almost miss the beauty standing right in front of us.
Thankfully, God is patient.
Over the next several days He slowly redirected my attention.
Not with dramatic miracles.
With quiet ones.
A cup of the best coconut cappuccino I've ever tasted.
Best Coconut Cappuccino I have ever had
Fresh fruit that reminded me creation itself is extravagant.
A beach that was peaceful enough to hear the waves instead of the crowds.
The kindest resort staff I've ever met.
Long conversations with my husband that reminded me healing isn't always loud.
One evening Trey asked me what gift he had given me that mattered most.
Without thinking, I answered, "Because of your faith, I wanted more of God."
Neither of us expected the tears that followed.
In that moment I realized something profound.
The greatest gift someone can give you isn't perfection.
It's helping point you toward the One who is.
That conversation alone would have made the trip unforgettable.
But God wasn't finished.
A few days later I caught myself doing something I've done for years.
Instead of enjoying the vacation I was already planning the next one.
I was sitting in paradise worrying about the next paradise.
Why?
Because somewhere along the way I had learned to prepare for loss before I had fully enjoyed the gift.
After enough unexpected pain, your brain starts scanning the horizon instead of soaking in the view.
I knew exactly where that habit came from.
Life had taught me that beautiful seasons sometimes end without warning.
Marriage changes.
People die.
Dreams shift.
Storms arrive uninvited.
So somewhere along the journey I quietly convinced myself that if I stayed prepared, maybe I wouldn't get hurt again.
But standing beside the Pacific Ocean, God whispered something different.
"What if bad doesn't happen today?"
That question stayed with me.
Then came the butterfly.
My sweet little friend the butterfly
I found her on our morning walk.
She was injured—or maybe simply exhausted—but she never flew away.
Instead, she stayed with me all day.
Opening and closing her wings.
Simply resting.
She reminded me that not every beautiful thing is rushing toward the next destination.
Some things are here to teach us how to stay.
Later that same day I found a shell shaped like a heart.
Beautiful heart Shaped Shell
Two simple gifts.
Nothing expensive.
Nothing planned.
Just little reminders scattered across the shoreline by a God who knew exactly what my heart needed.
By the end of the week I realized the greatest treasure I found in Huatulco wasn't the ocean.
It wasn't the sunsets.
It wasn't even the conversations.
It was presence.
Life hadn't stopped while I was gone.
Family issues still existed.
Parenting still required faith.
Marriage was still a journey.
Work was waiting for me at home.
Nothing magically disappeared.
The difference was that my heart had grown quieter.
I came home to the same life.
But I wasn't quite the same woman.
I returned believing something I didn't fully believe before I left:
I don't have to borrow tomorrow's worries while standing in today's blessings.
The God who surprised me with this vacation is already waiting in whatever comes next.
I don't have to rush there.
Today is enough.
As I reflect on Secrets Huatulco, I can honestly say this:
The resort itself could use some updating.
The people could not have been more wonderful.
The views were unforgettable.
The service was exceptional.
But the real reason I'd go back has very little to do with the resort at all.
I'd go back because that's where God gently reminded me that wholeness isn't found by collecting more experiences.
It's found by noticing the treasures already surrounding us.
Sometimes the greatest adventure isn't traveling somewhere new.
Barefoot and present on the beaches of Huatulco
Sometimes it's finally learning to be where your feet are.
And that might be the greatest souvenir I brought home.
Dear Little Girl…Be Where Your Feet Are
While sitting on a beach in Mexico, I caught myself planning my next vacation instead of enjoying the one I was living. God gently reminded me that the treasures I keep searching for are often already surrounding me. Sometimes the greatest gift isn't knowing what's next—it's learning to be where your feet are.
Dear Little Girl,
You keep looking over the horizon. You want to know when the next chapter will begin.
When the next blessing will arrive.
When you'll finally feel settled.
When everything will make sense.
If I'm being honest, I caught myself doing the very same thing.
I was sitting on a beach in Mexico wondering when I would get to come back.
Isn't that funny?
I was already worrying about the next paradise while sitting in one.
“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
God gently whispered to my heart, Amy...you're missing today.
That same week, I found a heart-shaped shell.
Heart Sea Shell found in Huatulco, Mexico
A little later, I found a butterfly resting alongside the path. It stayed with me for hours, quietly opening and closing its wings as if it had nowhere else it needed to be.
Then it hit me.
Months ago, I chose those very symbols for my tattoo.
The heart.
The butterfly.
Love.
Freedom.
I smiled because it felt like God was reminding me that the things I keep asking Him for aren't always waiting somewhere in my future.
Sometimes they're already surrounding me.
Maybe that's true for you too.
Maybe today holds more beauty than you've noticed.
Maybe God has scattered little treasures all along your path—not to answer every question about tomorrow, but to remind you that He is already here.
Dear Little Girl,
Be where your feet are…
God already is.
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
With love, 🩵
Amy
