July 24, 2008 by pamela.

I’ve received emails with the following article a few times since yesterday afternoon… and each time I receive it I’m once again encouraged and reminded of the great blessing of motherhood and childbearing specifically. I’m encouraged bcz the ones who have sent it are mothers who not only love their children but also love being mothers — mothers who have borne many children and whose bodies have been made comfortable… for babies… and adored by husbands who appreciate and marvel at the handiwork and blessing of the Lord.

Article by Jeff (The Public Undressing of America) Pollard

The True Meaning of Beauty:
A Pastoral Letter to Fruitful Vines

 Dear Fruitful Vines,

One never knows in God’s mercy and kindness what a simple appeal to a Biblical passage can produce. As I was pondering my last encouragement to you all, I pondered Psalm 128. Verse 3 says, “Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house.” I thought, “You know, instead of saying, ‘Dear pregnant moms,’ maybe, ‘Fruitful Vines,’ instead.” Now “pregnant moms” is a lovely term to me. Nevertheless, from the encouraging replies I received regarding the term Fruitful Vines, it will now be the address of choice!

This also pointed out to me again the importance of words and, especially in our society, of image. You dear sisters have to stand in the checkout lines of Wal-Mart and other stores all the time. Glaring at you are rows of magazines that virtually shout at you, “The Hollywood Harlots are the standard of beauty. You have to look like this, and display that, or you are not beautiful.”

Don’t listen to this. Reject it. Replace this lie with God’s truth.

Some of you mentioned waddling. Some of you mentioned that vines are thin. I was amused. Yet, I was also pierced to my very soul. Our society has made body-sculpting surgeons rich and constantly shoves its artificial, nip-and-tuck, silicone and Botox standard of beauty in your face. Let me tell you something: waddling, as your body bears the children God gave you, is holy. The changes, the aches, the pains, the swelling, the stretch marks, and all the rest-these are all beautiful in the eyes of the Lord and to any man who has his biblical wits about him. It is stunning beauty to see women submitting to the often painful changes that bearing the Lord’s children brings. Being fruitful and multiplying brings glory to the Lord Jesus Christ and is the holy act of bringing God’s elect into this world. Through virgin’s womb, our beloved Savior entered this world. Mary did the most holy waddling that has ever graced the planet. It was not the sultry, sensual sashay of seduction. It was the humble, load-bearing, groaning, aching waddle of the salvation of all God’s elect for all eternity.

Waddle on,groan on, swell up to the glory of the Lord Jesus Christ: you are displaying a true and holy beauty to your God and to anyone who has eyes to see.

My beloved wife used to say in her last trimester, “I feel like a beached whale.” I wish I had told her a million times and more, “But you are beautiful to me and to the Lord.” She was then and she is now the delight of my eyes. Dear Vines, there is a beauty in your fulfilling the eternal purpose of God to which all the airbrushed, surgically enhanced bodies on this planet will never compare. Your self-effacing sacrifice displays the glory of your Lord.

Waddle, swell, and groan to glory of your Savior. He knows true beauty when he sees it…”

The above article by Jeff Pollard posted at Vision Forum | Doug Phillips Blog Permalink

with love and thanks to the LORD for the inestimable gift of motherhood and opportunity for life…

Posted in birth control, Motherhood | Print | 3 Comments »

May 12, 2008 by pamela.

I think we forget that sometimes. I think we get all caught up in the dailies that we miss a whole bunch of the deeper importance and imperatives of motherhood. I think in the busyness of life we forget the deeper calling, the noble endeavor and the consequences of how we spend our time and our days and the evidence of what we become devoted to or distracted by — a sobering reality is the evidence of the work of our hands. O, may the Lord be our guiding Light.

O— I know I need the messages of Mother’s Day… the praises, the cards, the gifts and the favours — even though and even when I feel so unworthy of all the cards and their lofty sentiments. But in an attempt to avoid the attention of selfcenteredly denying being a worthy recipient, I have continually thought: O Lord, please help me to get and keep my eyes off myself and my perceived failings and help me to keep my eyes upon You — for all that I have has come from You — my gifts, my possessions and my calling. O Lord, all of this, all of these things I see I have and have failed so many times — well, Lord, I can do nothing to change — but I ask Your mercy and Your favour, Lord, for all I’m doing and all that I’m called to do… O Lord, may I be wise and may I be noble as I live out the rest of my days and may my motherhood be an honour to me and to You and may it be said of me that I trusted in You. May it be said of me… I waited on You.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come to the place where I feel that the hand that rocked my baby’s cradle ruled the world — nor can I fathom feeling adequate for the task I’ve been given… but I do pray that in the end I will have been found faithful and I pray that my children will see that it was such an honour for me to be their mother. I pray they’ll know how grateful I was for the indescribable awe and privilege to carry them.

O, what a privilege — a blessing and honour — to be a mother and a family.

Some precious poems that inspire… encouragement for Mother’s Happy Day….

This one, by William Allingham was given to me several years ago in a Mother’s Day card… Timothy said he had been searching for a suitable quote or poem for my card… It’s very… Timothy.

“Before a day was over,
Home comes the rover,
For mother’s kiss—sweeter this
Than any other thing!”

That was the last stanza of the poem Wishing, by William Allingham — think you’ve never heard of him?
The opening lines from Allingham’s poem The Fairies was quoted by the character of The Tinker near the beginning of the movie Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.

“Up the airy mountain
down the rushing glen
we daren’t go a-hunting
for fear of little men…”

One of my favourite poems of all… by Edgar Guest — my friend, Carolyn, read this poem as part of her devotional at a baby shower given in honour of our sixth baby. It was a beautiful time… this poem always reminds me of that and all the many ways God has used the words of this poem to comfort and encourage me through the years as a “mother of many.”

Tied Down

“They tie you down,” a woman said,
Whose cheeks should have been flaming red
With shame to speak of children so.
“When babies come you cannot go
In search of pleasure with your friends,
And all your happy wandering ends.
The things you like you cannot do,
For babies make a slave of you.”

I looked at her and said, “’Tis true
That children make a slave of you,’
And tie you down with many a knot,
But have you never thought to what
It is of happiness and pride
That little babies have you tied?
Do you not miss the greater joys
That come with little girls and boys?

They tie you down to laughter rare,
To hours of smiles and hours of care,
To nights of watching and to fears;
Sometimes they tie you down to tears
And then repay you with a smile,
And make your trouble all worth while.
They tie you fast to chubby feet
And cheeks of pink and kisses sweet.

They fasten you with cords of love
To God divine, who reigns above.
They tie you, whereso’er you roam,
Unto the little place called home;
And over sea or railroad track
They tug at you to bring you back.
The happiest people in the town
Are those the babies have tied down.

Oh, go your selfish way and free
But hampered I would rather be,
Yes rather than a kingly crown
I would be, what you term, tied down;
Tied down to dancing eyes and charms,
Held fast by chubby, dimpled arms,
The fettered slave of girl and boy,
And win from them earth’s finest joy.

~ Edgar A. Guest

And another “Mother’s Day” Poem…

I treasure poems by James Whitcomb Riley so much more after seeing the Indiana home in which he lived and wrote stories and poetry. I’ll never forget its simplicity or its grandeur. It’s kind of a bittersweet thought to consider he never had children, never married and so never personally experienced many of the things he wrote about. I recall, as we toured his home, being keenly aware of the solitariness of his life and the seeming stark simplicity of his existence.

A BOY’S MOTHER

MY mother she’s so good to me,
Ef I was good as I could be,
I couldn’t be as good—no, sir!—
Can’t any boy be good as her!

She loves me when I’m glad er sad;
She loves me when I’m good er bad;
An’, what’s a funniest thing, she says
She loves me when she punishes.

I don’t like her to punish me.—
That don’t hurt,—but it hurts to see
Her cryin’.—Nen I cry; an’ nen
We both cry an’ be good again.

She loves me when she cuts an’ sews
My little cloak an’ Sund’y clothes;
An’ when my Pa comes home to tea,
She loves him most as much as me.

She laughs an’ tells him all I said,
An’ grabs me up an’ pats my head;
An’ I hug her, an’ hug my Pa
An’ love him purt’ nigh as much as as Ma.

James Whitcomb Riley 1849-1916

________________________________

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle
Is The Hand That Rules The World

BLESSINGS on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace.
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy’s the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mothers first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow—
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission,
Here upon our natal sod;
Keep—oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky—
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

William Ross Wallace (1819-1891)

God bless you, dear mother… today and every day you live and serve your family, tenderly guide your home and give glory and honour to the Lord.

Posted in My life, devotionals, Motherhood, Family | Print | No Comments »

April 23, 2008 by pamela.

Really… why go to Homeschool Conferences year after year?

As I’ve spent all these quiet hours here in bed, I’ve pondered the last several days… the keynotes and the workshops. There was sort of a hidden blessing to getting sick at this time. In the meantime I’ve had opportunity to give thought to the Christian Heritage Homeschool and Family Discipleship Conference… not only to the remarkable effort on the part of those who laboured to present such a fine conference, but to all who participated and to all the families in attendance. It really was quite an unforgettable and inspirational weekend.

I always appreciate listening to Doug Phillips and am inspired by the ‘veteran’ moms who share their ideas, methods and encouragement. I love browsing the vendor hall exhibits and seeing all the wonderful new material each offers. But, I suppose more than all of those things, I love seeing the old friends and familiar faces and meeting new ones as well. It’s the sort of thing that bolsters my resolve and joy to carry on in home education and child training. Having a website that addresses all of those things has given me the privilege of corresponding with people in many places and occasionally I have the great honour of meeting them face to face — such was the case this past weekend. What a delight to meet women who were familiar names to me and now those names have faces in my memories.

We’ve had the distinct honour and privilege to attend many, many such conferences and conventions through the years — to try new curriculum and programs — but I suppose age and perspective makes these more recent conferences more meaningful to me than the earlier ones though, truly, time does not erase the memory of great excitement and anticipation in those early days when everything was new, fresh and uncharted.

Perhaps it’s the fact that we’re not attending conferences looking for ‘the key‘ any longer… you know, that key to success that unlocks the mystery - the mystery revealed that will produce the bright and shining faces we so long to see in our children. You might laugh, but truly, there was a time when I saw all the bright smiling faces and I thought it would truly be worth anything to have that in our home. I thought the outward was indicative of the inward — and it often is… but it often isn’t. So we bought… or were caught, hook, line and sinker. And we bought and bought and bought — until we stopped. buying. that. We eventually went back to a very basic education with a great emphasis on missions and knowing the Word of God. We determined to just train up the children in the Ways of the LORD… and not in the ideals of a particular man or program.

Now, in attending homeschooling conferences, we’re not hoping to see or meet someone who will tell us it will be worth it all… we’re not hoping to buy just the right curriculum to make every day run smoothly and we’re not hoping to see or meet the ‘who’s who’ in homeschooling and see if we can duplicate their story and success. No… none of those things draw us… because we know it is worth it all… we know it’s our life, our mandate from Scripture and is our joy. It is our honour to have our children in our care from sunrise to sundown to sunrise day after day. It is our privilege to train them up in the ways of the LORD and to walk, talk, rest in the Word. I think there is no greater honour than to train up children in the Way of the LORD. And truly, no greater joy than that our children walk in Truth.

Now, when we go to conferences and see dear old friends and dear acquaintances it’s like I want to just smile and raise my hand to them all…. sort of a: high-five y’all - let’s stay at it… it really is: worth it all.

Posted in My life, Homeschooling, Motherhood | Print | 1 Comment »

March 6, 2008 by pamela.

Truly, one of the most surprising and endearing gifts I ever received was a bouquet that Samuel brought me from our front yard. Now, the other children had been bringing me flowers from the yard, one from the neighbour’s yard and some from a home down the street. Well, we had to take care of the instruction and training on issues of ownership, theft and trespassing — even with best intentions, those last two things were clearly wrong. Even if the neighbours had better flowers, you know, my most favourite flowers or even the most beautiful flowers in the world and I ought to have them as presents.

I smile when I see this picture bcz Sam had brought me the most beautiful Azalea bouquet. For the life of me to this day I do not know exactly how he managed to cut that azalea, but he did. It was a unique azalea tree that I had been sort of trimming and pruning so that it would continue to look more and more like a flowering tree. His face lit up with delight and his eyes sparkled as he came in with the bouquet and handed it to me. I was astonished — speechless — really at the sight of that azalea tree — the one in my hand and what I imagined was left in the planter. He was so earnest and sincere and too little to go out of the yard to gather the better flowers from the neighbour’s yards. I had a very difficult time attempting to maintain composure. But I did, I suppose and all I could tell him was, thank you, this is very beautiful. And when I told him he mustn’t cut anymore of this sort of flower, bush or tree in our yard or, remember, in anyone’s yard, he innocently told me there wasn’t anymore… this was all of it.

Yes… I could see that.

So, this pic was snapped sometime after that fateful deep tree pruning (and presentation of the most endearing bouquet I ever received) when some growth began to appear.

It looks like they’re eying the remainder of the tree, doesn’t it? I wonder what snack they were eating.

I think things all worked out okay.

Posted in My life, Motherhood | Print | 1 Comment »

February 22, 2008 by pamela.

Do you ever consider the words you say the most? I mean, besides, ” justa minute” or any other phrase you use to buy yourself a few more minutes of time before you tend to the ‘interruption” behind you? I’m thinking that the words I say most are these (and I must’ve read too many D. Seuss books early on bcz my words all tend to rhyme): no. go. so.

There’s any combination of: no throw(ing). you’re sure grow(ing). can you tie a bow? tell me what you know. can you show me? hurry, hurry, hurry, let’s not be slow. i do laundry, i’m a pro. yes, there are many children here… just look at my garden grow. stack them up, put them in a row. And everyday’s a marvel: well, whaddya know!

What got me to thinking about this is that I am gathering things to send to Timothy in Africa. And at the same time, we’re in the midst of gathering and preparation for Kathryn to leave for Uganda in a few days. And along with that, getting ready to send Hannah with our daughter-in-law to Florida for a little vacation. Go, go, go… see them go.

To all this growing and going I want to say, justa minute. Must you go so soon? And I think, where’d the time go? Has it been that many years since they were young? And then my mind is awash with memories and pictures pass through my thoughts like a slide show - only the slide show goes slower than time seems to have gone.

I think back on the younger years… all day long: no, no, no… come this way, let’s go… time to go… do you have to go? mama said, no.  Good boy, I knew you could do it, I told you so! Can you do that yourself?  There you go! Oopsie-daisy, here you go.  Time to go night, night… let’s go. Time to brush your teeth: let’s go.  Did you go? You made that picture —Ooooo! O, sure I want to know. My-o-my… how fast they grow. And then I look at the hands of time moving swiftly forward and I want to say, no. Let’s stay here awhile. Let’s take things slow.

But I’m sure that’s not how I saw things in the early days, when I was saying “no” and “go” much more than I ever do today. A few years into, what I fondly now call, the early days, older women were telling me to “enjoy these days” — and I’m pretty sure I nodded in agreement — but sometimes, inside, I was thinking: enjoy these days… hmmm… I’m just trying to get through them!  And then, often enough (Thank You Lord)  I’d have another woman say to me, “…enjoy these days…” and then I’d strengthen my resolve once more to think of motherhood as more than something to get through… but something to enjoy and the days more than something to just get through… and I did enjoy them - and I do, more, now.

O, I still say, “no” a lot. I still say, “go” a lot.  But it’s funny… now the words are in a different order, the older the children get and the more they leave home.  Go? Now, I’m saying, Is it time to go? And my insides hurt and I think, no. I hug them and kiss them and smile at what the Long has done… and I say, as much as I don’t want you to go… I’m so proud of you and I know it’s time to go. No, really: Go.

So……….

While I work I often find I’m singing and really am thinking of and thanking the Lord for His ways…

So Send I You

So send I you to labor unrewarded,
To serve unpaid, unloved, unsought, unknown,
To bear rebuke, to suffer scorn and scoffing,
So send I you to toil for Me alone.

So send I you to bind the bruised and broken,
O’er wand’ring souls to work, to weep, to wake,
To bear the burdens of a world aweary-
So send I you to suffer for My sake.

So send I you - to loneliness and longing,
With heart a-hungering for the loved and known;
Forsaking home and kindred, friend and dear one,
So send I you - to know My love alone.

So send I you - to leave your life’s ambitions,
To die to dear desire, self-will resign,
To labor long and love where men revile you,
So send I you - to lose your life in Mine.

So send I you to hearts made hard by hatred,
To eyes made blind because they will not see,
To spend, tho’ it be blood, to spend and spare not-
So send I you to taste of Calvary.

*After many years, Miss Clarkson added to the hymn, writing verses that reflected the trials, and the joys, of God’s call on the lives of his children. As she matured she recognized that she was sent out to minister to others, not in isolation, but in triumph.

So send I you - by grace made strong to triumph
O’er hosts of Hell, o’er darkness, death, and sin,
My name to bear, and in that name to conquer-
So send I you, My victory to win.

So send I you - to take to souls in bondage
The word or truth that sets the captive free,
To break the bonds of sin, to loose death’s fetters-
So send I you, to bring the lost to Me.

So send I you - My strength to know in weakness,
My joy in grief, My perfect peace in pain,
To prove My pow’r, My grace, My promised presence -
So send I you, eternal fruit to gain.

So send I you - to bear My Cross with patience
And then one day with joy to lay it down,
To hear My Voice, “Well done, My faithful servant -
Come share My throne, my kingdom and My crown.

“As the Father hath sent Me… so send I you.”

Margaret Clarkson - words
John W. Peterson - music

Posted in My life, Motherhood | Print | 1 Comment »

January 24, 2008 by pamela.

As I held a baby born late in the season of fruitfulness, I was filled with tender compassion for the mama. The older mama face - etched with lines from smiles and from squinting in the brightness of the sun through many seasons and from the joys and sorrows accumulated through the years - and now another little face to kiss, feet to guide and hands to teach. But not just another — the last one.

There’s a peculiar bittersweetness to childbearing late in the season of fruitfulness, though I don’t think this is initially comprehended in the pregnancy or even in the birth - but some time after. I think this is the sort of thing that only becomes apparent as days become weeks and weeks become years and the season of fruitfulness fades into yesteryears.

Somehow the late in the season pregnancies, births and babies have a uniqueness all their own. The youthful wonderment and the strange mix of nervous anxiety and awe inspired delight that comes early in the season of fruitfulness seems to wane through the years of time and experience. I don’t know that confidence ever really replaces anxiety or that experience ever diminishes the wonderment of pregnancy and birth but I do know that there is a contrast in births early and late in the season of fruitfulness. I could suppose that some of the early fears are lost in the sea of forgetfulness but there are some anxieties that don’t diminish a whole lot with time and experience. So, I don’t know quite what the difference is — just that it’s so tremendously different.

I smiled as I read the news; another late in the season of fruitfulness pregnancy - another hope, another dream for a mama late in her season of fruitfulness. I pray for this baby, as yet unborn, but also for the mama whose heart is being enlarged and whose life is being filled yet more. I trail off for a moment, wondering how the LORD will use this child… how the mother will influence the child for the glory of God and how her heart will face the joys and sorrows that are part of every pregnancy, birth and life she bears and are compounded by the many roads and intersections she’ll travel on the motherhood journey.

I pray for her to savour these days, to soak them in and to take the time to hold the baby more and longer. I think that’s one of the sweet blessings of the late in the season of fruitfulness babies… the rocking in the arms or the sling longer. I pray for this mother’s thoughts to not be cast into the abyss of uselessness, though she has more “I used to do’s” than “I’m going to do’s” in her conversations and probably more years behind her than years ahead, I pray she smiles at the days ahead - that the sorrows and trials of life don’t overwhelm her - that the joys and delights abound to her and that the LORD will bless her life, her home and family as He has once again blessed her womb. Thus, I pray she will be more fruitful in the latter end than in the beginning.

Mothers late in the season of fruitfulness have both less to give and more to give; they know a tad bit more of what’s more important and what’s less important in the end — maybe because dimming eyes give way to 20/20 hindsight and dimming memories seem to remember more of the good and less of the lesser days.

O, how I pray for more opportunities to share what God has done in the past — that those in the future would hear of His glorious works and praise Him all the more and that the younger women would be better equipped to walk through the seasons than perhaps some of us were/are.

Posted in Motherhood | Print | 2 Comments »

January 12, 2008 by pamela.

I’ve been cleaning tonight. I decided to face the inevitable. I hadn’t been up to Timothy’s room in the last couple of days and so I decided to go up… to stand there… and then to sit among his stuff. It was interesting to spend time there — sort of assessing the life by what’s left behind, or to see what’s been important to him. One wall of the small bedroom is lined with bookshelves and on them are rows of books… dozens of missionary biographies and commentaries among a variety of other manuals, Bible studies and, generally, anything that pertains to evangelism, to missions, studying the Word and to the walk of faith.

On the floor were receipts, packaging and tags from last minute purchases. Some single socks. He’d removed the sheets and bedding and had some stacks of pants and shirts for the brothers to rummage through. and And then there is a small wooden train… miniature cars that stretch the length of one of the shelves. On the desk are gifts from Mexico and Africa and there are seashells. And a beach hat. He travels light. I smiled again at what was so obviously important and not imortant to him all his life — it was never a lot of stuff, never collections or showy things. I couldn’t decide what to pack away in the rubbermaid bins Wes brought home this afternoon for me to use for packing — I had asked him to bring three or four - now I see I won’t need all of them. I was going along systematically putting into the bins things I knew he’d likely want to look through someday - cards, pictures and some important papers.  I know it might seem soon to be doing this, but in a family with this many youngers, it’s best to get important things put away before they walk away.

I decided to keep a few outfits in case Timothy needs them when he returns — though he had asked me to just let the other boys have all of his stuff — somehow I wasn’t ready to see that happen. Things were all going smoothly as if he were returning in ten minutes and then I was struck with the thought that he was not coming back soon and will likely never come to live at home again — the reality of the permanence of all of this is suddenly overwhelming.  I thought: omygoodness - what?  is this for real?  (I know this happened when our oldest boys left home… but that was well over nine years ago — and they live +/- ten minutes away!)

I decided to take a break. As I made my way downstairs, I could smell the delicious aroma of fresh chocolate chip cookies. Mmmmm, mmm, mmmmm. Ahhh… another boy has mastered great cookies! I smiled… sort of a melancholy smile as it dawned on me that the day would come that I would be cleaning this boy’s room, too. I don’t know how many times I need to be reminded that this activity of launching children has happened and will happen several more times. I realized again that motherhood means lots goodbyes. Keenly aware once again that no matter what: time slips away quickly and we must let them go… we hold the babies in our arms for a little while; we hold their hands for a season; we hold them in our prayers every day but we hold them in our hearts forever.

I’ve spent a bit of time mulling over a conversation I had with a young mom some months ago - a woman I don’t know but I felt a bit of kinship with her through the course of our brief conversation. She was lamenting the plight of young mothers and the heavy load of each day. She was feeling overwhelmed and uninspired — overworked and unprepared for the task of motherhood and homekeeping. While she talked, she commented a number of times that she so looked forward to the days ahead when her children would be older and things would be easier — days when she wouldn’t be so tired and the children wouldn’t be so hard to take care of… I told her the same thing that I told a mama just last night: It goes so fast. You may not think so today and I know you’re real tired, but hang on — press on — it really does go so fast.

And, I’m thinking it really doesn’t get easier.
It gets different, maybe, but it doesn’t get easier.
What?
No.
No, I didn’t tell her that. But I should have.

I think that’s why we walk by faith and not by sight… for the days that aren’t easier.

Posted in Timothy - Ghana, Motherhood | Print | 7 Comments »

November 16, 2007 by pamela.

I remember the night our son left home… I was nursing a newborn baby, the fragrance of the milky breath and tender cheeks and snuggly baby clothes was intoxicating. And as I sat holding that baby close to my heart, another ‘baby’ was walking out the door and I thought at that moment I would die. Maybe I even wished it would be so.

I had never known a deeper grief and a more paralyzing moment of despair. It was a strange mix of failure, disappointment, loss, hopelessness, regret, shame, remorse, shock, doubt, frustration, and sadness all wrapped up in a blanket — memories I still seemed to hold in my arms, yet the baby was no longer a baby - he was a young man - eager to seek his own way.

Time passed and as time has a way of doing, so did a lot of those feelings or, rather, their intensity lessened over time. And I more completely accepted responsibility that the initial shock had masked. Initially, I wondered, what in the world had I done or not done to deserve that or to have that happen. But time had a way of revealing things that I had blindly missed. And, thankfully, time sort of softens the rough edges and the jagged memories. A bit. Not quite a bit, but a bit, nonetheless.

Night after night as I would lie down in my bed and watch the memories play on the ceiling in the dark — my eyes hot with tears… and tears rolling down my face and into my ears, I would wonder how to make things right, how to correct the host of wrongs and the poor decisions. Night after night, season after season… the same thing. At first, I would practically jump when the phone would ring. I didn’t jump with delight, but with fear. Instantly that ring would trigger a wave of fear and dread. But my fears were not realized and my tears did not result in joy. But fears and tears turned to prayers through the years. Time softened my heart - revealed my failings and developed compassion for that prodigal son.

I would love to have had the next sentence read:

“And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to his father.”

And then, I wish I could tell you that Wes, seeing the son: “…when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.”

And then I wish I could tell you here that at that moment: “…the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.”

And that Wes’s response was: “Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry: For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.”

And if any of our other children possibly felt jealous of all the loving attention, that Wes had said to all of them: ” Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. ” And if any were resentful - which I fully believe they would NOT be, that it would be said of Wes: “… therefore came his father out, and intreated him [them]…” And that he would continue reasoning: “Son [and family…], thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.”

(This, from Luke 15. 13-32)

All of that did not happen here, yet.  But what I can say is this: There has never been a day where that son escaped the gaze or notice of the LORD and there has never been a day from that day to this that God was not sovereign, that He did not work or did not provide or did not watch over that son or this family. There has never been a time where the will and way of the LORD was not done.

And for that reason, while I no longer grieve in the outward manner I did, I no longer cry or worry in the same manner I did, there has never been a day where I did not have hope in the LORD for that son. For the LORD is faithful; and in Him I will yet hope more and more. I used to pray the LORD would do whatever it took to draw that son back to Himself.

I now pray: Lord, will You carry my boy in Your arms and will You be tender to him as you have been to me? Will you draw Him back to Yourself and bless Him - and if You bless him even half as much as You have blessed me, well then, even the ocean could not contain the blessings… for I know the love of God is stretched from sky to sky. And I pray, Lord, will You please go easy on the boy? I love him and I pray You will give him many days to give You great glory.

My prayer for mothers of prodigals… “Lord, will You carry these tender hearts and comfort and help them to see You, to seek You and to trust You. Lord will You comfort them in their distress and give them hope that can only be realized in knowing You. And, Lord, will You keep Your eye on that child that his life will not end in shambles but in giving You glory. Thank You, Lord, that You are only wise, only faithful, only good - and we praise You.”

Posted in My life, devotionals, Motherhood | Print | 5 Comments »

November 12, 2007 by pamela.

Yep - I let a typo become the title of this entry. Cindy’s original blog yesterday “Older Mothers of the World Unite” has been quite interesting to watch as comments have doubled overnight. I shared some things on her comments section and posted them here. Not as an indictment of mothers but an admonition to evaluate some decisions/activities. That said… I continue to mull over this matter today.

I say… mothers: Untie!

This, I say, for many reasons. Older mothers have been afraid to say things to their capable, confident, well accessorized, independent, younger counterparts. Now, at first blush, my description of the younger counterparts may seem critical and maybe even judgmental. O, not so. I actually marvel at the capabilities of the younger mothers - and am astonished at the proliferation of baby-childcare-childhood merchandise and training materials. But I also marvel at the independence I see and the sad consequence of that independence. I see many young mothers as unaware of their lack of skill or unaware of their self-centeredness or unaware of their marginalizing of their older counterparts. To many younger confident mothers, the older mothers are passé – obsolete has-been’s who aren’t really relevant because times have changed and the archaic ways have been replaced by the nouvelle motherhood – the, what I call: bigger, better, more motherhood. The “righter than you” motherhood.

Now, here is a potential for trouble – young mothers may feel unnecessarily accused or offended at this point and that’s not my intention. My intention is not to ‘slam’ young mothers or to reprimand or criticize. But to say: Mothers! Untie!

Untie! Old mothers… Older mothers… Younger mothers… Young mothers: Let us all not be so bound up in sanctimonious thinking that we forget where we are, where we’ve come from or where we’ve been.

So that, when a young mom says, for example: we’ll never spank our children! You don’t reply: “Then you’ll wind up with little terrors who will destroy the property of every home they visit and be miserable to spend time with.” Instead, maybe a better tact would be to demonstrate how and when and where and why to properly discipline and hopefully the overly confident- inexperienced young mother will take into consideration the biblical mandate to discipline properly and to love and respect properly – and quite possibly understand the reason Titus 2.3-5 is included in the Word. You will gain respect, you will impart understanding and wisdom and, more importantly, you will gain a loyal friend in that young mom.

So that, for example, when an older mom describes how to do something that goes against or doesn’t line up with contemporary conventional thinking, young moms don’t bristle and close their ears to other options – and old moms need to see there are some great ‘new ways’ of doing old things better and not be so callused, closed minded or hard hearted to new ways of seeing things. We need to see there may be new and better ways. We might need reminding that the old way of doing things just might still be the best way – and just because appliances and convenience have replaced many things – that doesn’t mean the old ways obsolete.

Just look at the number of so-called retro things are popular. Aprons, cookbooks, wheat-grinding, bread, clotheslines, soap making, herbs and tinctures, natural products, cloth diapers and on and on.

Untie! Young mothers… untie yourselves from the preconceived notions that the older mothers think they know everything and want to ruin rule your lives. Be taught! You’ll be teachers one day!

Untie! Young mothers… from the thought that generations before you are antiquated and this generation now (finally and fortunately) has things figured out. Learn from the old ways while you’re walking the new paths.

Untie! Older mothers… Untie from the old ways that aren’t profitable! Be teachable and adaptable to the new ways. Hold fast that which is good… (1Thessalonians 5.21 “Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.”)

Untie! Older mothers… be what God has called you to be. Be it! Teach it! Live by example – and if your example isn’t so good right now – get it there… study, improve, correct, change, apply! Get your life in order, learn what you ought to know, be what you ought to be: that(!) the Word of God will not be blasphemed in or through your life – Let the Word be lived through your life!

Unite your heart to fear the LORD and to live in obedience to Him.

Let us learn from Titus 1.9 and 16 and 2.1: “Holding fast the faithful word as he hath been taught, that he may be able by sound doctrine both to exhort and to convince the gainsayers… They profess that they know God; but in works they deny him, being abominable, and disobedient, and unto every good work reprobate… But speak thou the things which become sound doctrine:”

And older mothers: we need to be sweet. The younger generation needs an example to follow. Let’s strive together - not against one another. Let’s unite.

Posted in Society, mothering from the sidelines, Motherhood | Print | 11 Comments »

November 11, 2007 by pamela.

I was reading Cindy’s Blog and sort of felt compelled to leave a note for her in her comment section. Now, she didn’t need my input - surely all the other entries were sufficient, but I was compelled, nonetheless. She had set up her writing in such a manner as to almost induce others to think of their own ‘lists’ and it was very effective. So much so, that at this point I am thinking of many more entries… but I’ll just leave it at what I already posted. She titled her blog entry “Older Mothers of the World Unite. I originally typed Untie. so… here I go: Untied. Or United. Whatever.
I often think of her quote: “Ideas have consequences” and find myself saying that here at home from time to time.

So, this, quoted from Cindy’s site:

Since Amy (Pray for Amy. She is STILL pregnant.) sent even more young mothers over here I thought it would be FUN to get really honest. I thought maybe the older moms could tell the things that bug them when they see mothers with young children. I thought this would be a lot of fun and it would also be a way to plumb the ultimate depths of memory loss and truth telling. If there is one thing I have learned from blogging it’s that negativity sells

To get things rolling, I will list ten things I hate to see young mothers doing: (and then she listed them here) …”

And now, Here’s what I wrote in response to Cindy’s comments:

This is funny, Cindy… I was just having this conversation with an *old* ;o) friend of mine. I don’t know if I’ve got a top “Ten things I hate to see young mothers doing.”

When I see a mother with young children_________.

here goes:
1. …and the child is fussy, angry, whiny and the mother make endless excuses that or why he/she is so tired. (it’s your number 9 - but I suspect your list order changes as situations warrant.)

2. …and the toddler is wearing a diaper that is nearly down to his/her knees and is filled with about a quart or two of fluid. (o, and the mother says she likes how absorbent that brand of diaper is.) Ack!

3. …and the mother is *counting!* in some attempt to quell the disobedience(!?!?!) When? Surely not when she gets to ‘3′ or ‘10′ Young mothers: don’t count! Please. Teach counting at the table with pencil and paper, beans or chocolate chips. But don’t count as a method of discipline. There’s a proper method for that. Use it early (and often) if necessary.

4. …and the child is emptying the cabinets or shelves or whatever and the mother makes excuses for her child’s “curiosity” and “busyness.”

5. …and she asks cranky child in the shopping cart if they want to go home? It goes something like: “We are so going home if you don’t stop that. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I’m not going to buy you anything. I told you you can’t have it. Okay. but I am not getting you anything else. Do you want to go home. You are going to be in so much trouble. I’m going to spank you. Okay. You’re not getting these. I’m going to take you home.” They don’t want to go home, Mama. They want their own way. Don’t talk, Mama. Act.

6. …and they think it’s everyone else’s children who are acting up or being rude - and that the trouble surely could not have been their child’s fault. 0ooo. (take this from a mom of angelic and naughty ones)

7. …and the mama has been duped into believing the latest hype… and is worn out, unsure, is a over-confident yet insecure and stays neurotically busy doing all the right stuff… just right and on schedule, wants all the right equipment - wants all the right clothes - all the right play groups - the right books - the right educational toys - the right pediatrician - the right carrier - the right order, schedule, and terms and yet doesn’t realize it’s not all the ‘right stuff’ that matters most. Relax. Most all the stuff that ’seems’ most important just isn’t. Listen to an older mom: most all of that stuff doesn’t matter. What matters is: time with you… time hearing stories, making something, walking, talking, laughing, painting, colouring, praying, singing, mattering to you… that’s what’s important. Really.

8. …yep - flat headed babies.

9. …speak in third person to the child.
aiya!

But you know what I’m hating maybe the most? This trend I’m seeing in moms… it’s flippant or sarcastic or whatever - it’s a way young women are dealing with their families that is not nurturing and loving but is oftentimes offhanded, surly, using innuendos to make comments or requests. TV sitcom coarseness and mannerisms have crept into homes and many mother’s attitudes are not tenderhearted - gentle, kind, patient - but cocky, even caustic at times - about the ‘kids’ and about the fathers or husbands. Women have poor attitudes about their children, their husbands and their home-life.

So, number 10 - but probably number one… I’m not seeing the majority of young moms as joyful mothers of children (psalms 113).

But, Cindy, I’m pretty certain your readers are joyful - joy-filled mothers of children. I’ve seen this to be the case. Thanks for the good topics you bring to the table.”

So, this top-ten listing from older mothers could go on and on… so, if *you* feel like posting *your* top ten… go ahead, feel free to do so. This older mom has forgotten so much … maybe you have some better ones.

Posted in mothering from the sidelines, Motherhood, Potpourri | Print | 2 Comments »

August 28, 2007 by pamela.

repeat itself.

I heard that sort of thing from my mother growing up. I read about history repeating itself in school, in letters and in magazines in dentist’s offices over the years. I read about it in Ecclesiastes. The more I read the more I see it. The longer I live I see it: History repeating itself.

So I was driving along and a song popped in my head and I must’ve been humming… one of the children said, O, that’s a new ____ song. I thought… no, no… that’s an old song.  What?  You *know* that song?  Yes… it was… Harry Nillson… 1971… I was in the…  …drifting off.   And then it was affirmed to me once again: there is nothing new under the sun (in addition to: vanity of vanities; all is vanity) and the more things change, the more they stay the same.  And children are still surprised at life that happened before they were born.  Back before… wow, CD players.

I was talking with a young mom and she was lamenting the length of days and the monotony of repetition. I told her, as is my oft repeated mantra these days: this will pass and you will cry for these days. She sort of glazed over when I continued on telling her that these days will be the past all too quickly and she’ll miss them with a physical ache she cannot comprehend at this point in time - but there will come a time that she will, indeed, cry for these days. A curious blend of regret, longing, missing, hope and love. She cannot see that now. All she can see is the daily-ness of today. And that’s a problem with young mothers… motherhood is so daily. Too daily for some and they think real life is happening somewhere else (but that’s a lie). All she can see is the endless mountains of laundry, valleys of despair and dishes mounting in the sink.

I told her she would, one day, be telling another mother these same things. She will be able to tell that future mother more convincingly if she embraces these days and loves motherhood with unreserved abandon. But if she hates these days and continues rejecting God’s precious gift of motherhood… then… she won’t have much to tell that future mother and will certainly leave no joy in her children’s memories of her. History will repeat itself… the daughters will become mothers and who will encourage them? Who will cheer them on? Will they reject or embrace motherhood? Will they be sweet mothers?

I hope she will live long enough to see history. I pray it’s sweet.

So, I was mindful today as I was reading through some articles and noticing a common thread… what mothers went through yesterday, mothers face anew today— but it’s not new, not really. It’s the next chapter. It’s the same thing only different. Different bcz of history. By this I mean that what we face today we have faced already - just differently. As mothers we’ve waited and waited and waited for, say, the birth of the next baby. Then we waited and waited and waited for this or that milestone. Then we waited and waited and waited for the next and so on — History repeating itself. We watch how God worked in a particular situation and then marvel when yet another situation is miraculously covered — History repeating itself. On our behalf. We wait and wait and wait to see history. And you know… for believers what we really want to see is His - story. We all long to see His way and will played out in the lives of our children… and what a blessing it would be to see history played out in our children’s children.

For all of history is HIStory.

Posted in Motherhood, More Slices of Life | Print | No Comments »

July 1, 2007 by pamela.

Here are the bookends to my own motherhood… our oldest and our youngest… their birthday’s are twenty two years and a day apart. God’s been so good, so faithful and so true… every day of these 28 years of motherhood… He has never failed. Never.

So it is with great joy and great gratitude and humble amazement that I celebrate the births of my oldest and youngest babies — and I do celebrate them — for so many reasons, so many sweet memories, so many blessings. God is only good. All the time.

He maketh the barren woman to keep house,
and to be a joyful mother of children.
Praise ye the LORD.
Psalm 113.9

Posted in Motherhood, Family, Potpourri | Print | 2 Comments »

June 29, 2007 by pamela.

…and it has been a bittersweet farewell. It seems we knew this was the last baby for a long time. Each month that’s passed confirms it and each day the we spend with her reminds us of the long goodbye. It’s not that the last baby is the favourite or that the last baby is more special than all the rest or that the last baby has been more important or that the last baby is somehow more significant than all the rest… but, in truth, there is something about the last baby. Something I cannot understand and certainly cannot articulate and have not be able to do so throughout these last six years. For, many times in the last six years I have attempted to write what I think about a family’s “last baby” and yet I cannot. I suppose I cannot for my eyes fill with hot tears and waves mixed with gladness and sadness wash over me and flood my mind.

Those of you who’ve followed the “dolly stories” in the last six years have a bit of a glimpse of this last baby. She’s no more remarkable than all the rest, no more significant and certainly not more important than all the rest. But… as difficult as this is to understand, she is, in fact, a bit of all those things… for she is: the last baby. She is my last infanticipation, my last pregnancy, the last labour and delivery, the last little nursling, the last one in the rocking chair and the last one walking the floor, the last one to share our bed and the last one to carry — the last skin to skin - cheek to cheek - kissy-face baby. Simplistic and yet volumes of memories pass by in the theater of my mind.

Dolly is six today. When she came down the stairs, she was all dressed and ready to go out to “birthday-breakfast” with papa. All dressed, a slip, top and skirt, sweater and tights and shoes. Hair neatly in a band, purse in hand. I asked if Hannah had fixed her hair… no. Sort of like an assault to my senses… I see it… it’s part of the long goodbye to the last baby. When she left with papa she somehow looked older… the baby had gone and now the next chapter had begun. It was as if it had all happened while I wasn’t looking — but I was looking, I was looking every day and somehow it still had escaped my notice or somehow it didn’t seem to last long enough.

Sometimes I’ve likened this long goodbye to standing on the beach at sunset, slowly the horizon is swallowing the blazing sphere. Your day’s been spent jumping the waves that wash up on the shore… over and over you jump the waves and the water washes over you or splashes your face — the sweet coppertone breeze blows through your hair, the sand runs through your fingers — everything’s warm and bright and then you notice the sun is becoming a sliver and your day of kicking up the waves and playing at the beach is slowly coming to an end. So you stand there attempting to catch a wave and hang on to it as it comes up on to the shore… swirling and crashing around your ankles, covering feet feet and then as quickly as it came in, it goes back out again… and no matter how hard you might try, you could never catch it, never hang on to it or lengthen the time it stays. It goes out and all you can do is stand on the shore and watch it roll away, delighting in the sweetness of the day, the invigorating sea — the ever changing, ever the same — rolling sea. And just about the time you think you might stand there longer, the sun slips beneath the horizon and you stand quietly… sort of basking in the glow of the day remembering how sweet it was to frolic in the waves… how the sun was warm on your face. Your face almost hurts from smiling so much and then you realize the day is over… O, there’s another day at the beach tomorrow… but you recognize that this day at the beach was one you wished would never end.

That’s how it’s been with ‘melia.

—with love, the baby’s mama

Posted in Motherhood, Family | Print | 4 Comments »

May 29, 2007 by pamela.

I’m not sure which topic of conversation or question generates more questions than laundry or meals for families. I’m thinking that both are either areas of great frustration or testing or are grounds for great victory or great defeat. As for meal times, women generally ask me questions that are more logistical or are more along the lines of creativity and time-saving methods (I’ll share about some of these tomorrow). Women are generally more able to get that area of homemaking “mastered” or taken care of than they are regarding the dilemma of… the laundry.

Laundry. There’s always more laundry.

You know… I’m pretty sure the LORD has this necessary part of living for more reasons than just the clothing that meets the eye -for laundry sort of represents other things in our lives… attitudes, actions, words, and decisions we might make all sort of pile up and either need to be sorted out, cleaned up, washed in the pure water of the Word… and on and on.

I think child training is sometimes sort of like laundry. When children are trained daily, dirty habits don’t pile up, smelly attitudes don’t overflow the hamper of the mind, but (!) when the training or washing isn’t tended regularly, then the mountain of stained consciences or musty manners seems to steadily grow. Laundry’s taught me lots of lessons through the years, that’s for sure. Lessons of success and lessons of failure - lessons that have firmly cemented in my thoughts right ways of handling situations and the disastrous consequences of not handling them either quickly or properly.
It’s at the dryer that I’ve had some of the most meaningful talks with the LORD. When I fold clothes, I think of and pray for the owner of the pieces of clothing I am folding. When I turn socks or pant legs or sleeves, I pray for them to turn from ways not pleasing the LORD. When I’m shaking out and then folding some other type of garment, I pray for old habits to be shaken off, to be covered by the grace and mercy of the LORD. I pray for my husband, for the hard work he does that produces some stains on work clothes, the hard work he does that allows for the purchase of all the different sorts of clothing, sheets, blankets and towels. And I have much for which to be thankful - it’s sobering to me to consider it all. These are just a few of the types of things I talk to the LORD about when I’m standing at the dryer.

Now, I don’t stay there long, for it is also my goal to be very speedy about that job so that it’s never a mountain of worries to me. One thing I learned a long time ago was that laundry is to be done then and there and to never take piles of laundry anywhere else in our house if at all possible —and— to *never* sit somewhere and fold laundry (especially the no, not ever(!): bed or sofa!). Laundry’s not a hobby or a pastime - nope, it’s a job and it’s a job to get done quickly! I timed loads for a while so that I would know how much time a load actually takes to wash or to dry or to fold and I timed the folding of laundry while sitting on the sofa or bed and the time spent was at least doubled, certainly! I think another key is having everyone take a part… one person daily responsible to bring the laundry to the laundry area/room. Another person or several persons to put it away after each load or a couple of loads. But surely, not piles left unattended. Accountability… it’s about as key here as in any other task of life. I simply ask the child(ren) if the load was put away in the right places… and then I do check… usually very briefly.
So, motherhood definitely means laundry - and lot’s of it! But the laundry doesn’t have to be drudgery or a noose about the neck. I think Kim over at Large Family Logistics says 4 by four - maybe that’s on laundry day. And I think that’s some pretty good advice. For me, laundry schedules have sort of changed an evolved over the years and certainly when we’ve had a baby in the house. Anyway, I think if a mama gets a load going before breakfast and another after the dishes and then another before lunch and (if need be) another before or after naptime, she’ll be doing really well. For a large family, three or four loads a day is very normal and after a while, laundry is really “second nature” and can be overcome with little thought and no real arduous effort. I think the key is keeping it all always done and enlisting the children’s help to put stacks away after each load. Besides, keeping attitudes and manners clean, laundry (and all other chores) is a great trainer of character. If a child doesn’t learn to work and to work well, he/she will not be a disciplined or obedient child in other areas, either.

So, laundry is motherhood’s friend. It says and does so much about and for her.

Posted in Motherhood | Print | 4 Comments »

May 18, 2007 by pamela.

Only in recent years have WMD’s or the term WMD’s become a commonly known or commonly used term.  I think about the devastation of weapons of mass destruction and as I often do, I think of how ‘weapons of mass destruction’ might correlate to the home or motherhood.  It’s a term of war or arsenal of the enemy.

So, I was walking through the store and I heard a tired, exasperated and foolish mother unloading her WMD’s on her children.  WMD’s are what I’ve come to think of in recent years when I hear a mother’s angry outburst or some tirade against her children.  She warns them they’re not getting anything.  She threatens to take them out to the car.  She tells them they’re naughty little brats.  She tells them she’s tired of them making noise.  She tells them she’s going to leave them at the store.  She tells them they’re bad.

WMD’s.  Mama’s Words of Mass Destruction.

Every mama’s got ‘em: words of mass destruction.  Every mama’s used ‘em at one time or another or… sadly, many times.  Furious anger against the little one who spills yet another glass of milk.  Rage over another mess.   Another ranting and raving over the messy room, the unfinished chore or incomplete schoolwork.  We’ve all done it at one time or another –or many times.  WMDs.  And they are massively destructive.  O, they don’t seem like it at the time.  Noooo.  They seem righteous at the time.  After all, we’re telling them the truth –someone’s got to!  And we’re justified!  They’ve broken the rules, caused a mess, disobeyed!  They deserve what’s coming to them!  Really?  Do they really deserve our WMDs?   Are WMD’s really the answer?

O, in a saner moment we’d say, surely not.  We’d say, in a rational moment, that what they need are sweet, understanding words – they don’t need WMD’s.  Nobody needs/deserves WMD’s.  WMD’s really don’t help anyone –in fact, just the opposite.  WMD’s truly are words of mass destruction.

As mama’s, we have an arsenal of weapons at our disposal.  We have bitter words, grievous words, biting words, sarcastic words, caustic words, destructive and humiliating words.  We can, at once, reduce a child to tears or worse, to great shame.  Words.  Simple words.  Ugly words that we would never dream of saying aloud in the presence of our acquaintances but freely fling at the precious gifts the LORD has entrusted into our care and training.   

It’s a lie… that saying: sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.  That’s a lie.  We know that some of our deepest personal wounds are word wounds.  Wounds that perhaps were sustained decades ago are instantly painful at the remembrance of words we once heard.

So, the mother walked through the store.  Occasionally, the child would say an inappropriate word or beg once again for some forbidden item.  And once again, the tirade would be repeated… the WMD’s once again flung at the child.  And the cycle of mixed shame and anger repeated once again.  This would likely be done many times over throughout that, and every day as that mama didn’t grasp the magnitude, significance or consequence of her words.  Little did she know that she was really launching an attack with her cache of WMD’s.

WMD’s don’t have to be that overt to cause damage.  Little sarcasms and snide remarks can do as much or more damage.  Sarcasm and coarse talk is quite the common and acceptable form of communication these days.  I’ll write on that shortly.

But for now… I want to contrast the WMD’s… Mama’s Words of Mass Destruction with sweet words.   Sweet words are those words a mama says that are soothing… calming… reassuring… encouraging… affirming.  They’re quite the opposite of the WMD’s.  And a mama has to work hard at stocking and storing another sort of WMD … Words that Minister Delight.  And we do have a choice.  We can be like the impatient, ignorant, loud and foolish mothers who bark and bite at their children or we can be sweet, understanding and loving mothers who minister sweet words to our children… words that build them up; not words that tear them down and foster anger.  We can strive to be women who don’t stoop to the lesser ways of parenting but who strive for the higher, better, lovely manner of mothering children: mothers who convey they are glad they’re where they’re at and glad they’re with who they’re with and glad they’re doing what they’re doing.

Decide today…. No more WMD’s…  Be done with lesser things.  Choose to work at lavishing Words that Minister Delight.  And may the LORD bless us all as we seek to serve and honour Him in all that we do.

Posted in Motherhood | Print | 4 Comments »

May 17, 2007 by pamela.

It was with shear astonishment that I held my first child - our first child - twenty-eight years ago, and it was with awe and humble amazement that I saw that God had, indeed, given us a precious gift. I saw my Lord and Saviour in a whole new way. It wasn’t just that He had forgiven me of my sins, redeemed my soul and had given me the free gift of salvation and eternal life, never-to-be-separated from God through faith by His atoning death and resurrection, and it wasn’t just that He had blessed my womb, but also that He had thought on me, that He had visited me and had allowed this very imperfect vessel to be used for His glory and His purposes: He had created me to be a mother — a joyful mother of children (psalms 113).

He, in His wisdom and mercy, created me to mother, tend to, train up and be an example to children He would create in my womb. That fact, eleven times over, is completely breathtaking to me. And so, knowing that, I have a very serious charge to keep; I am, in the beginning: the Hands and Feet of Jesus to my children.

I mull that thought over and over. I have failed over and over to keep that charge. I have failed over and over to be what He’s both designed, called and equipped me to be. I’ve closed the door, I’ve hidden in my bathroom, I’ve become absorbed by the gotta do this and gotta do that’s of each day.

I’ve often attempted to do in the flesh what can only be done in and through and by the Spirit of the LORD. I’ve wasted time, wasted energy, wasted talents, wasted resources and wasted His Words… on trivial pursuits — often forgetting I had been given a charge to keep. I had heard the Word and often counted it as words that were simply for knowledge about God and accumulation of knowledge about His Word. Early on, I knew a small bit of the Word and assumed I knew enough to coast on through… but that knowledge was not enough to carry me through (and certainly not to coast on through) for the walk of a Christian mother is not the walk of a proud actress, one who learns some lines and play a part. There’s no sliding into heaven on one’s backside. The walk of a Christian mother is not a coasting, slide — it is, in fact, often a walk on the knees.

So if a mother is to her children, the Hands and Feet of Jesus, what does that look like? How does that work? What do they see? It’s not always so much that I give our children Truth, but that I give them Truth in a package of grace and mercy. O, they need the Truth; for their faith will come by hearing and that by the Word of God (Romans 10.17). The longer I live, the more I see that being the Hands and Feet of Jesus to them is a life of sacrificial mercy; for that’s what true love is: sacrificial mercy. I sacrifice for them - I do for them both what they cannot do for themselves, but what I would want to be done for me as one helpless under the care of another. I think of them as His children - His gifts - His special creation and I look to Him to guide my steps (being His Hands and Feet to them) so that I will walk in the way He would have me to walk so that they will be instructed in the way they should go.

I think of it like this when I pray:
Lord, please help ME instruct them in the way they should go.
Lord, please help me INSTRUCT them in the way they should go.
Lord, please help me instruct THEM in the way they should go.
Lord, please help me instruct them IN the way they should go.
Lord, please help me instruct them in THE way they should go.
Lord, please help me instruct them in the WAY they should go.
Lord, please help me instruct them in the way THEY should go.
Lord, please help me instruct them in the way they SHOULD go.
Lord, please help me instruct them in the way they should GO.

And they will go. Believe me, they will go. In what way will they go? It is sobering and humbling to consider that we have MUCH to do with the WAY they will GO. Will they have been nurtured up in the fear and admonition of the LORD and will I have been sacrificially the Hands and Feet of Jesus to them? Will I wash them and bathe them in prayer? Will I walk and talk with them along the way as I have been instructed to do? (Deuteronomy 6.7) Will I have been mercifully the Hands and Feet of Him to them as I guide them and correct them? Will I have been, in WORD and DEED, in Truth: the Hands and Feet of Jesus by my words and service to them? Will I have been the Hands and Feet of Jesus when I hand them over to Him and say, Not my will but thine be done, Lord?

O