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A Mother’s Day Story: What One Late-Night Frog Hunt Taught Me About Love.

For educators who know that the smallest moments often matter most.


In honor of Mother’s Day, I thought I’d step away from my usual format and share one of the most vivid memories I have from my years of motherhood. It’s one of those moments that felt completely chaotic at the time. Looking back, however, it shines with so much meaning.


I was serving as an assistant superintendent—long days, longer nights. My husband, stretched equally thin, was a superintendent in a neighboring district. Together we were raising two daughters, one in high school and one in elementary school.


This particular night had already been full. Meetings had run late, as they often did, and by the time I pulled into the driveway, the house was dim and quiet, the kind of quiet that says you’ve missed most of the evening routine. I walked in, kicked off my heels, and slowly made my way upstairs, already thinking about pajamas and rest.


Halfway up the stairs, I heard it. Crying. Not just a few tears, but the kind of panicked, breathless crying that comes from a very real, very urgent crisis, at least in the mind of a child.


There stood my youngest, completely undone. Words tumbled out between sobs, too fast to make sense of. Right beside her was my oldest—calm, steady, stepping into that big-sister role so naturally, helping translate the situation. “Mom, she has a frog race tomorrow, and she doesn’t have a frog.” Her voice was full of compelling empathy. She was so good at that!


Yes. A frog race. Apparently, this was not optional in her world. This was everything.


Her dad, who had already carried a full day himself, had made the very reasonable call that he would not be heading out at 10:00 at night to hunt for a frog. His perspective? Not every child would have one. It would be fine.


To my youngest, however, it was not fine. As her tears kept falling, something in me shifted. You know that feeling—when love overrides logic? Before I could talk myself out of it, I said the words. “Okay, let’s go get a frog.” 


Of course, my oldest knew I would need help and was always up for an adventure. Within minutes, I had traded my work clothes for something a little more…frog-hunting appropriate. We grabbed flashlights, a bucket, and—because it felt official—a shovel. As my youngest headed to bed, I assured her that we would not come back empty-handed.


(Lord, have mercy.)


Our first stop was a small creek behind a neighborhood. The night air was thick and still, and the sound of frogs croaking gave us hope. We crept carefully along the edge, flashlights scanning the water, hearts a little too committed to this mission.


Twenty minutes passed. Nothing. There’s something slightly unsettling about two people lurking behind houses in the dark with flashlights. We decided it was best to relocate before someone called the authorities.


Next stop was the local arboretum. It was beautiful but pitch black. No lights. Just the glow of our flashlights cut through the darkness. A constant chorus of croaking echoed around us. It felt like we had stepped into another world. We moved slowly, carefully, whispering like we were on some kind of wildlife expedition.


Suddenly, “There! I see one!” Sure enough, nestled in the shallow, marshy water was our target.


Now, let me be clear. I had already established that I would not be the one doing the actual capture. That honor belonged to my brave and willing oldest daughter. She inched forward, bucket in hand, and with one quick motion, down it went.


Success? Not exactly. That frog (or, if we’re honest, it was a toad) immediately began thrashing and jumping inside the bucket, thumping loudly against the sides. This led to both of us screaming…and then laughing…and then trying to figure out what in the world to do next.


Adrenaline was high. Coordination was questionable. We devised a plan: slide the lid underneath while lifting the bucket—quickly, carefully, confidently. We counted to three, and somehow it miraculously worked.


We stood there in the dark, breathless, slightly stunned, holding a bucket with a very alive, very active toad inside. Victory!


The next morning I don’t know which brought me more relief—the fact that the toad was still alive or that my youngest would be quite impressed by our catch.  In case you’re wondering, that little toad won third place! We managed to return him safely to his home later. 😊


Now, you might be wondering why I would share such a story. Honestly, it’s simple. It’s one of the clearest pictures I have of how love works—how it nudges us, stretches us, and changes us along the way.


  • Love doesn’t always make sense.

  • Love doesn’t always wait for convenience.

  • Love steps into the moment, into someone else’s need, into someone else’s world and says, “If it matters to you, it matters to me.”


That night wasn’t really about a frog. It was about choosing sacrifice over comfort. It was about patience when I was tired. It was about kindness in a moment that could have easily been dismissed. In ways I didn’t fully realize at the time, it was God cultivating something deeper in me.


The fruit of the Spirit doesn’t just appear in the big, polished moments of life. It grows in the messy, inconvenient, unexpected ones. For those who serve in education, you know exactly what I mean. So much of what educators do each day may feel small, even a little silly at times. A conversation. A moment of reassurance. A willingness to go the extra mile when no one else sees it. God wastes nothing. He uses those moments not only to reach the hearts in front of us but also to shape our own.


So this Mother’s Day, as you reflect on your own vivid memories—the ones that made you laugh, cry, question your sanity for a moment—hold onto them. Those memories matter. Whether you’re a mom, a mentor, an administrator, a teacher, or someone who simply shows up and loves others, you are living out something with eternal value.


And sometimes that looks like chasing frogs in the dark.


A Simple Prayer

Lord, thank You for the moments that stretch us and shape us. Thank You for the times we don’t plan and don’t always understand. Teach us to love the way You love—sacrificially, patiently, completely. Help us to see the value in the small things, the hidden things, the insignificant things no one else notices. Grow Your Spirit within us so that our lives reflect You in every step, even the unexpected ones. Remind us that nothing done in love is ever wasted. In Jesus name, amen.


Scriptures to Reflect On

Happy Mother’s Day 💛


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