05/11/2025
My mother, Margaret Taylor, is a living epistle.
She’s the woman who moved us from the city to the country to protect what mattered most—family. We were never cold, never hungry, and never in the dark. She and my father, Robert Taylor, built a home wrapped in love and covered in purpose.
When he passed, she didn’t crumble. She stood.
Not loud, but strong.
Not perfect, but present.
Not without grief, but full of grace.
She’s an ordained minister. A quiet warrior. A woman who helps people rebuild their lives—while God rebuilt ours.
We weren’t always close. But God…
He restored us. He made us best friends. Twins.
That hug in this photo? It’s a miracle. A moment. A movement.
She gave me permission to write The Scenic Route with full truth. She didn’t flinch. She blessed it.
And now, I rise and call her blessed.
Not because she was flawless—but because she kept evolving.
Because she let love win.
Because she loved my sons, my grandbabies, and our story back to life.
“You are a living epistle… written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God.” – 2 Corinthians 3:3
I love you, Mom.
Thank you for being the sermon you never had to preach out loud.
