Entry #32 • September 29th, 2026

Through Tear-Stained Eyes

Back in February, I sat in my car, parked right outside Colorado Baby. I had just arrived to work one of my late shifts, my favorite time to work, 9pm–12am. Those hours are free of distractions, when my creative mind really comes to life. But this time, I didn’t just hop out of the car and head in. I sat there and stared at the store, my store, sitting on the corner of the block.

It was dark, but the store was lit from inside by a security light. From where I sat, I could see it there on the corner, almost like a beacon, appearing to stand strong. Many customers have shared over the years that Colorado Baby has been just that for them in the throes of new motherhood: a beacon.

And as I sat there staring at it, I honestly bawled my eyes out.

I broke down crying from the overwhelm of carrying the weight of the store while simultaneously knowing the importance it holds for our community. Sometimes it feels like a sacrificial calling of some sort to fight for it. To keep pushing even when it feels futile.

I thought of all the moms it has impacted over the years. If I’m being totally honest, anytime I’m feeling really discouraged by the weight of the business, I imagine the store’s eulogy. I imagine what people would say if I were to announce the closing of Colorado Baby.

It was there for me in a time when I felt my lowest.

It’s so needed.

I felt welcomed into motherhood there.

I started to gain confidence as a mom at Colorado Baby.

And so on.

Imagining those comments reinvigorates me to keep going, to keep fighting, to not give up. There are more women stepping into motherhood to come alongside. More moms to encourage to keep going.

What Colorado Baby has been for them, it has also been for me, but on the opposite side of the coin.

That February night, though, felt like a lower-than-low low. I was weighed down by so many things in life at that point. I just sat there and cried. I cried at how heavy and how lonesome it all felt.

And in a completely selfish state, I thought about how unfair it felt that so many people found strength and courage from Colorado Baby while I sat there buckling under the weight of it. I felt almost like its life source. Like it was sucking the very life out of me in order to be what it was for everyone else.

Wow…kind of like how motherhood can feel.

Woah. Hadn’t thought of it that way.

You give so much of yourself, by nature and by design, to keep your child alive, safe, and growing. Your child reaps the benefits of your sacrifices, whether they see them or not. And you keep going. You keep pouring yourself out for your child because it’s quite literally in your DNA to do so.

Maybe there was something fitting about the fact that the very place built to come alongside women in motherhood could sometimes ask the same thing of me.

As I sat there staring at the store through very wet eyes and tear-stained cheeks, I begged God:

“Please, please toss me a bone or something.”

“God, just something. I need…something. It’s so heavy.”

Eventually, I pulled myself together and went inside to work for the evening.

That night imprinted itself pretty strongly in my memory. It wasn’t the first time I’d cried about the store, and surely won’t be the last, but something about that night felt different. The weight of the store’s imagined eulogy. The depth of my plea to God. The starkness of the light shining from the corner like a beacon.

Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic for metaphors, but it’s as though those tears were sown into fertile ground.

They weren’t wasted.

God saw them.

And what I couldn’t have known as I sat there begging Him for something was that something had already been set in motion.

Of Rocking Horses and Lighthouses

In January, GJ Creates, our downtown art district, had reached out to me about a possible collaboration opportunity.

They had been approached by a nonprofit organization out of Denver working on a project called “Make Childcare Visible.” They had funding to invest in a mural in a rural community with a focus on childcare and were looking for a wall somewhere in downtown Grand Junction to call home.

Dave with GJ Creates immediately thought of Colorado Baby.

And just like that, an email landed in my inbox with the subject line: “Colorado Baby Mural?”

I was intrigued…very intrigued.

But there was a glaring barrier: I don’t own the building. Any mural on the outside of Colorado Baby would have to be approved by my 96-year-old landlord and her 68-year-old son, John, who manages the property.

There was another glaring barrier, too: I felt like I was trudging through quicksand during January…February…March. I was really, really struggling to hold everything together, and this felt like one more thing to juggle.

Still, I reached out to John.

He didn’t shoot down the idea.

After lots of back and forth between Jesse with the nonprofit, Dave with GJ Creates, John, and me, we eventually had the green light to move forward. There were a few stipulations: we couldn’t paint directly on the brick, so the mural would need to be painted on panels and mounted to the wall; I needed to be part of the artist interview process; and I would have final say in the art concept.

Everyone agreed, and the project moved forward.

As the mural slowly started taking shape over the coming months, I was cautiously optimistic about what it might become. Years before, I had told the DDA (Downtown Development Authority) that if the opportunity ever arose, I would love to see something interactive on the outside wall of Colorado Baby. I’d seen some pretty neat concepts while traveling, like giant pegboards or busy boards that kids could actually play with.

But I’d always known getting something like that onto our wall would be complicated for one simple reason: it wasn’t actually our wall.

Maybe this mural was the answer to that little desire from years before.

Fast forward to the first of August.

It was time to interview the muralists.

There were six of us on the interview committee and three artists being considered. We were all spread across the state, so the interviews would happen over Zoom. One artist would join from her home in Denver, another from somewhere so remote in Colorado that we weren’t sure he’d have enough cell service for video, and the third had submitted a prerecorded interview.

I had absolutely no idea what interviewing muralists entailed.

This is not a world I live and work in.

Jesse had prepped all of us on the interview committee with a shared document and assigned each of us a question to ask. And with that, we started our first interview with Hilary, a muralist based out of Denver.

Hilary is a mom of three, with kids in late elementary and middle school. She felt especially drawn to the project because of its focus on the complexities of childcare, something she knew personally. She regularly brings her own kids along “on the job” while painting murals.

She had also grown up in a rural town in Wyoming, where a mural painted on the side of a bank first sparked her interest in storytelling through art. She had a soft spot for small towns and loved the idea that something she painted in ours might impact a child the way that mural had impacted her.

Something important to know here is that none of the muralists were familiar with Colorado Baby. This wasn’t a project being hosted by Colorado Baby. We were merely providing the wall. The project was being facilitated by Empowered, the nonprofit Jesse runs. That was the organization the muralists knew.

Which made Hilary’s concept for the piece all the more interesting.

I’m sharing this as I remember her explaining it, not as a direct quote:

“What I’m envisioning is a rocking horse set against the Western Slope landscape. A rocking horse has to be deliberately crafted to balance properly, and I think there’s something symbolic in that when we think about the balance of caring for children. I picture giant cumulus clouds because they lend themselves to the feeling of childhood, with a leatherwork-style border that speaks to the ranching communities of the Western Slope.”

A rocking horse?!

I was floored.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Colorado Baby, we have a beloved rocking horse that we put outside the store every morning when we open. Children walk by and ride it all day long. It’s a solid, antique rocking horse that has been with us all the years we’ve been on Main Street, and somewhere along the way it became a little downtown landmark.

​​One of those things that I imagine will someday be tucked into the core childhood memories of kids who grew up here:

The store with the rocking horse.

A rocking horse isn’t technically part of Colorado Baby’s identity, but somehow, unintentionally, it kind of is.

And here I was, sitting in an interview with a muralist who knew nothing about that, listening to her pitch the idea of painting a giant rocking horse on the side of our building.

The mural wasn’t supposed to be about Colorado Baby.

And yet somehow, without saying Colorado Baby at all, it almost would be.

After the planned questions, we were given the chance to ask Hilary anything else we wanted. I told her how much I wanted the mural to be interactive for kids, something more than “just a mural” they looked at and moved on from. I wanted it to pull them in and maybe even bring families back again and again.

I suggested some sort of seek-and-find element.

“Oh! I could paint animals into the clouds,” she offered. “Just like how when we were kids we’d look up at the clouds to see what shapes we could see in them.”

I loved the idea. I couldn’t quite imagine how she would pull it off without making the animals look obvious or cartoony, but…trust the process, right? She’s the artist, not me, haha.

Then I told her my other request: a measuring stick incorporated somewhere into the mural. Kids could run up and stand next to it while Mom or Dad fumbled for their camera to snap a picture. Maybe it could even become an annual tradition, coming back year after year to document their growth.

Hilary immediately saw a way to work it into the leatherwork border.

By the time her interview ended, I was pretty stunned by what had just happened. I was feeling incredibly hopeful about the mural project and, admittedly, pretty taken with Hilary’s vision for it.

But we still had two more muralists to interview.

Before rolling into our second interview, with Seth, we were given a link to a professional video about his work as a muralist and a project especially dear to him. We were about halfway through the video when Seth popped up on our Zoom screen with a vast Colorado landscape behind him. He was quite literally hiking up a hillside.

“Hey guys! I’m just hiking up this hill to get as many bars of reception as I can, haha!”

In the background, we could see the dirt bike he had ridden into the backcountry before hiking up the hill in search of cell service.

Wildly Coloradan, I must say.

Seth lives in our neck of the woods on the Western Slope, so there was an immediate “local” feeling to him. We worked through the same interview questions we had asked Hilary. His concept for the mural wasn’t quite as defined as hers, but he was incredibly receptive to my ideas and requests.

Before the interview ended, though, there was something from his video I couldn’t let go without mentioning.

“Seth, I have to tell you something quite interesting. In the video we watched, you talked about a project that is very dear to you, something you called The Faro Project. I feel pressed to tell you that my last name is Alfaro, which means ‘the lighthouse.’ I couldn’t resist sharing that with you because it just seems absolutely uncanny.”

His jaw dropped.

“Okay, I have to tell you guys this story…”

And then he did.

Seth began telling us about his daughter, Jubilee. When she was just three years old, she was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Knowing their time with her would be short, Seth and his wife, Chelsea, took her on a trip along the Pacific Coast, spending time together and making sandcastles, something Jubilee loved.

Somewhere along that journey, lighthouses began taking on a profound meaning for their family. Seth shared how they seemed to encounter them during some of their hardest moments, becoming places where they could stop, regroup, and find enough courage to continue.

And then he told us about a man they met along the way who offered their family an unexpected place of respite. His name was Faro.

Seth asked him what his name meant.

Lighthouse.

Of course it did.

After ultimately losing Jubilee, Seth carried the significance of those lighthouses forward into what became The Faro Project, using his art to advocate for and bring awareness to children in need on the Western Slope.

I’m giving you only the briefest version of Seth, Chelsea and Jubilee’s story here. I would encourage you to read more about The Faro Project and the beautiful work that has grown from their loss. [READ HERE]​

The Zoom room had gone completely quiet.

And I was in tears.

Here I was, just a mere hour after listening to a muralist who knew nothing about Colorado Baby propose painting a rocking horse on the side of our building, now listening to another muralist tell me about lighthouses appearing in moments when his family desperately needed the courage to keep going.

Lighthouses.

Faro.

Alfaro.

And somewhere in the back of my mind was that February night, sitting alone in my car, staring through tears at Colorado Baby glowing on the corner like a beacon.

Seth was thanked for his time and for sharing something so personal with us, and the interview ended.

I just sat there.

What had just happened?

Two interviews, back to back. Two completely different artists. Two completely different connections that neither of them could possibly have known would mean something to me.

Kismet?

Maybe.

Or perhaps something a little more ordained.

We then jumped into the third interview, which had been prerecorded. I’m glad we had a third artist to consider, but honestly, by that point I knew the choice was between Hilary and Seth. There was no question about it.

When the final interview ended, it was time to vote.

I don’t know what I expected, but I definitely hadn’t realized we were going to make the final decision right then and there. I was still reeling from the first two interviews.

How could we possibly pick?

Could we somehow use both muralists?!

Jesse started calling on members of the committee one by one. The first vote went one way. The second went the other. Another vote was cast, and eventually Jesse came back around to me.

“Okay Megan, how are you feeling?”

Honestly? Slightly panicked.

“I can’t believe I have to make this decision right now. This feels like an incredibly weighty decision, and to just make it in this moment feels…unreasonable. I just…”

Thankfully, Jesse offered me an out. He acknowledged that this mural was going on the wall of Colorado Baby, and I would be the one looking at it and hearing people’s thoughts about it day in and day out. He offered to give me until 10am the next morning to make the final decision.

I gratefully accepted.

The rest of the day, I tried to busy myself with my regular Monday tasks, but the decision lurked in the back of my mind. I felt such a strong connection to both Hilary and Seth, each for completely different reasons.

How could I choose?

Mondays I work late, usually until midnight. When 11pm rolled around, I knew I needed to stop everything else and give myself some space to think. I came out to the couch in the store, sat down, and simply…sat.

I thought about Hilary.

I thought about Seth.

I tried to pray for direction.

But instead of feeling some clear directive toward one or the other, I kept getting this overwhelming sense:

Megan, they are both great choices. You have the freedom to just choose. There isn’t a wrong answer. They are both right answers. You simply have to decide which one you believe is the best fit for the work on the wall.

There was something incredibly freeing about that.

So I stopped looking for some flashing neon sign pointing me toward the “right” answer and simply considered the art.

And when I did that, I knew.

Hilary’s style and vision were most in line with what I had imagined when this whole mural opportunity first landed in my inbox back in January.

The next morning, I emailed the committee with my decision.

We were moving forward with Hilary.

A Pile of Stones

Things moved quickly after that. An installation date was selected, and Hilary sent over a rendering of her concept for me to review. I requested a few small changes, she sent back a second rendering, and that was it.

That was the mural that would go on the wall.

Over the three days Hilary spent painting it, I continually found myself gawking at her work. I simply could not believe it was happening.

A beautiful mural representative of children, the Western Slope, and somehow even Colorado Baby was being painted on the side of the building.

On that wall.

The same wall I had stared at eight months earlier through wet eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

The wall I had looked toward while wondering how I could possibly continue bearing the weight of Colorado Baby for the greater good of the community it serves.

God, just something. I need…something. It’s so heavy.

And now I was standing there watching rocking horses emerge across that very same wall.

Somehow, in a way only God can do, He took those tears and brought forth something I never could have imagined.

Literal art was made.

But I don’t think I fully understood what that mural would become for me until after it was finished.

In another wild turn of events, Colorado Baby is currently expanding into the classroom space inside the store. That meant Spanish Now, the business my husband runs, needed a new home. And that new home is directly behind Colorado Baby, sharing a wall with the store. It also now doubles as my office.

There’s a whole story there. One I’ll tell you eventually.

But for this story, there’s only one part you need to know:

Several times a day, I now walk between Colorado Baby and my new office.

And every single time, I walk past the mural.

The same wall.

I walk past it on my way to the office. I walk past it when I head back to the store. Back and forth throughout my workday, there it is.

And every time I see it, I catch my breath a little.

There’s a story in the book of Joshua where God stops the Israelites after they cross the Jordan River and tells them to take twelve stones from the river and build a memorial with them. The stones were to remain there so that in the years to come, when their children asked what they meant, they could tell them what God had done.

The mural has become my pile of stones.

A physical memorial I pass several times a day, reminding me of God’s goodness and kindness.

A reminder of that February night. Of how heavy it all felt. Of a desperate prayer for something. And of the fact that, even then, something had already been set in motion.

A reminder that I don’t bear the burden of Colorado Baby alone. He sustains it.

I simply need to steward it the best I can.

​
-Just Me[gan]

PS — There is so much more to the story of this mural than I could fit into this entry. Empowered has created a beautiful landing page that holds the stories behind the project and the people who helped bring it to life. If you want to linger here a little longer, you can find all of those stories here.