
Way back when I attended the St. James Lutheran Grade School, the dictator– I mean, the director–of the school was Miss Martin. Miss Martin insisted we children follow the rules and there was no room for misconduct. This was also back in the days when corporal punishment was allowed in schools, which I’m quite certain put a smile on Miss Martin’s face.
At the time, no one knew I was colorblind. Mom put out my color-coordinated clothes and drove us to school without having to try and figure if stoplights were red or green. She also knew which color designated drop-off spot was reserved for our class.
Now there are many degrees of colorblindness. The technical term for my colorblindness is very. I live in a world of very limited color spectrums and even with my special colorblind sunglasses, I’ll never be able to match a necktie with my suit.

It was Miss Martin who helped discover my colorblind eyes during a simple coloring assignment. Per her strict instructions, we were to pick up the green crayon and color in the grass section of the serene barn setting pictured in our workbook. We were then told to pick up the red crayon and color in the barn doors, brown for the roof, yellow for the sun, and so on.
When she goose-stepped around to inspect our work and came to my work of art, for some reason, the veins in her neck and forehead almost burst. I was rudely picked up by my blue (or red) collar and carried into her office with legs dangling. I was set down in front of her and informed that there was not any room for clowns in her class.
All this was quite puzzling to me, but I overcame it by mustering up a great deal of fear. We had all heard rumors of other children being taken to Miss Martin’s office, but their stories were too terrifying to be believed. “What is this?” she demanded holding my artwork before me. I thought the correct answer was “a barn,” but a new vein popping out on her forehead indicated I was completely wrong.
As she reached for the big wooden spoon propped up in the display case, she explained that goofing off in her classroom would not be tolerated. The spoon looked to be about six feet long and ten inches thick to me. I was then instructed to hold out my hands at arm’s length with my palms down while she reared back to get full swing.
I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say it became difficult to hold onto the crayon with my swollen knuckles when I was sent back to my table to try again. My heavy sobs and teary eyes made it even harder to see the crayons as she towered over me. She opened the book to a new page and instructed me to pick up the green crayon…
After several visits to Miss Martin’s office, mercifully the school day ended, and my mom came to pick me up. I had to wait inside for my mother to come get me. I had stopped crying by then, but as soon as I saw her, I burst into tears and ran into her arms.
Miss Martin was twice the size of my mom, but she was no match for a mother protecting her child. She knew her son and knew that while I was fully capable of all sorts of mischief and trouble, something about this story wasn’t right. Mom was on my side. She defended me. She was upset. Miss Martin was in big trouble.

Here at LOGOI, we often feel like a mother to our national missionaries. We know of pastors and leaders in Cuba who have been unjustly accused as being insurrectionists for preaching the Gospel. Many tell of their terrible struggles to survive financially. Others tell of their family members caught up in drugs and other addictions… sometimes even themselves. Some sadly confess of their failures and disappointments and how they wonder if God can truly use them again.
“As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you” (Isaiah 66:13).
What a joy to offer our online Bible resource center that is packed full of comfort from God’s Word. Like moms, we’re open 24 hours a day and all someone has to do is log on. One of the special places they find are the “Notes from Les Thompson.” Pastors and leaders loved to spend time with my father so they could open their hearts in confidentiality. So many of the articles and books Dad wrote were aimed at comforting and encouraging them from the truths of Scripture. Like a good mom, they are full of comfort, encouragement, and instruction that lead directly to Jesus.
By the way, did you know it still costs LOGOI less than $5 per month to help, encourage, and comfort a Spanish-speaking pastor and leader for an entire month? How beautiful that a gift of $50 enables 10 national missionaries to study, be refreshed and comforted in God’s love and truth. Like a mom comforting her child, each dollar is a great investment in “Equipping God’s people to do His work and build up the church, the body of Christ” (Ephesians 4:12).

“Comfort” is indeed what so many of our national missionaries need, and so do you and I. It’s hard to go through this life without getting our knuckles smacked for one reason or another.
Back to my story… It wasn’t long after my mom picked me up from grade school that bad day that I was sitting in an eye doctor’s office discovering that I was, in fact, very color blind. I wasn’t there when my mom let Miss Martin know of her painful mistake, but it had to be good. And while it’s a different story I eventually became good friends with Miss Martin. She could still pick me up by my red (or blue) collar, but now it was to give me a huge bear hug.
You see, I did receive comfort — from my mom and even Miss Martin. It made all the difference. To all you moms, thank you for your wonderful comfort. We love you!
Forever,

P.S. Have you downloaded your copy of Carolyn Thompson's An Unexpected Love Story here yet? It's a great read to share with Mom and the whole family! Add to cart and complete a brief form. You will then be able to download a PDF version of the book. Contact us for a printed version.
What a sad, yet wonderful story of grace and forgiveness (in you becoming friends with Miss Martin!). As teachers, we need to try and really know our students' hearts and show them the love of Jesus in all that we do.