Next week, Tatum will be shadowing a sweet girl with special needs at Vacation Bible School at Scottsdale Bible Church. For privacy, we won’t be sharing her name or story here—but she’s someone who already holds a special place in our hearts. Tatum has always had a natural bent toward children with special needs. It’s not just patience—it’s presence. She sees the person behind the diagnosis. She listens. She adapts. She cares deeply. (like with her feathered loves)
This opportunity feels like such a divine alignment—where her gifts and compassion can shine freely. I have no doubt she will leave a lasting imprint on the week, and that this sweet girl will do the same for her.
Tatum has also been keeping up with her writing, pouring her heart and imagination into pages that reflect courage, honesty, and empathy. Below is her most recent story—raw, emotional, and full of layered insight for someone her age..
SHORT STORY By Tatum
My mother had been disowned after she got pregnant with my brother at 17. Her boyfriend left her, and her life crumbled. My brother had been diagnosed with autism at 1, and she couldn’t take care of him. As she was walking to the orphanage, my brother pulling her hair, she was stopped by a man her age. They fell in love. He engaged a year later, and they got married.
That’s when I was born. My brother was 8 and running around the hospital room as my mom screamed. Let’s just say I have a big head. So after 30 minutes of me slowly coming out, my mom finally got a break.
Fast forward to when I was 4. My mother was dealing with a broken heart because my dad didn’t want me. So he left with my brother because I’m a girl who has one arm missing.
Fast forward to when I turned 16. My mom had told me the entire story, and somehow, some way, I was pregnant at 16. But she didn’t leave me. She was with me. She held my hand during my ultrasound. She rubbed my back while I had morning sickness. She bought clothes for my baby. She held my hand as I screamed. She held my new baby.
6 years later:
I slowly step down the stairs. The big bright clock flashes the numbers 5:00 a.m. Why does Lily’s school have to start at 7? The first sign of light finally fills through as I spread butter on two slabs of bread. More light streams in as I pack her lunch—juice box, sandwich, cookie. More light comes in as I make her baby brother’s bottle.
6:40. I run upstairs and open my door. My husband lays fast asleep, our 2-year-old son snuggling with him. I throw on jeans and a random shirt. My tangled hair frizzes up as I tug my brush through it.
6:50. I swing Lily’s door open. She sits on the ground dressed in a tank top and overalls. I pull her hair into pigtails and tie them.
7:00. I buckle the seatbelt.
7:20. I pull into school. Lily hops out and runs inside.
7:25. I close the classroom door. A young woman walks over. “You’re 25 minutes late.”
I look down. “I’m so sorry. I slept late.”
8:09. A tired version of me slams the front door and walks inside. My husband walks over.
WOW! This story stopped me in my tracks. It’s fiction, but fiction born out of deep emotional understanding. Somehow, she grasped generational struggle, motherly devotion, identity, disability, and perseverance… all in just a few pages. It reminds me that kids don’t need to be told how to feel deeply….they just need space to express it.
As summer begins and we step into this next chapter: VBS, writing, slow mornings, healing afternoons. I’m clinging to hope. Hope that rest and rhythm will find us. Hope that Tatum’s heart continues to lead her to people who need it. Hope that this will be a season of gentleness, growth, and maybe, in the quiet spaces, a little more healing than we expected.
Love you all. Thanks for walking with us through every chapter.