Trees of Transition

Planting seeds of hope throughout our world through sharing photography and thoughts on teaching, cooking, and life transitions.


I Appreciate How My Home School Mom Did This: Boomerang Learning (Especially on the Topic of Writing)

Home Schooling’s Black, White, and Gray Series 1, Episode 3

My Mom tells me that at age two I filled pages with squiggly lines because I already loved “writing.” My Mom modeled writing for me, and since her Mom was also a writer, the writing gift flowed down to me.
In our home school, Mom gave each of my siblings and I thick notebooks, which we decorated and turned into journals. This week I’ve been re-reading that journal, and it’s taken me back into the quiet home school life of when I was aged eight, nine, and ten.
I have journals that I started writing at age 8 and go to the present time. From about age 10 until age 25, I journaled about almost every day of those fifteen years, and I treasure those entries. Re-reading these journals gives me a stronger remembrance of my thoughts about being home-schooled, some of which I will share with you here and in future posts.
My Mom chose the type of parenting where she showed us how to do something (as much as she knew) and then, like releasing a boomerang, she let us go, and we would go out as far as we could, come back, touch base a bit more, and then go out farther the next time, eventually passing her skill level. With me she did this in the areas of sewing (she taught me how to use her sewing machine, and then let me sew!), cooking (I started helping her when I was two, and by age 12 I cooked a lot of our family’s meals), and writing. She still helps me with my writing at times, so we are still working together in that area. She catches mistakes and is an effective proofreader! The biggest thing my Mom has done as my writing teacher is being my encourager; she started when I was two and has never stopped.

This is a drawing of my Dad chopping firewood from my first journal.

By M. H. Campbell Copyright 2014



Letting Your Heart Surface

Tears loosen the icy grip of fear:
Fear of letting down, letting people see, letting people close, and letting yourself just be real–pimples, farts, screams, smiles, hugs, and all.

A heart buried out of fear of losing love if not perfect or doing what others want.

A heart surfacing through the unconditional love of Jesus, shown through people: the hugs and kisses of a one year old nephew, of walking alongside sisters through widowhood and marriage, of brothers letting me into their lives, and parents’ nurture and prayer.

A heart surfacing through giving 100 percent, of being rejected, but still having hope to heal and teach again.
I still have hope…for my life, for my city, for my world…
An engaged heart means deeper pain, but deeper hope.


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The Color of Hope


My first glimpse: The blooms stuck out of the mailbox, with a note stuck next to them.
Their owner chopped their stems, placing them in an antique vase.

During dinner, the blueness added to the hope that was eaten, spoken, and shared among the four ladies.

These blossoms visualize hope.