Motherhood – The Welcome Home

Quintessential Motherhood

Throughout the week I wonder what the LORD would have me to write. In an attempt to convey a message from my heart, I have the usual distactions. Distractions, buzzers, timers, calls, the dryer’s beep-beep-beep, the knocking at the back door… distractions. And then I thought: distractions? No: life. Life is what’s happening when we’re waiting and planning for something else to happen. And then I think on this further and wonder: is this the story of my motherhood experience? Has it all happened while I was waiting for something else to happen? Have the days passed by while I was looking for a brighter tomorrow or a better way of doing things? While hurry-scurrying around, gathering, sorting, washing, folding, packing… suddenly the time comes.

Suddenly the time-clock runs out and this game is over or the hour comes for the leaving… This is quintessential motherhood.

Years ago, I came inside from the chilly porch where I hugged one of our sons and waved him good-bye-for-now as he drove away. The darkness was giving way to light with the early morning sun casting a pink glow on the snow, tears flooded my eyes and instantly, all the compelling rush was completely forgotten in the haze of the exhaust and the taillights slowly dimming in the distance. I stood there in the cold-still waving… the asl sign for i-love-you… and found myself wondering—questioning—what significant thing had I contributed to that remarkable boy’s life? Was there anything noteworthy? All at once I thought of many things I’d forgotten to remember—things I suddenly realized I meant to say. Memories instantly flooded my mind — sort of like those endearing slideshows you see at weddings — the emotionally gripping photos that chronicle lives and bring tears and laughter simultaneously one frame after another.

Part of the calling of motherhood is that there will be suffering. There will be days of joy and and days of sorrow. Sort of that paradoxical truth that in every adversity there is triumph and in every joy there is an inextricable mix of delight and sorrow. The sorrow part is the part we didn’t read in the fine print. The sorrow part is one of the consequences of endearment — one of the consequences I didn’t perhaps expect when I first received the confirmation call from the doctor’s office or when we first saw the indicator lines in the home-pregnancy test kit. No, in those days, we had no idea what lay ahead, what tears we’d shed or how many sleepless nights we’d spend waiting and walking. Waiting for a child to return home or walking a crying baby from one end of the living room to the other: round and round.

No, in the early days, we had no idea what lay in store a few years down the road. We had no grasp of where those first baby-steps would take those feet. We had no concept that snow-tires would eventually replace those training wheels. Even now, I probably have no real grasp of what the consequences of motherhood are. Just as I can’t fathom the exhilaration of tremendous joy, I can’t fathom the plummeting sorrow—both are those inexplicable consequences of endearment and motherhood.

I’ve often said I wasn’t prepared for these years—the gripping anguish of regret and disappointment, the overwhelming joy proud moments bring and the unstoppable ticking of the clock and the turning of the calendar pages. It seems new calendars are purchased more frequently now. But in reality, nothing and everything prepared me for these days. The LORD has been with me, guiding, abiding and upholding me —preparing me for each of the next days He’s brought. The preparation has been in the living. Bidding farewell to passing seasons and ushering in new ones prepares us for these goodbyes.

It’s quintessential motherhood: fully experiencing of all the seasons over and over. Experience, history… photographs and memories all prepare us for these goodbyes. As I look out at the morning glow on the snow… and then at the leafless, frost covered branches of my weeping willow tree, there’s sort of a melancholy hopeful looking forward to what this day will bring and how I’ll one day look back on this day.

I smile as I realize that with every good bye… there’s a welcome home. In the end, the true joy is looking to the ultimate welcome home.

May the LORD bless you and bless you in your home today.

Motherhood’s early years: Why It’s Hard

The other day I was browsing the aisles of a local thrift shop — not that I need another thing, but since many of our things are in a storage unit, on more than one occasion recently, I’ve needed to pick up an item or two. This time, of all things, I needed a cake pan. I didn’t find what I needed, but the trip was more than edifying.

An eager, loving young boy was pointing out to his mother all the things he would like to buy for her and telling how nice they would be in her kitchen… how nice a picture would be on their wall… do you love this, mama? As he continued to find perfect treasures and had a comment or question for each, she replied appropriately to his statements or questions… she was attentively listening but occasionally reminding him they had a few things to look for.

I’d have lingered longer but I had other stops to make. I decided not to let the moment go unnoticed and mentioned to the mama that she sure had a kind and fine young son there… and that she was doing a great work. She thanked me and with a weary sigh, “…I hope so.”

Motherhood’s hard. It many ways, it has to be.

It’s hard because there’re are other seasons ahead.
It’s hard because there are trials, testings, sorrows ahead.

It’s hard because a young “motherhood tree” is gearing up and trying to produce rich fruit on a frail tree with shallow roots and spindly branches. Spring rains, Summer sunshine, Autumn frosts, cold Winter winds and snow have not yet deeply tempered the tree of motherhood. Few occasions of deep pruning for rich growth have come upon the early years of the motherhood tree.

Young motherhood has days that don’t seem all that fun. Lonely, isolating days — tasks, meals, nursing, washing, wiping up spills, picking up toys, books and clothes… repeated over and over and over again. Hard days that most mothers wouldn’t trade for all the gold in the world (I know, some days you might be saying: don’t tempt me!).

Warm and bright, sunny days seem to remedy the hard days and bring long awaited playtime, running around outdoors. Wearing a baby, pushing a toddler, hurrying to keep up with some busy preschoolers — even the sunny days are hard sometimes.

All the hard, all the things that go into early motherhood make for strong branches for children to climb, to swing from, to sit under. The seasons temper the tree — the hard seasons, even more so.

With the passing of seasons, the older the tree, the sturdier the trunk, the stronger the branches, the thicker the bark, the deeper the roots, the more able to bear fruit and provide needed shade.

Mothers need the hard early years.

Children won’t be so for long.

The Eternal God is thy Refuge

The days seem long but the years are quickly passing. As I typed that, I recalled saying something similar in the early years of motherhood: the days are long and the weeks fly by.

I never thought about the swift passage of time in terms my own mortality but in terms of our children growing taller, learning new things—getting older. Now I think of them as young —in their 20’s, 30’s and 40’s— so much life ahead while our years are swiftly slipping away.

Early on, older women would tell me to enjoy the children while they’re young, it’ll go so fast; or, these are the good old days. I remember nodding and smiling in agreement (I had no idea!). Some fifteen or twenty years ago I began to tell weary mothers they’d one day cry for those days. I meant it then. And I really mean it now. The years went by so quickly; our eleven children are all grown now… so are a couple of our grandchildren.

In the ten year trap of depression I’ve done more looking back than looking ahead — the regrets of former days, the regrets of what was and wasn’t done, what was and wasn’t said encircled me in an abyss of defeat. The cycle repeated daily like a broken record skipping and repeating. It still could if I weren’t vigilant——and for that reason, among others, I resolve to stay vigilant.

The Word says the Lord’s mercies are new every morning. And, for me, God’s proven that to be so.

“As thy days, so shall thy strength be…
The eternal God is thy refuge
and underneath are the everlasting arms…”
—Deuteronomy 33.25, 27

Strength today and bright hope for tomorrow,
great is His faithfulness.

And great His faithfulness has been! His faithfulness is great. Great. On the bright days (and there have been many!) and on the dark days (and there have been many!). Learning to take every thought captive, to be vigilant to watch for that roaring lion lurking about seeking to destroy, to be patient in the process has borne rich fruit. Interestingly, as I write this we’re in a testing of faith, a stretching of faith, a s-t-r-e-n-g-t-h-e-n-i-n-g of faith! Truly, we are learning to “count it all joy!” And surely, there’s nothing like a trial or a test to fortify and/or verify one’s faith.

Whatever’s happening round about you or me, one thing I know: God is only good all the time.

Over the last decade of deep valleys and bright mountaintops the constant is the Word of God. Truth always wins. Truth always defeats the foe. Truth always sets free. Prayer is peace. The Word of God is life.

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true,
whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just,
whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely,
whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue,
and if there be any praise, think on these things.”
pips 4.8

“Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage;
be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed:
for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”
Joshua 1.9

The Next Right Thing

Over the years I’ve used a phrase numerous times in all sorts of seasons, mental spaces, homemaking, motherhood, even on this blog — the phrase: do the next right thing. This concept wasn’t learned overnight and it wasn’t learned easily. It wasn’t something that came naturally to me — as disciplines of motherhood didn’t come naturally to me.

But, from the beginning, God was working in me to will and to work for His good pleasure. –Philippians 2.13. Day by day He has been working disciplines into my life and I share these things with you that you might experience the same: God working in you for His good pleasure. Or God affirming in you what you’re already doing, learning, accomplishing for His glory.

Journaling, daily chore lists, daily prayer and devotions, checklists, etc., etc., all came into practice for me after I’d been married a little while. Early on, c. 1978, my mother-in-law gave me (among many other books) a copy of Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman by Anne Ortlund. I think, for the first time, I realized how much I did not know, how many things I didn’t pay attention to doing, or how many things for which I had no real plan. I don’t recall enough of the book to heartily recommend it today, but I do recommend establishing disciplines to live by.

Speaking of disciplines to live by, sometimes, “the next thing” isn’t the next right thing (even though it might seem like it). And often we jump to do the next thing in haste (because it’s on the list and because: it. is. the. next. thing.) when we ought stop to evaluate what the next right thing is.

Sometimes we get caught up in the snowball effect of doing next things —all day long, practically running through our day checking off all the things, all the busy things we do every day. And at the end of the day instead of being tired but fulfilled, we might feel as though we didn’t actually accomplish much (except a checked off list) and end the day feel tired and empty. Maybe in that list mix a right thing was missed, a right thing was overlooked, a right thing was rejected.

As I’ve shared a number of times, there are a couple of things I began to do and have done every day for the last 40+ years or so. Every day, first thing, I make our bed, tidy our room and have some sort of quiet time/Bible study/journaling. Those aren’t checklist items but they set the tone of the day… they’re sort of foundational to being ready for the day, ready for the next thing: the next right thing. Since I could have a tendency to be haphazard so these (and other) disciplines help keep me in line. Getting fully dressed for the day is another.

So, what’s a next right thing? Sometimes a next right thing is a: Stop everything–stop and pray! Or, stop and push a swing, see the sunset, listen to a trouble, a story, a heart. Or, stop everything: go take care of someone, go get someone, go make something for someone. Sometimes the next right thing is a necessary brief interruption–sometimes it’s all day. Whatever the case, right things might be seen as intrusions to our disciplines —our order— unless and until we seek to yield to what God is doing.

We might have our next things done so that we can be ready for the next right things. A daily order makes “time demands” easier to oblige. Next things are often task oriented only, whereas a next right thing is hopefully more grace oriented.

Does the next right thing take the place of the next thing? Yes, often.

As mothers, one of the hardest things to evaluate/prioritize is time/list management with so many potential variables. We might fall into one camp or another: so ordered we cannot be spontaneous —or— so spontaneous we never have order. Disciplines are tricky. But necessary. And gracious.

Disciplines bring freedom… freedom to do what we ought instead of doing whatever we want. This is where we can learn to do the next thing with the priority of the next right thing. In Titus 2.3 speaks of aged women being teachers of good things with verses 4 and 5 amplifying the good things.

Doing the next right thing is… a good thing. ♥ —ps

In This Strange Season

In this strange season I attempted to ‘rethink’ this blog, realign it, redirect it. And, for the life of me, I haven’t been able to “get it” or come to a resolution. But, here’s my attempt…

In this past year—this strange season, many changes have occurred in my life and our home. In this strange season (as in your strange season, no doubt) the changes and restrictions have forced me to think about or, rethink what I’m doing, what’s important, what’s got to change or, really, what ought to be eliminated.

And it’s not just things, it’s not just eliminating clutter or getting rid of things we no longer use or need. It’s more than that. It’s coming to the strange realization that a season is passing away and a new one is dawning. And with this new dawn, eliminating things, activities, routines, expectations and planning of events that were necessary for the season that’s passing and yet, will be unnecessary for the season ahead.

Nothing and everything has prepared me for this strange season. The constant that I’ve resorted to through many years is: Do the next right thing. Another constant is recalling what did I do? whenever I was facing a completely “new normal” or a “strange season” — motherhood, postpartum, another move, another new baby, homeschooling, teenagers, financial strains, another move, more babies, married-in’s, more teenagers, losses, more married-in’s, grand babies, life’s surprises, health issues… you get the idea.

So, what’s my next right thing now? You know what? I don’t know—I mean I don’t know the big picture. I’ve been a mother for over 41 years and now for all intents and purposes have an empty nest—but am still a homemaker. I don’t know how I want to do the days ahead… But what I do know is this: as I embark on this strange season, I want to do what I will wish I had done. This thought quite often helps me decide what the next right things is. My hope is that each next right thing or each next right step will be through open doors and the days ahead will be more fruitful than the former days.

The Covid-19 virus and all the societal changes that have come as a result have really clouded, hindered, or suppressed creative thought for me —maybe (and probably!) for you, too. The lockdown brought some pretty depressing weeks. And now, I look back and it seems the past 5 months have just evaporated in all the busyness of life and “distancing”, creatively keeping in contact with our kids and grandkids, but not seeing friends and church family (in real life) and figuring out how to do/buy/get things differently and yet still accomplish the work — and the new-normal Zoom communication.

In the midst of the strangeness, I lost creativity… I didn’t write. I didn’t journal. I didn’t draw. I didn’t write letters. I didn’t make any wedding cakes.

I did prune trees, plants, hedges. I did read. I did make lots of masks (I hate masks!). I did plant and regularly tend to the gardens. I did bake and (with my husband) drive all around several times to deliver boxes of a variety of baked goods to the homes of each of our children/grandchildren. I did clean and sort a lot of things. I did Bible studies. I made birthday cakes. I did and will do a bunch of canning. And I’m making plans……….

But nothing’s been normal. And I want guard against all this strangeness becoming normal. So, as I said, I want to be about the business of doing what I will wish I had done in this next season. That, and I don’t want to look back and regret any longer what I didn’t do in this strange, strange season.

more later… ♥ps

Lists Are Tools

After writing last week how I dealt with starting out unprepared, my friend wrote about lists I used to have on my walls. So I thought I’d continue on today sharing about lists and how to use them — remembering: lists are tools, they’re simply tools.

Again, I wasn’t born organized — I’m not a naturally organized girl, but life as a mother to many children gave me much practice and many opportunities to test the results of being disorganized and being organized. And, believe me, organized was better. It’s still better — and it is for so many reasons I actually had no grasp of at the time.

Lists help us to be clear on the concept. And, as the picture to the left shows, when a child isn’t clear on the concept, what we want to have happen isn’t going to happen! In this case, I needed the dishwasher to be loaded. And it was. But what I wanted was clean dishes — that wouldn’t have happened if some instruction, care and attention to detail hadn’t been given.

List help us. Lists help us to be careful, thorough, and efficient. I totally get that lists and schedules are confining — the abstract/random in me knows that feeling very well! But it’s in the confines of the list that our true desires can be laid out.

Lists help us not only do what we ought, but also what we want. Most of us want a clean house, for example, and more, we ought to have a clean house. But it’s more fun to hang out on the computer, or go to the beach or to the lake or swing in the park. It’s more fun to chat over coffee, read a book, or go window shopping. Interestingly, lists that help us do what we ought, also help us do what we want — they help us accomplish what we ought to have done so that we can have time to do whatever else we want to do. ~smile~

For years I had lists on the walls of rooms in our home. Some of the lists detailed, in order, what was entailed in cleaning that room. In time, these lists became more than cleaning tools. As I would later learn, they were a discipline tool, a work ethic tool, a negotiating tool, and a great feedback “check-list” for the room when it was pronounced “all clean” by whichever child(ren) doing the job. Since the list was on the wall, children knew it wasn’t just an arbitrary decision what to do to clean the room. I worked side by side whoever was learning to do a job until I knew they really knew what to do. I didn’t want to set them up for failure… I wanted them to win. ~smile~ Often, it would have been so much easier and quicker to just do the work myself, but then, that would have defeated my purpose in bringing up children.

So, as an example, on the kitchen wall, (as best I can recall) I had a laminated list something like this:

To Clean This Kitchen

Unload the dishwasher
Clear the table to the kitchen
Wipe the table and the chairs with a clean, damp cloth
Put away the milk and wrap “left-over” foods, etc., into the fridge
Scrape, then Rinse the dishes, load the dishwasher
Wash the pots, pans, griddle, etc., with soap and hot water
Dry them with a clean towel and put them away
Wipe the jars, mixer with a clean dishcloth, rinse the cloth
Wipe all the counters, start at one end, all around the kitchen
Wipe the stove top, rinse the dishcloth
Wipe the drawers, cupboard doors, stove door, refrigerator door
Rinse the dishcloth, hang up the towel
Sweep the floor
Take out the trash (if needed)
Take the dishcloths and towels to the laundry (if needed)

I shared earlier that these lists did much more than outline the job. They helped kids (and myself) see what was expected and gave them opportunity to negotiate who would do what on any given night as there were generally at least a couple of kids doing the work. Occasionally, I’d be in on a plan where one child offered to do another child’s job if they did their job. I tried not to be too strict on who was doing what — only that everyone had to contribute what they were capable of doing in one way or another (on that or some other job in the home). All along the way, they were learning skills, they were learning to work and the repetition helped them learn to be thorough in their work — whatever it was. And to this day, they, each one, amaze me with their attention to detail on jobs. It’s one of the “I’m glad we did that” things I look back on.

Unprepared

Just so’s ya know, I’m not a naturally prepared girl — I’m more unprepared than prepared. But God. It was through many blessings in my life that I learned to be prepared for things. It was through many failures, missed events and opportunities that I had to develop methods to be better prepared for — well, for life.

But I was unprepared. I didn’t come from a large family. I wasn’t raised in a Christian home. I didn’t have a great deal of Bible knowledge yet–but I had faith and that faith began to bloom. And so, that was the foundation of our marriage from the beginning: faith, hope and love. I didn’t have great homemaking, or cooking, or gardening, or time-management skills. And while I didn’t have a whole lot of experience, what I did have was a whole lot of want to! I really wanted to be a faithful woman, to have a happy marriage, home, and family.

[cp_dropcaps]L[/cp_dropcaps]ittle by little, I learned how to plan, how [cp_quote style=”quote_left_dark”]being a wife, mother, homemaker was everything I never knew I wanted[/cp_quote]to work, how to anticipate, how to care for my husband, family, and home. It surely didn’t come naturally to me, but being a wife, mother, homemaker was everything I never knew I wanted. I didn’t just want to be those things… I realized early on that I wanted to be good at those things.

So life circumstances developed into “preparedness training” for me. Necessity being the mother of invention, I had to develop methods for keeping some semblance of order (and sanity). I spent years defining and refining and–decades–preparing each day for the day ahead. I wrote in journals. I kept a notebook/planner that had all sorts of sections for specific information, appointments, shopping lists, kid’s needs- sizes, etc., meal plans and other records–I called it “my mind” and, truly, if I’d misplace it or (seem to) lose it somewhere, I’d sincerely lament: I lost my mind. ~smile~

Life preparations included a large “white-board” on the wall; it had a couple of rows on top and underneath, header columns written in Sharpie: names, chores, assignments, activities, appointments. In the top row (with dry erase markers) I wrote the month, day and year. In the row beneath that, I had seven squares, one for each day of the week and in each of those I wrote the family activity/appointment/whatever for that day. In long columns, I had sections for chores, schoolwork, etc., and down the left side I had each child’s name (creating a row for each one). For those who could read, I’d dry-erase write in the information for the day; for those who could not, I had small “chore” pictures for them to see, to do, and to tell me they’d done whatever the little picture indicated each day.

Years went by. More children were born. The whiteboard got bigger — the columns, longer; the days, fuller. And then the season began to change… a couple of names dropped off the board, but more names began to be added to my notebook. Then more names dropped off and I was slowly heading into a new role. Kind of unprepared, really.

I don’t have that sort of notebook anymore. The notes I take and the lists I make are nothing like those of days gone by. I don’t buy ten gallons of milk every week, I don’t do 4 or 5 loads of laundry every day, I don’t pass out chore lists — I don’t have a whiteboard on the wall anymore.

Though I still feel sort of unprepared sometimes in this new-ish season, I looking forward to each day with anticipation. When I get a call from a daughter, a facetime or a recipe request, or a visit with some thrilling news; or daughter in law wanting to visit or wanting care for some littles, or any or all the kids stopping by for a visit, I give thanks to the Lord for all this. Ironically, each day I prepare for the things that come up for which I might’ve thought I was unprepared, but God! Then I marvel: in nothing and everything He prepared me for this.

Seasons End In Various Stages Of Bloom

I’ve been mulling over the thought of seasons ending in various stages of bloom. It was below freezing through the night and this morning and as I look out the windows of my warm home, I see all around, summer is falling to the ground. The trees are losing their leaves, many fewer on the trees today than yesterday… more all over the lawn and field. The roses, hydrangeas and other flowering plants are losing their beauty, ending in various stages of bloom.

The wood burns hot in my woodstove… wood cut from huge trees that still had more life in them, but instead of standing to provide shade, they were cut down to provide heat. The seasons of those trees came to an end.

The beautiful rosebuds on sturdy bushes remind me there’s still more life in those canes. The tender new hydrangea mopheads amidst hundreds of large, dry flowers affirm life in the woody canes. In a matter days, these freezing nights will signal an end to this season of blooms and left behind will be brown, dry flowers and leaves on the ground.

A few days ago, our daughter and grandbaby moved to their own home. Another season ended. At the end of that day, Proverbs 14.4 came to mind: “Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean…” That night, as I stood in the empty room, I surveyed the white walls, white curtains, and the bed with no linens, I marveled at the starkness of a season that had come to an end. It was good for me to see it. This is not meant to be a maudlin commentary, but to just reflect that the busyness of the care and feeding and dressing of babies, the cooing, oohing and aahing, the furniture, the fixtures, toys, the crawling and climbing, the laundry and blankets are the things of a particular season.

I’d never, ever have imagined the season that just passed — that we’d have a granddaughter growing up in our home (albeit, yes, 9 months is a very short while). The Lord was sure sweet to give us the 9 months on either side of her birth. I can say that with sincerity and gratitude now. I’m keenly aware that I had no grasp of what that season of bloom would be like or how it would feel.

Reflecting on seasons that have passed, some in bloom, some far spent, I’m reminded how brief each season actually was. Hard? Yes. Arduous? Yes. Thrilling and new? Yes. Tiring, yet rewarding? Yes. Tender and sweet? Yes. Cold and dreary? Yes. Sunny and breezy? Yes. But the interesting thing common to all the seasons that’ve passed? They’ve all passed in what felt like the midst of them. By this, I mean, seasons have ended before we thought they would’ve (or should’ve). I’ll bet it’s been the same for you, hasn’t it?

Today, the cold breeze signals change, a season ending in bloom in the midst of the next one in bud.
I stand in the midst of melancholy memories and happy plans for days ahead: anniversaries, weddings, birthdays and family gatherings intermingled with a whole bunch of dailies.

Seasons end in various stages of bloom.
Seasons overlapping seasons.
Some still in bloom.
Some will seem to be arduously endless
and some will seem to end too soon.
But each will have served its purpose.

To every thing there is a season
and a time to every purpose under heaven…
He hath made everything beautiful in His time…
Ecclesiastes 3.1, 11

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Mother’s Happy Day 2017

[cp_quote style=”quote_left_light”]
a child, unclear on the concept, loaded the dishwasher so carefully for me.[/cp_quote]So many “Mother’s Day” entries have filled my journals — tomorrow will be another, Mother’s Happy Day.

As I read this morning’s entry of Streams in the Desert I marveled at how many of the examples were part of the fabric of my experience as a mother and how many times the Lord gave me not what I wished, but what I needed. He gave me not what I asked for, but all that I hoped for. He has chosen the most amazing things to demonstrate His love — good things, messy things, beautiful things, hard things, exhilarating things, excruciatingly painful things, lofty accomplishments, utter failure… all of these characterize motherhood for me.

The Lord has graciously given me not always what I thought I wanted but everything I didn’t even know I desperately longed for.

Streams in the Desert ~ May 13
MORNING

We know not what we should pray for as we ought (Rom. 8.26).

Much that perplexes us in our Christian experience is but the answer to our prayers. We pray for patience, and our Father sends those who tax us to the utmost; for “tribulation worketh patience.”

We pray for submission, and God sends sufferings; for “we learn obedience by the things we suffer.”

We pray for unselfishness, and God gives us opportunities to sacrifice ourselves by thinking on the things of others, and by laying down our lives for the brethren.

We pray for strength and humility, and some messenger of Satan torments us until we lie in the dust crying for its removal.

We pray, “Lord, increase our faith,” and money takes wings; or the children are alarmingly ill; or a servant comes who is careless, extravagant, untidy or slow, or some hitherto unknown trial calls for an increase of faith along a line where we have not needed to exercise much faith before.

We pray for the Lamb-life, and are given a portion of lowly service, or we are injured and must seek no redress; for “he was led as a lamb to the slaughter and… opened not his mouth.”

We pray for gentleness, and there comes a perfect storm of temptation to harshness and irritability. We pray for quietness, and every nerve is strung to the utmost tension, so that looking to Him we may learn that when He giveth quietness, no one can make trouble.

We pray for love, and God sends peculiar suffering and puts us with apparently unlovely people, and lets them say things which rasp the nerves and lacerate the heart; for love suffereth long and is kind, love is not impolite, love is not provoked. LOVE BEARETH ALL THINGS, believeth, hopeth and endureth, love never faileth. We pray for likeness to Jesus, and the answer is, “I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.” “Can thine heart endure, or can thine hands be strong?” “Are ye able?”

The way to peace and victory is to accept every circumstance, every trial, straight from the hand of a loving Father; and to live up in the heavenly places, above the clouds, in the very presence of the Throne, and to look down from the Glory upon our environment as lovingly and divinely appointed.

Happy Mother’s Day… every day.

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Of Roses & Wayward Children

A Welcome Home message from Mother’s Happy Day ~ 2004

[cp_dropcaps]T[/cp_dropcaps]he topic I feel led to share tonight transcends cultures, language and socio-economic boundaries or barriers. When a child wanders out of the way, it doesn’t matter what you’ve got, what you know or what you don’t. It doesn’t matter what you’ve planned or what you hoped would happen. It doesn’t matter where you live or where you’ve been, when a child wanders out of the way, it is a heaviness only a mother or dad of a wayward child knows. It’s a very very lonely road sometimes. It’s a very isolating road and some days the hill is too tough and too steep to climb. And sometimes, it seems as though the road, with all its twists and turns and deep ditches and dark valleys, will never end and yet goes nowhere. This is the road of the wayward child.

On a warm September night as I lay in our bed watching the dark and silent movie on the ceiling of our bedroom, my eyes hot with tears and my heart breaking, I listened, hoping to hear the opening of the door, the long hoped for return of our son. That scene would be repeated many times over the years and many times I would pray to God to take my son home if he was never going to turn from his ways. If he was ever going to hurt another mother’s child or if he was ever going to bring heartache to another person, I prayed the LORD would take him. Grieved over the loss of this son, the disappointment and “shattered” dreams, all the poor choices that led to more bad choices… I thought I’d never live through the heaviness of the days following our son’s leaving home.

Those days, as I rocked a newborn, glancing at pictures of days gone by, the recent wedding of our firstborn replaying in the theater of my mind, tears streaming down my cheeks, I had to recognize that my son would never come home again… not to live, perhaps to visit, but never to live again, joining the children around the breakfast table, lying on the floor listening to dad read the stories each night, or running out to see what dad brought home from the store, never sliding into the row next to a brother or sister at church on a Sunday morning, never standing at the sink eating a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich and drinking a glass of milk. Regrets and what-if’s flooded my mind. Buried in an avalanche of disappointment and discouragement, I couldn’t see that none of this had escaped the gaze of the LORD. I couldn’t “fix” this one and I couldn’t rewind and make this one turn out differently. It doesn’t matter how many babies a mother has, when one is wayward, that’s where the heart is most tender. Oh, how I loved my boy… how I ached for him and how I wished I could change the course of that night—that fateful night he turned and walked away.

That was nearly six years ago and while the story is yet unfinished, and this son never did return home (to live), never did come back to “church” with us, never did fulfill some of the hopes and dreams we’d had. Something very wonderful did happen. The brothers and sisters eventually learned to love their brother in a new way. They stopped hoping he’d return home, they stopped looking for him to come for dinner or to play volleyball. We started taking pictures of the family at home even if all the members weren’t present. We stopped concerning ourselves with what people were saying about him or about us. I stopped praying he’d not do more wrong, instead, I prayed he’d do more “right” and that he’d yield his heart to the LORD. This once faithful and loyal son was searching for his way in this world and all the while the LORD obviously watching over him, giving him a very very long line.

Precious friends have experienced the agony of the loss of a child in death, a pain I do not know, and I am sure that to compare the pain of living with the reality of a wayward son or daughter would be degrading and so I refrain from such a comparison. However, I do draw an analogy of death or an ending of hope and of everything that had previously transpired. I know that in death, it’s so over when it’s over. There is no hope of ever restoring that which was lost—though we have precious comfort in a reuniting in heaven at the end of the journey. Having a wayward child is like no loss I’ve ever experienced and I know I’m not alone in the grief. Brothers and sisters the world over are grieving the decisions of children who walk away from home, walk away from the family, walk away from the faith. They grieve every day and every day the grace and mercy of God, the blessed Controller of all things, harnesses them and carries them through. Things may seem to never change. In fact, things may seem to go from bad to worse. We may often wonder how bad is bad going to get? Some days the grief seems unbearable and unmatched.

This is where my “But God!” comes in.

“But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, Even when we were
dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved;) And hath raised
us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus: That in the ages
to come he might shew the exceeding riches of his grace in his kindness toward us through
Christ Jesus.” Ephesians 2.4-7

I haven’t stopped praying for this son and I haven’t lost hope that one day he will return to the LORD and serve Him with his whole heart. I haven’t lost hope that the miraculous could happen—-I believe this because I look in the mirror and see one who was gloriously saved—one who was not too far or too independent to save. I have learned that for this son, my hope is in Jesus—-all my hopes are in Him. This is the child who taught me to pray; this is the child who taught me to wait; this is the child who is teaching me kindness and mercy. This is the child who is teaching me to rejoice evermore, and again, I say rejoice.

I was driving along in the van, mindlessly switching the channels when I came upon a song I remember hearing many years ago. I recalled that my son, who played the guitar very well, loved this song—but because we were so dogmatic and so legalistic about music and “right and wrong (!!)” I never allowed my son to buy the tape (would be CD, today). I thought it wouldn’t be “right” to have that music here. What I didn’t understand in those days (and am only barely understanding today, by the way) was that that son knew the message of that song… he understood that music and I didn’t. I didn’t know that boy’s heart and I didn’t know how to love that boy and train him up in the way *he* should go.

I am only beginning to understand the great depth of that verse! Well, so I called my children on the cell and asked them to turn on that station—they immediately knew the song and in the weeks to follow, they helped me find the CD and to shorten a long story, I did purchase it and as I gave Mother’s Day presents to my children, I gave this son his gift and a card in which I shared my heart and the new understanding about this song… and when he opened the gift, he saw the CD and immediately he got up from his chair to hug me and to thank me, saying we’ve both received a great gift today. I understood as I sat there with his gift to me sitting on the table… the fragrance filling the room. I realized that roses are sort of like life… sometimes sweet, sometimes budding, sometimes the thorns grab your attention and bring you some pain, sometimes there are bugs and pests that threaten the blooms, sometimes deep pruning needs to be done in order to produce strong canes full of fragrant flowers. It’s sometimes hard to see where we are in the process. It’s hard for the wayward child to see where he is in the process and will remain that way until he stops running from the very One he longs to see.

The Song?

Well, part of it is this: “…And I know that you don’t understand the fullness of my love How I died upon the cross for your sins And I know that you don’t realize how much that I give you And I promise I would do it all again Just to be with you I’ve done everything There’s no price I did not pay Just to be with you I gave everything Yes I gave my life away I gave my life away Just to be with you” (Third Day) And I’m learning that the sweetest roses are on the bushes with the most thorns.

—-pamela spurling