Happy Mother's Day!

TO ALL MOTHERS (PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL):
     I know Mother's Day is still a few weeks away, but "now" is always a great time to not only honor our mothers, but to celebrate the fact that we are mothers. The day you became a mother is a special day for you, in whatever way it happened or how many times over. It’s the first time you met your child. How many other people have you met in your life that you can remember the exact day and time you first saw them? Knew how tall they were and how much they weighed, down to the ounce? Counted their fingers and toes, knew the circumference of their head? I bet there aren’t too many.
     Though being a mother doesn’t bring a lot of verbal "thank you’s," it is a very important profession. One that can provide you with the greatest form of flattery - imitation. Don’t get me wrong. The cards, the gifts, the paper roses, the hugs, are all great and I treasure them. But for me, I get the biggest thrill when one of my children takes something that I do, copies it, and makes it their own. Like when my 11-year-old wants to add one more thing to our already full weekend and says to me, "OK, I’ve got a plan." (He’s so grown up.) Or when we’re leaving Wal-mart and I ask my daughter where she parked and she says, "Straight out the door close to the buggy thing." (That’s my girl!  No wandering around the parking lot!) Granted my oldest son doesn’t find very many things I do to be imitation-worthy right now, that’s alright. Not everything an almost-40-year-old woman does should be considered cool by an almost-17-year-old boy. It’s just a phase. We had our moments when he was younger, and we will have them again. He did tell me, since I was making him go to school every day, that during his boring class he is making something beautiful for me he thinks I will love. I’m so excited!
     I read somewhere once that my job as a parent is not to raise a rule-following child, but a God-following adult.  I am both blessed and scared to know that my children learn by example. They are not perfect, and the Good Lord knows I am not a perfect mama.  My two oldest asked Jesus to be their Savior at a young age, and I believe He will come to my youngest when the time is right.  That should make my ultimate goal as a mother to be having a walk with the Lord that my children can see and will want for themselves. I want to always search His Word and seek His guidance in everything I do. I want to give Him praise and thanks out loud, and to tell others what He has done for me. I want them to see and hear me pray. My kids have all told me when they prayed about something at school. A test, trouble with friends, someone who is sick or has been hurt. They have prayed that the "bad guys" be kept out of their room so they can not be scared  and have a good night's sleep.  I guess I could learn from them in that regard.
     So for all you women, whether you be a mom, a grandmother, an aunt, a close friend, or the little old lady at church - Happy Mother’s Day! Or should I say, Happy "Thank you for being a Christian example that my children can follow" Day!

I Can't Believe It's Not Butter

     I’m not sure when my obsession over the butter started. My guess is it was lurking when I went to the grocery store Friday, and just came to full light Sunday evening.
     It was one of those weeks when bills overtook my paycheck, so there wasn’t as much left as usual for groceries. It wasn’t a major thing, it happens from time to time, so I’m used to it. And it’s not like we had no food in the house. We had a little of this and a little of that, enough I could make do with till next payday. I planned the supper menus carefully...finish the chicken one night, biscuit and gravy another night; how many nights we could have mashed potatoes and which nights I would have to fry them. Just enough eggs, butter, cornmeal. You’ve probably been there.
     Then Sunday night my wonderful husband decided to fix everybody a flitter for supper. That would have been great, but his gesture was lost on me because all I could focus on was the fact that he used almost all the butter! The butter that was supposed to last me all week! I griped and growled, and didn’t get my flitter. I ate a nice bowl of Rice Krispies when I got home from church. No butter needed thank goodness.
     Then Monday night, he decides he wants spaghetti for supper (which we had to eat with no meat because that wasn’t on my menu so I hadn’t bought any ground beef). When I asked him if he wanted cheese toast with that, I "politely" pointed out that I couldn’t make our usual toasted bread because...we had no butter! "But I left a little." "I had to use that little bit to make [my son’s] grilled cheese because he doesn’t like spaghetti with no meat, and he’s eating chili and grilled cheese."
     "I’m sorry your sandwich is not as buttery as you’d like, son, but Daddy used all the butter."
     "I can’t help it if you don’t want fried potatoes tonight, dear, but I can’t make mashed potatoes because I have no butter."
     "We would have more beans to go with the fried potatoes if you hadn’t used one can with your flitter." (Don’t look at me like that, you know you’ve opened a can before!)
     "Mama, you didn’t make the macaroni right. You didn’t put any butter in it." "Daddy used it all."
     As a matter of fact, those bad hair days...he used all the butter. That fender-bender I was in Monday...he used all the butter. That argument I had with a client...I’m pretty sure is somehow tied to him using all the butter. The declining economy, the unrest in the Middle East... OK, so maybe not those last ones, but you get the idea. Even I was realizing I had a problem.
     But why was I so stuck on this?! Why couldn’t I just go get more butter?! I think it was because my plans had been shot. I had things worked out and scheduled just the way I wanted them. And he didn’t even ask me about the butter. He just wanted what he wanted and used whatever he needed and didn’t seem to care that I might have plans for the butter.
     Aww, man...spiritual lesson! No, Lord, I don’t hear you whining when I don’t ask you about your plans. And, no, Lord, I don’t see you carrying on when you have to rework your schedule around my wants. Yes, Lord. I’ll just suck it up and go get more butter. And I’ll get more milk too, because we might run out before the end of the week.

Spring Cleaning Has Begun!

     They say the brain is the control center of the body. That everything you do is processed through your brain. Where the mind leads, the man will follow. I, however, have a different theory. I believe my central processor is in my feet. When my feet are hot, my body is hot. When my feet are cold, I’m cold. When my feet hurt, my whole body hurts. To prove my theory, I take you back to last night.
     I have decided to try to thoroughly clean my house one corner at a time. To fully appreciate my need to do this, you would have to see just how dirty my house is (and we don’t want that), so you’ll just have to use your imagination. There is dust, cobwebs, and just stuff everywhere. Clutter. Much the way my mind is cluttered lately. Too much going on and no time to sort and clean and get rid of things and put things in their proper places. So this is just as much a spiritual cleaning as a physical one.
     So I chose my corner. The one with the ceiling-high, glass shelf, curio cabinet of sorts. I took everything off the shelves, took the shelves out and cleaned them one at a time. When the cabinet was empty, I climbed through to the back of it, where I proceeded to sweep down the cobwebs holding it to the wall. It’s at this point that I feel something sharp stabbing into my feet, and I remember the vase that had been broken several months ago.  I remember cleaning up the big pieces of glass at that time, but I didn’t really take time to vacuum all the tiny shards. After all, nobody walks behind the cabinet right?
     Not, that is, until I decide to clean! What should have been a good 30-minute task took me over an hour to finish, mostly because I had to stop and pick pieces of glass out of my feet and stop the bleeding. When all was done, I was pleased with myself that I had not let that stop me, and I had a wonderful sense of accomplishment, even if I was still in some pain.  I decided not to rethink this whole cleaning thing and to continue with my plan the next night.
     This morning, God let me know that this cleaning (the spiritual and the physical) could be a painful process and may not be as quick and simple as I had hoped.  The pain in my feet and legs was a reminder of all the tiny things I let hinder me in my walk with the Lord. Things from long ago that I thought I had cleaned up. But, you know, I’m tired of looking at the dirt. It’s time to de-clutter. So tonight, instead of moving on to my next corner, I think I’ll bring in the shop-vac and finishing cleaning up the glass behind the cabinet. And I may go ahead and vacuum around the baseboards of some of those other corners. You never know who might have to walk through there.

Dream Interpreted

     Vivid dreams make me so tired! People dying, babies being born, kids not behaving, always running late, work, work, work. It’s like real life exaggerated, and I wake up more tired than when I went to bed. If there is a lesson to be learned from all this, I wish it would hurry up and make itself evident.
     In a recent dream, it seemed all my family had either died or was on their death bed. I sat in a chair with my youngest son as he told me he was scared. "What if I don’t know anybody." "What if I get scared." "What if I get bored." I was only able to tell him, in that motherly voice we all use from time to time, that I was very sure he wouldn’t get bored. Then I woke up.
     I didn’t get a chance to tell him about all the fun he would have in Heaven. I’m not sure God would allow skateboarding, but he may give the kids buffing pads to wear on their feet to glide around on the street of gold and keep it shiny. I didn’t get to tell him about all the cousins I have who never had a chance to be a kid on earth, who are living it up in Heaven and would show him all there is to do up there. I don’t think we’ll just be wandering around like happy zombies. I believe we will be praising the Lord and glorifying Him in all we do, whether it be work or play.
     I didn’t get to tell him about all the people he would see. Good people. No strangers. No people doing bad things. About Jesus, who loves all the little children. He would feel love like he’s never felt before. Plus, it’s always nice to meet somebody famous, and he would finally get to meet the man he had heard about and sang about his whole life. (I’m sure it would be better than meeting Cletus from the Dukes of Hazard in Gatlinburg.)
     I didn’t get to remind him about his grandpa’s and great-grandpa’s who would love to take him fishing and share their grandfatherly advice with him and show him how to build things. Or about his MawMaw who would sit with him and tell stories and make sure he had whatever he wanted to eat. And who knows better than God what he likes to eat?! It would be cooked to perfection with a never-ending supply! There would be an uncle who would encourage him to be just what he wanted to be and would let him climb the jasper walls naked if he wanted to. There would be several great-aunts that would let him help in their gardens. They would "just eat him up" and spoil him rotten. He would have my friend from church whose family was her life while she was here. I know she would be there for him any time he needed a Mama.
     I didn’t get to tell him there would be no falling or getting hurt, no sneezes or coughs or sniffles. I didn’t get to tell him about the perfect sunny weather, the sweet kittens and puppies, the trees just right for climbing. I didn’t get to tell him....
     Oh wait....I just realized my lesson from this dream. Excuse me while I go tell my living, healthy son about Heaven.

Into His Image

     What to wear? What to wear? What to wear? It was one of those days when I needed to look "nice," but also be comfortable, not sure if I would be indoors, outdoors, or a lot of both. Let’s see... black capris. Black always looks "nice." And how about that bright pink t-shirt with the black lettering. Pretty and comfortable. Yep, that works. My ensemble was complete! Or was it?
     One last quick glance in the mirror and I noticed it. The t-shirt was one from a Ladies Retreat I had attended a few years ago. The theme was "Into His Image." On the front was a compact filled with "Mercy" and a "Grace"-colored lipstick. In the middle was a mirror, and inside the mirror was

"Love

Kindness

Forgiveness

Patience

Peace

Joy."

I was reminded of something I heard a teacher say once. We all have different personalities and character traits. God gives us all different talents and gifts. We all have different callings on our lives. The Bible says some are teachers, some are prophets, some are preachers, and so forth; and He gives each what he/she needs to fulfill that calling. The same with sins. What is a great sin in my life, may not be in yours. What is temptation to you, may not be for me. All these things are unique to each of us.
     But, the fruit of the Spirit IS "love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." That’s singular. Does an apple tree give apples, oranges and pears? No. It gives apples. There is one fruit Christians bear, and it contains all these elements. And God gives us each the same. He is no respecter of persons, so He gives me just as much as He gives you. And God doesn’t do anything halfway. He gives us a full serving of each ingredient.  "Well God just didn’t give me patience." Yes he did. "I just don’t have it in me to forgive so&so." Yes you do. If you are a born-again Christian, God has given you everything you need to grow spiritual fruit.
     So why does one person’s fruit look different from another’s? Why do some people seem to have unending patience and peace in their life; while others appear to have no patience, but are longsuffering and forgiving? They live in different climates. Different situations require different responses. Each part of the spiritual fruit is equal, but what I use most is what you see on the outside. All the other parts are still there, just a little deeper. The more I work on them, the more they work their way out. How awesome would it be to have multicolored fruit!

Living With The Three Blind Mice

     I don’t know about you, but I do a lot of laundry at my house. At least two loads a day; three on those days when the "special loads" have to be washed. That’s why I was so blown away when my youngest comes to me last night and says, "Mama, when are you going to wash clothes?" "Excuse me?!!!" "I can’t find any clean underwear." "Seriously?!! The laundry is caught up, I just put a pile in your room yesterday. Did you look?" "Well there weren’t any laying on my bed." Needless to say, he eventually found some.
     A few minutes later I’m cleaning up the kitchen when my oldest son comes in and fixes himself a piece of cake and asks me if I want some. (I think it’s a trick question, so I say no.) I, being the good mother that I am, go behind him and make sure the cake is sealed back properly and begin wiping up the crumbs on the counter. He says, "I thought you didn’t want any." "I don’t. I’m just cleaning up the mess you made." "What mess?" I hope he’s joking since he’s got a smile on his face.
     As I make my way back and forth through the living room, I am constantly tripping over shoes in the floor. (My husband hadn’t come in yet, but we’ve had this conversation many times.) "Have you seen my shoes?" "I put them up." (Which in my house simply means I put them under the end table beside the couch.) "Why would you do that? You know I’m going to wear them again." Sigh. Are they blind?!
     Then during my quiet time before going to sleep, God reveals to me that I too was once a blind mouse. He was constantly giving me blessings and laying them at my feet. I was literally tripping over them, and yet I couldn’t find them. I was always willing to take the cake, but leaving the crumbs. I am glad to say that now I see. God uses the simple things to show me the amazing things. But first he had to...er...cut off my tail with a carving knife (sorry I couldn’t resist). I know my family will eventually be able to see, seek, and find. But until then, I will continue to wake up to more dirty clothes piled up and....a straw in the living room floor?! Did you ever see such a sight in your life?!

On A Hill Not So Far Away

     We have had some truly awesome church services lately. The kind where you can’t wait to get back to see what happens next! The kind where you pray the Lord lets you participate, and yet you’re scared to death that he’ll ask you do something. Yesterday was such a day for me.
     I knew what I had to do as soon as The Cross came out. It had been brought out before and I didn’t do anything, so I knew I had to take my turn carrying it this time. I felt a little uneasy because I saw only men carrying The Cross. What in the world will they think if I try it? I overcame that one pretty quick (I’m getting better at not caring what others think of my style of worship). My next objection was, "It looks too heavy." I’m not the strongest by any means and I didn’t want to make a complete idiot of myself. I had just about talked myself out of doing anything when my son and his friend looked at me and said "I want to carry The Cross." That was all it took.
     It’s amazing how the Lord blocks certain things from your memory. I don’t remember anything after I stood up. Was it because I was so full of the Spirit that my normal body couldn’t handle it? I’ve had that happen before with testimonies. Or is He shielding me from having to relive a very embarrassing moment? Maybe I did make a fool of myself and He knows I couldn’t handle that either. I’m praying it’s the former and not the latter!
     But, you know, I still don’t know how heavy The Cross is. I’ll never know if I could have handled it on my own. Oh, I’m sure I could have dragged it and bounced it not-so-gracefully up the aisle and back. But I didn’t have to. I had help (and they probably carried the heavier end). It’s a lot like the Lord bearing so much of my burden and keeping so many things at bay, that I’ll never fully comprehend just how truly blessed I am. I also realized my little man is a lot stronger than I thought. And he’s got good friends to help him carry his cross, or the cross of those he chooses to help.