Tag: motherhood

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Go Green

I spent yesterday touring the campus of Central Michigan University with my son to help him decide on a college. We spe t our day meeting professors, seeing classes happening, and talking with students. I walked away feeling good about the idea of sending him off to college.

In the car, we talked about his favorite school though, Michigan State University. He knows that’s definitely a school he wants to go to. It’s his number one, always has been.

He has loved MSU his whole life. Probably because we have too. We have so many friends and family who have attended there. We know quite a few kids who go there now (they’re all safe).

We love MSU. We bleed green and white here (and maroon and gold, CMU is just as special!). Saturdays in the fall, you will find us cheering for our Spartans, sometimes from within the comfortable confines of Spartan Stadium.

We love Sparty. We love Zeke the Wonder dog. We love the Dairy Store, small animals day, and believe in the power of Izzo in March.

We have always felt safe at MSU. We felt embraced by the collective buzz of learning, doing, and comradery of good people working for a better future.

This shooting feels so much more personal. It feels violating. Enfuriating. Disgusting. And we weren’t even there – I cannot fathom what those directly impacted are going through.

More disgusting? The fact that this keeps happening. When is it enough? When do we finally push back and demand more from our leaders? Don’t we owe it to each other to start using our voices and votes to demand our leaders crawl out of the NRA’s pocket? It’s time to start doing what is right, instead of what pays best. Lives are literally on the line.

Spartans will, because Spartans do.

Go green.

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Brown Tray Christmas

All I need to learn from Jesus, I learned from brown cafeteria trays.

They take me back to my grandma’s very crowded house, filled with our very large family, on Christmas Eve. The dining room and table were far from large enough for the crowd, but it was never a problem. When the table filled up, you grabbed a tray. No one was left out or forced to wait for room to enjoy the food and fellowship. Grab a tray, find a spot somewhere, and settle in for good food with a side of familiar conversation.

It was always so crowded, so loud, and so hot, but I didn’t care. My family was all together on Christmas Eve. We were having fun, getting presents, and taking a break from the world to bask in love. Short of a small, dirty, crowded manger many years before, I can’t think of a better place for a Christmas story to be lived.

Me enjoying Christmas, with Grandma taking care of business in the back.

My heart was taken back to those Christmas Eve meals the first time I walked into my son’s Sunday school class to see many tiny people scattered about the floor in a haphazard circle-oval-octagon sort of shape coloring pictures of the good shepherd. There was no table to be seen, just brown plastic cafeteria trays filled with crayons and colorfully marked papers.

“We backed up to make room for us all,” my son shared later, “It’s nice we don’t have a table to get in the way. We can make lots of room if more friends come.”

From His birth to His work as our shepherd, the reminder of His love and promise to care for all of us is so very clear. It doesn’t matter if you are in a crowded place, without table, young, or old – with Jesus there is always room for everyone. Grab a tray and find a spot for His love to shine in on you.

Luke 2:7 says “…they placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available.

Jesus’ story started with no room. No place for him. No one made a space for Him in their homes or the inn, but Jesus’ still found a spot. They squeezed in where they could fit, filled the space with love, and the news spread from this humble small spot. The Greatest story ever told began to unfold in the least likely of places. We hear a similar story when Jesus speaks about us in the story of the Good Shepherd later in his life.

John 10:16 “…I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also.”

No room in the sheep pen? No problem! Get another. When that one is full? Get another. No one is turned away or forgotten with Jesus. He remembers all of us, scattered around the world. Like a crowded family celebration or preschool Sunday school room, there is always room for more. Grab a brown cafeteria tray, make a little room, and let everyone in. Jesus is for everyone. Jesus’ love is for us all.

Merry Christmas, I’m thinking 1983.
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Missing Pieces

This is part 2 of the October Pregnant and Infant Loss Series – please read Part 1 HERE if you haven’t already. 

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All I wanted to do when I got home was sleep. I blamed it on the leftover anesthesia still flowing through my body but truthfully, I was just trying to escape the reality of the day. I stayed in bed for nearly 24 hours until the following afternoon when I decided it was time to “get over it”. 

“Everyone will think I am crazy,” I kept telling myself, “They weren’t real babies, right? I didn’t hold them, I didn’t name them, I didn’t even ask any questions about them so obviously I just need to move on from this mess.” 

I was living on pain meds and still feeling a terrible ache as I fumbled through the day. I got my basic Saturday routine of cleaning and shopping done before falling back into my bed that evening. I thought once my body was only mine once again, things would go back to normal but I was wrong. Instead of feeling like my normal self in a bit of pain, the hollow aching left me feeling more empty than I’d ever been before. 

I was sure people were going to think I was crazy for not getting over this faster. 

Martin Hudáček’s sculpture entitled “Memorial for Unborn Children

The next evening, we had floor seats for a concert we’d been looking forward to for almost a year. We talked about skipping it, but I was determined to show the world (and myself) that I was not crazy. I was fine because “these things happen” and I couldn’t mope forever. I had planned to go to the concert with my babies in my belly, so I certainly wasn’t skipping it just because they were gone. 

It was the worst concert of my life. I’m not sure if it is because of who I was with (we divorced 2 years later), the fact that the band’s new album sucked (it really did), or that I spent half the concert running to the restroom to change another soaked pad all night. I just remember sitting in my seat and looking around at the arena packed with thousands of people wondering to myself if they could tell the pain I was in. I wondered if anyone else in that arena was feeling the same way. Had anyone else there ever felt that way? The feeling didn’t subside until I crawled into bed and drifted to sleep that night. 

When I went to work Monday morning there were flowers and a card on my desk. The moment I walked in and saw them, I turned on my heel and walked back out the door. I had said it was not to be talked about. Not acknowledged or implied or anything. I told them I’d be back Tuesday and I expected my desk cleaned and everyone else over this by then. 

How could I move on if the people around me were insisting on dragging me back into it. 

That’s the part no one tells you in the cheap pamphlet the doctor hands you when you lose a baby. For every person who tells you “these things happen” or “God works in mysterious ways” there are just as many people who want you to grieve and go through the emotions of losing someone you love. 

Both sides surround you and you’re never sure which way to go. You will alternate between both camps as you sort out the mess of emotions and hormones that come with losing a baby. You will hate your body for failing you while gingerly caring for it as it slowly heals from the physical trauma. You will feel like you’re losing your mind and not doing it “right” when really, there is no single right way to deal with this pain. You only need to do what is right for you. Lean into the feelings when they overcome and keep living your normal life when they go. How you react does not change how deep your loss was.

My babies should be turning 16 in the next few weeks. Their due date was November 11, 2005. For anyone who thinks things like this go away over time, I think about them every year on that date, even though I know as twins they likely would have come sooner. 

I think about how badly I wanted to hold them and hug them on November 11. How I had planned to cover them with kisses, breathe in their essence, and tell them they were loved as they took their first breaths. I hope they felt loved every second of their short lives with me. More than anything, I’m so grateful they had each other. Whether they knew what was happening, felt any discomfort, or worried for even a second about what was happening they were not alone. 

They had each other then and they have each other now in heaven. Someday, I know I will hold them and I will remind them they were loved for every second of their lives – and mine. They were loved like only a mother can love.

I am a mother four, who only got to hold two. 

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My Son Calls Someone Else Mom…and I love it!

My son’s father and I divorced when he was 1. 

He got his step mom when he was 2. 

He started calling her mom when he was 3. 

People used to ask me how I could stand for my child calling another woman mom. Actually, some still do. 

When we got a divorce, I knew this meant I would be away from my child. There would be days he would wake up and go to sleep without seeing my face and that fact shattered my heart. That was not the idea of motherhood I signed up for nor was it the kind of childhood I had imagined for him from before I even knew of his existence. 

When he first started calling someone else mom, it stung. It stung deep. I was worried I would be replaced or he would end up confused. I hated the idea that someone else could possibly be equal to me in his eyes; I just wanted to be the greatest human he’d ever met (let’s be real, I still do). 

It wasn’t until he was 4 and we could have an actual conversation about titles, right around when he wanted to call his step-dad “dad”, that it all made sense.

He hadn’t been calling her mom because he had no faith in me, he had been calling her mom because it felt normal. When he was there and the other kids said it, he could too. He could blend in and not feel weird; he just wanted to have a “normal” life. He also found comfort in her. He knew she wasn’t me, I was his favorite, but having a mom when he was away from me made it better for him.

He told me about games she played, parks they went to, and things they did. He smiled and giggled sharing funny stories that had made him happy. He said she was nice and she loved him. He said he loved her too – if that was ok with me. 

In that moment, the clouds parted and I understood how lucky I was to have her in my son’s life. She wasn’t there to replace me, she was there to love him when I couldn’t. Though we had never really met, we were silent teammates in the loving of this boy. Two women, on opposite ends of the spectrum, loving and guiding a small boy. He was the one I gave birth to, the one she signed up for, and he loved us both. 

I realized how lucky I was that he called her mom. He wanted to call her mom. That meant he felt her warmth and love wrapping him up when I could not. He knew she would make sure he had breakfast and make dinners he liked. She would play games, go to the park, and be silly with him during his time away from me. I may not have seen him every day, but he laid his head down every night knowing a woman who would keep him safe and loved him was just down the hallway. Always. No matter which house he was at.

So, no. I had no problem with my son calling another woman mom. Fourteen years after he first met her, she is no longer his step mom on paper, but she is still his mom. She loves him, she has seen his ups and downs, helped him when he was sick, and is still in his corner to this day. I have no doubt she will be there for him forever, either. I’m not hurt at all he calls her mom, in fact, I’m grateful he does. Kids need all the love they can get.

He found a soul that loved him purely and forever, which is what motherhood is really all about. It has nothing to do with a bloodline or what a piece of paper says. Motherhood is about love, dedication, tough love, and hopeless optimism for a child’s life. It comes from moms, but sometimes from other people our children are blessed to come across in life. It’s a gift to know your child is loved like you love them when you are not around. 

I’ll never be replaced, neither will you, but knowing your child is loved brings a peace unlike any other. 

Happy Mother’s Day to everyone. The moms, step moms, bonus mom, grandmas, aunts, cousins, best friends, teachers, neighbors, and anyone else who steps up to lovingly guide a child through the complexities of life. When they’re scared, lonely, and can’t be by their mom – you are a gift from God. 

Thank you to everyone who is part of my kids’ mom tribes – especially Ben’s other mom. 

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The Highest and Lowest Day

This post is part one of an October pregnancy loss series.

“We can’t find the heartbeats, but that’s not uncommon. We’ll do an ultrasound and get them that way. Plus the first look at your babies.”

I was just excited as the doctor when she offered me a first look at the two sweet babies growing in my womb. They’d seen two sacs early on and my blood work numbers were off the chart; they told me there were two babies weeks before. I was equal parts scared and excited. 

Turning the corner into the second trimester had felt like a giant weight was lifted off me. I’d seen friends lose babies before and knew getting to the second trimester was a major milestone. One not to be taken for granted and one I thanked God for every night. I did it. I was in the clear. My first major responsibility as a mom and I had nailed it. 

I went to my check up that day alone, an ultrasound before 18-20 weeks hadn’t crossed my mind! The books I was absorbing every night didn’t say anything about ultrasounds earlier and I was over the moon to think I could see my little babies sooner than I ever imagined. I knew they’d look like little dough ball people, but they’d be my little dough balls and that was all I cared about. 

The next 30 minutes are still a blur in my mind, more than 15 years later. The dim room, the crinkly table, my paper gown, and the cool gooey gel started me on my happy adventure. The stark silence, the slight squint of the eyes, moving the screen from my view, then the tech leaving to get my doctor ushered me into a journey of loss unlike any I had been on before. 

I heard words like empty, nothing, lost, and gone mixed in with medical words. They asked if I could call someone for a ride. If I needed to go to work. If there was anything they could to help me then. I think I shook my head. I know I cried and slowly pulled on the maternity pants I had already needed once I was alone in the cozy ultrasound room. I walked into the room pregnant and loving my babies, I would be walking out broken and alone. Finding the courage to open that door and leave my hopes for them behind was hard. 

I went to my car, I called my husband to tell him what happened then I called work. I did not have an ounce of tact or decorum left when I spoke to my boss. 

“My babies are dead. I am not coming back to work today, I am not coming in tomorrow. I do not want to talk about it ever. Please tell everyone so I do not have to talk about it. I will be back Monday. I do not want to talk about it.”

I hung up, I drove home, I crawled into bed, and I cried until every inch of my body ached just as badly as my empty womb and heart did. 

When the doctor “catches” a miscarriage before your body does, you’re left with a terrible choice. You can walk around and wait for your body to start the painful process of expelling your sweet baby or you can go to the doctor for a D&C procedure to remove everything and start healing your body. Make no mistake, it is the same painful awful procedure as an abortion but they call is something kinder when you’re at lowest. I’m not sure why they change the name. 

I chose the D&C. Early the next morning, without eating anything, I crawled out of bed and called the doctor’s office right at 8am like I’d been told to do. They gave me a long list of things to do and don’t do before my assigned time to report to the hospital for the procedure. I walked through the house in a zombie-like state gathering comfy clothes, maxi pads, and doing a few chores I likely wouldn’t have energy for later in the day. Then we headed to the hospital. 

I recall nothing of arriving or going into the room. I do recall waking up next to my doctor in the recovery room. Visitors were not allowed back there, but doctors were. She sat by side so I wouldn’t wake up alone and empty in a strange place. Her kind blue eyes and the warm laugh lines on her face were the first thing I saw.

Immediately, I broke into the biggest, ugliest, most incoherent tears of my life. She leaned in and held me and let me cry. Everything hurt. My body was sore and I could feel it bleeding. I was woozy and dizzy coming out of the anesthesia and feeling ready to puke from the meds in my system. Nothing felt good or pleasant in that moment. From the very bottom of my soul to every corner of my body I hurt. 

My doctor remembering I was a grieving mother in a lot of pain meant the world to me. Her kindness and love got me through the few hours of recovery before I headed home for a miserable weekend of recovery.

I thought I left the hard part of the trauma at the hospital but I was wrong. 

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The Best books to read in Quarantine – according to me.

The Best books to read in quarantine – according to me. I’d like to say there’s some science behind this to prove how correct I am, but there isn’t. I just love books.

So, I guess the best books to read in quarantine may be a stretch, since they’re all a matter of opinion, but I’m giving it a go anyway. It’s been awhile since I’ve shared what I’ve been reading so this seems like as good of a time as any. As always – I want to know what you’re reading so can add it to my list 🙂

My top 5 favorite reads right now

  1. Untamed by Glennon Doyle – It’s no secret I love her. She is real, she is full of love, and she has overcome some serious things to find her happy place. This book is no exception. I am currently reading this and its taking me a bit because I’m so busy underlining things and drinking in every word. If you’re feeling like life isn’t what it should be or that you aren’t feeling how you “should” about life, this one is for you. 
  2. It’s Not Supposed to Be this Way by Lysa TerKeurst – I seem to suggest this book constantly but that’s just because it’s so freaking good! There’s no denying life is going to get messy or mixed up and not always turn out how we planned. This book walks us through those hard times from a Christian perspective. My poor copy is full of my handwriting and highlighting , which tells you how great it is. 
  3. My (Not So) Perfect Life by Sophie Kinsella – sometimes a light, humorous, “chick-lit” book is what is what life needs. It’s not a style I read often but this one is good. What happens when you get everything in life and it all seems to be going perfectly before it all comes crashing down. We all know that feeling right now, don’t we? But of course, good things can come from change and do. 
  4. A Perfectly Messed Up Story by Patrick McDonnell – yes, it’s a picture book. Yes, its meant for kids. I started reading it because my daughter loved it and asked for it at bedtime. Now, I think it applies to us all. Young or old, get a copy and embrace it.
  5. Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng – Honestly, I haven’t read it yet. I’m starting it soon. This looks so good AND there is a Hulu show to start watching too. But read the book first. Always read the book first.

What am I missing?

These are some of the best books to read during quarantine according to me. I could go on, but then you’d have no time for reading books! Get lost and inspired in a book to ride this out. What else should I read?

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This Was Not the Plan – Corona Blues -SheProclaims.com

This was not the plan for these daffodils this Spring. They were placed in the ground last fall, with care, in a landscaped area near the porch. The plan for these flowers was to come up from the gloomy ground once the snow melted away to bring happiness to the corner of our yard while we waited for the rest of Spring to arrive. 

Now imagine their surprise, and mine, when they sprouted in the middle of the backyard this week. These flowers are nowhere near where they were planted. Their Spring plans are very much off track thanks to a mischievous squirrel. 

My first reaction was to pull them out of the ground when the first buds started peeking over the grass. I was annoyed to find my planning and work messed up for no reason. Then, life started changing quickly as we moved to working from home, home schooling, online church, and changing all the Spring plans we had for ourselves. This was not the plan we had in place for our Spring. Taking care of renegade daffodils slipped from my mind. 

Until today when I sat down for a moment of quiet in this strange homebound chaos and spotted the daffodils. In the wrong spot, nowhere near where they were supposed to be, there they were. Standing tall among the grass and leaves with their bright yellow petals spread for the world. 

Among the chaos and broken plans they still bring joy. 

Last week was been hard at our house. Everyone was acutely aware we should have been preparing for a Spring Break trip to Florida instead of preparing for which puzzle we would be doing next. School buildings were closed for the rest of the year, worrying us all with how we’ll adapt to a new virtual classroom life. Many tears were shed. A lot of them from me (I am FREAKING OUT!).

Close quarters now feel smaller, patience is wearing thin, and arguments are popping up with more frequency than before. It seems like one of us is angry every waking moment of the day. I can’t help but wonder, what are we doing wrong? Why are we suddenly falling apart and suffering?

I finally found the real reason for the range of our moods. We aren’t turning on each other or actually falling apart. It is much simpler than that.

We are grieving. You are too.

We are grieving the loss of our structure and routine. Coming to terms with losing our school plans and vacation fun. We are all shedding the hope and excitement of the Spring Break we booked last fall. All of our plans are gone and nothing looks how it “should”. Nothing is how it is supposed to be. None of this is right. This was not the plan.

We are not the only ones. I’m sure you feel it too. The daffodils get it.

They remind us that plans change. Sometimes we end up where we don’t belong. We may end up where we do not want to be with no way to change the situation. No matter how long or well we plan, sometimes things are out of our control. All we can do is keep moving forward, growing where we are, and bringing whatever joy we can to the world.

We can still be beautiful and grow new places. Even if everything isn’t how we planned.

Just like the daffodils.

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Taking my time…

I’m as guilty as anyone else when I pickup a book or read a blog of someone I am interested in. I always seem to think they have life figured out and life without problems. I am well aware there is no truth in the previous sentence, but I still do it. 

I’ve been working on my book intently lately. So intently the blog is slacking a bit (look me up on Instagram @She.Proclaims where I’m more active). There are a ton of things in my mind and happening in my life I want to share but it just isn’t time yet. Some things I am still figuring out and some things are such fragile situations I need to get through them before I can share them. 

Just know, I’m here and still around. More updates are coming, I am just working through them right now so I can share them in the best most honest way I know how in the end. A few random thoughts:

  • I updated my mirror mantra the other day. I’m reminding myself “One day at a time.” My anxiety and depression have been trying to run the show here but I’m not letting them. What mantra are you focusing on right now?
  • I think parents should get to walk across the stage at graduation with their kids if they choose to. I’ve lost more hours and tears than I can count this week doing math homework. I’m actually better at the 8th grade stuff than the 3rd grade stuff, but we’re all collectively getting through this. I know I’m not alone. Hats off parents!
  • Valentine’s Day is coming up and I don’t care if you think it’s a Hallmark holiday, I’m freaking excited. Romance is easy to lose in the busyness of everyday life. If you don’t need it and you’re that low-key, good for you. I am not low-key and I need it so I’m pumped there is one day per year RESERVED for love and signs of it. Look at your spouse, if it matters to them, don’t drop the ball. A $10 bouquet from the grocery store will do fine (although florist trucks are extra special). But just be fully completely lost in love for one day. Even if you don’t buy cards and give into corporate pressure. 
  • I wish people worried as much about homeless people, lack of medicine for the poor, and all of the other actual problems in the world as much as they are about the Super Bowl halftime show. Oh the problems we could fix if we put that rage toward something meaningful.

That’s it!! Seriously, email me, follow me on IG or Facebook and stay tuned. SO many big things are happening right now. I’m beyond excited to share them with you at the right time!

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Gofundme.com – Christmas giving

“Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out demons. You received without paying; give without pay.” Matthew 10:8

We’re gathering next week for Christmas. Time spent with our family and friends.  We come together because Jesus was born. We celebrate his birth for all He brought to us: love, healing, and forgiveness. We talk a good game this time of year, but how often do we dig deep to freely give love and healing to others?


Eleven months out of the year, most of us rush through life relatively laser focused on our needs. Its human nature, we’re all guilty from time to time. Then in December we throw a small gift in a can or change in a kettle to warm our hearts.
But what about the people who were struggling before December? What about the families who were torn apart for reasons outside of their control? What about the peopke doing the wirk and doing their best who will need help far beyond the Christmas season?


We want to celebrate Jesus’ birth with presents and decorations, but what about celebrating his life through loving, helping, and giving?
Society complains when single parents (especially dads) don’t step up to support their kids. We complain when they don’t work as hard as we think they should to support their kids. We rant and rave far too often about all the people who do things we do not agree with that we lose sight of the people who quietly step up and do the right thing day in and day out. 


Kenan Harris is one of those people. I am honored to know and work with him. Kenan is a single father to an 11 year old boy (his son’s mother passed away when he was baby). Kenan is a family man who loves God and country. A veteran of the US Army, he works 70 hour weeks to support his son and raise him to be a man of strong character.

He doesn’t do it flashy, he doesn’t look for praise. He shows up to quietly do what’s right and spread his positive outlook. He does it all because its the right thing to do.


Its our turn to step up for him and anyone else in a similar position. To say thank you. To show his son that people care and doing the right thing, like his father does, will always come back to you. 


An 11 year old kid shouldn’t be without his parent on Christmas. We shouldn’t allow it to happen without giving what we can to fund his trip or spread the news that they need help.

You were given love, no questions asked. Its time to pass it on.

Click HERE to donate or share his story!

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Easy Giving Tuesday & #GiftItForward ideas

Easy Giving Tuesday & #GiftItForward ideas

Giving Tuesday & #GiftItForward ideas always flood me this time of year. I’m sitting in a black cape in the rear of the salon while I write this. I’d like to say no gray hairs have ever graced this head, but that would be a lie. In fact, with every passing year the battle to keep them at bay gets harder and harder.

Some day, I told myself, I’ll just color it all gray and be done with this act of vanity. But that day is not today. 

Today I’m watching the clock tick on, enjoying the view of an older gentleman in a bonnet under the dryer across from me, hoping I’ll get a glimpse of his new ‘do before I go.

I also think back to when the gray first showed up. When I was a single mom, working hard to barely keep us afloat, cursing the gray hairs while skillfully balancing my income with our bills. Grateful when I a few dollars left to occasionally mostly match my hair color to a box at Walgreens and wash away the gray for awhile. 

That Christmas, a friend had a gift card for a free coloring to a salon she didn’t go to. I’m not sure if it was the bags under my eyes, the obvious roots from a failed color match attempt, or the harsh gray hairs peeking through that tipped her off but she gifted that gift card to me.

She saw me. My struggle and my wants were acknowledged for the first time in a long time that day. I cried. I know there were other things we actually needed at home, but this was needed just as badly. This was needed for my soul. 

She was giving me far more than just a little pampering. 


I soaked in every moment at the salon that winter. That year I was becoming the solo mom, rock, warrior, and survivor. No regrets came from any of the hard things I was going through, but did miss the little treats I had taken for granted before.

I promised myself two things that day. First, someday all my colors would come from the salon and not the drug store. Secondly, when I got where I was going, I’d turn around to pass along kindness to someone else. 

Here I am, 13 years later, in my cape just like you can find me every 8 weeks. This time of year more that any it takes me back to the gift card and promises made.

“…freely you have received, freely give.” Matthew 10:8


I call it “Giving It Forward”. A way to take what I am have and bless others. To share my good fortune with them and bless them with a little kindness. 

My favorite way to do it this time of year is through gift cards. I receive quite a few each year. Some I’ll use, some I won’t. Many I will only use part of. They used to gather dust in a drawer in my kitchen until “giving it forward” hit me.

Giving Tuesday – #GiftItForward

I gave a gas card for station I am never nearby to a family preparing for a long drive to an important, possibly scary, appointment. I told I found it, I’m not in it for the glory. 

If you were behind me at Starbucks, you have likely received a discount on your drink from the gift card balance I left behind for you. 

To the lady at the Subway drive thru, I saw those kids bouncing in your backseat. I saw the look on your face. A day’s worth of tasks, appointments, worries, and responsibilities veiling your tired face. I hope the card I left behind put a dent in your bill and a smile on your face.

It’s that easy. Freely we receive gifts and freely we pass them on to those around us. It’s not Earth shattering work, there is no handing out of awards, but smiles will be given out. I think that makes it important work. This December, I’m inviting everyone to join me! Follow me on Instagram and tag @She.Proclaims with the #GiftItForward hashtag to see love spread! You can also donate your balances online to charity at Donate Your Card.

(P.S. I am not sure what the man did. He left before I could see him but my stylist and I agree it doesn’t really matter, that’s a man living his best life for himself. Rock on, sir.)