A Story of Faithfulness

The Lord gave me a story today. Though dinner dishes and clothes need tending, I believe I'm supposed to share here first.

Sit with me a spell, friend?

A winter storm warning in effect, the forecast promised snow, wind, cold. It delivered, starting early.

Husband left right after breakfast for his half-day Saturday shift at a local church.

Twenty minutes later, the cell phone rings. His 1986 Buick broke down on the corner of a busy intersection. In the driving snow, with a real feel of 2 degrees outside, a mile from the church.

He calls our mechanic and tries to push the car completely off the road. The back end doesn't cooperate.

He'll walk to the church he says. He adds, for the millionth time, that the cursed white stuff from the sky better not show up in Heaven. 

My spirit droops at the negativity. And he hangs up.

I pray for him because I know how much he hates snow, and that car, and being American-poor.

Then I remember something else he said. Walk to the church?! He's going to walk to the church in a driving snow in single-digit temps?


I call back, telling him we'll pick him up and drive him to the church. He's too mad to object.

We pile in the van, most of us still in our Saturday pajamas. The roads aren't plowed, so it's slow travel. A couple of the kids sit nervous. They'd looked forward to drawing, coloring, painting, and baking, instead of this.

We find Daddy. The two of us together try to push the entire car off the road. But no, the back end still sits on the road.

Husband, calmer than I expected, drives with us for the mile to the church. The children sit happy and relieved, glad he's not too angry. (Except at the white stuff, which he mentions.)


Before he gets out of the van we discuss going back to the car in a few hours to try starting it again. We hope to save the tow truck costs.


Daddy safely delivered, the kids and Momma travel back home to our Saturday morning pursuits. Me, writing; the kids, creating.

Husband calls about two hours later. I expect to pile back in the van.

Even more distressed, he reports that his 1986 Buick--the ugly one without any paint--got towed away by the State Police according to our mechanic, who thinks he saw the tow truck driving away with it. A member of the church confirms that he, too, saw it getting towed. It's ugly enough that there's no mistaking it. Or shall I say humble enough?

It will cost about two hundred dollars to retrieve it and get it towed to Gary's garage. And that can't happen until Monday night, due to the severe snow this weekend.

Husband tells me about something else, too. A forty-car pile-up on a nearby freeway. He thanks the Lord we weren't in it, repenting about his anger and complaining spirit.

A kind staff member grieves with husband--the one who watched the car get towed. A music banquet going on, the pastor is there too, mingling in between working on his sermon. He walks up to my husband. "The church wants to help you with this."

This isn't our church, mind you. It's a liberal, watered-down gospel church, functioning like a universalist organization. Holiness isn't important to them, but social justice? Very important. They put Christian churches to shame.

My countenance falls at this offer of help. "Do we have to, Lord? I hate accepting help! It's so dreadful, Lord! Please don't make me do this!" (Not that it's my decision anyway.)

But there's something else.

A few days before this minor fiasco, we'd sent $200 to El Salvador for Nelson's family. (Part of tithe on some gift money.)

Did you get that? Because I didn't at first. We sent $200, and now we needed $200--which God graciously and quickly provided. He had a tidy plan the whole time!

When it hit me, I felt such shame.

I wanted Nelson to be blessed by the $200. By blessed I mean happy. Uplifted in spirit. Praising God, from whom all good things flow. Maybe obtaining a mattress with it and enough bedding for all three of them, or something to keep them safer in their urban gang area. I don't know their actual needs.

Just anything that would make daily life better. They need to know God cares. That He loves them!


My Heavenly Father desired the same for me...that I would feel happy and blessed. And yet I grumbled and complained. I didn't want to be that humble. I'm so dirty, still, after three years of American-style poverty. So headstrong and ugly about humility. I'm so sorry, Father. Change me!

For me this story means one thing. But for you, perhaps another?

In telling the boys about the helping hand from Daddy's church, I reminded them that we are to give generously, regardless of what little we have. God is always faithful, just as he was to the Widow of Zarephath, who gave up her oil and flour to feed Elijah.

We needn't fear as we give. We can give from a cheerful, excited heart!

And if you're like me, tell yourself this: When God gives to us through others, we should be wholly grateful and cheerful...not prideful, as I was. He loves to give good gifts to his children!

What about you? Is there a story of God's faithfulness you'd like to share? It will encourage us, friend.

1 Kings 17:8-16
⁸ Then the word of the LORD came to him: ⁹ “Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food.” ¹⁰ So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” ¹¹ As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”

 ¹² “As surely as the LORD your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.”

 ¹³ Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. ¹⁴ For this is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD sends rain on the land.’”

 ¹⁵ She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. ¹⁶ For the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry, in keeping with the word of the LORD spoken by Elijah.

Scripture source

A Mother Muses

~ I love February for the hours spent creating--Valentines, heart cookies, cakes, funny poems, memories.

~ Every night lately the girls want to hear Salty Dog, by Gloria Rand. It's a long read and we're not quite sure what they love about it, except that the main character? A dog. Kids love dog books. Period. They don't have to be especially unique or cute, although that helps. 

It also provides schemata on sailing, which presents a new world for them. 

We will have to get a dog in the next couple years. Our kids will never forgive us otherwise; dog ownership never strays far from Peter's mind, especially. When he turned five we told him we'd get a dog when he turned ten. That seemed so far off and we thought surely we'd be ready, but now we have to consider the cost of dog food and health care. Smaller dogs eat less food, so we'll settle on something naturally small, but not too foo-fooish. It must have life and love fetching. No pampering some pink-bowed pooch around here! (Not that there's anything wrong with that...in case you have one in your arms right now.)

It's an understatement to say we're not house-pet parents. Cages? Okay, I guess; the hamster only got loose once. But a loose running animal? Shudder. The idea haunts our over-worked bones.

Like our Heavenly Father, however, we love to give good gift to our children. We're mentally preparing for a huge dose of sacrificial loving, as soon as our youngest can treat a pooch humanely. I think that means she'll allow the poor thing some occasional peace? I'm not sure you can have an entirely outdoor dog in northeast Ohio, especially without a garage. Just the muddy paws stretch my sacrificial parenting commitment. 

Tell me there's a special halo in Heaven for mothers who say yes to this childhood obsession? 

I do admit that the love between a child and a dog--the theme for many a famous novels--warms my softest places. It's a conspiracy, these books. All penned by adults who slept with their dogs all through childhood, no doubt. 

Dog hair and dander and E. Coli germs, oh my!

I caught her "reading" Salty Dog on her own. Upside down. That blessed me so! I had to rush to get a picture before she looked up.

~ Two brothers. Their relationship? Far from perfect, but blessed nonetheless. I do everything I can to make sure it lasts forever.

These two started writing e-mails to each other the other day, mostly so they'd both receive more e-mail. I suggested they express love and caring in their letters. Peter bullies Paul regularly, arising from academic and behavioral jealousy, and a lack of impulse control. The air needs to be cleared daily between them. Paul needs to know why Peter finds his brother special, and vice versa. In the first letter they listed four things they love about one another.

An hour or so later, I saw them sitting like this. When I suggested Peter sit in the adjoining chair so he'd be more comfortable, he declined. That blessed me so.

Dear Lord, you are so faithful to mothers! 


The scene changed about thirty minutes later, when Peter got to the saddest part of Where The Red Fern Grows.




My heart skipped when Peter walked up to me, crying hard. I noticed the book in his hand. All he could manage was this: "His dog died, Mommy." He sobbed and sobbed, just like the main character in the novel. He couldn't bring himself to finish the last several pages.

I held him and finished the novel through my own tears. Was it attachment to the characters that started the flood in my own eyes? Not necessarily. Seeing my son overcome with such grief hurt deeply. I felt exactly like the mother in the story. She watched her son grieve from the depths of his heart. Through her own tears she offered that the Lord has reasons for everything. The boy's heart, broken, couldn't accept that answer just then.

I knew finishing it would provide some closure for Peter, and for the heartbroken boy. The Lord did have a reason; the author weaved one into the story.

And the ending? It satisfied and amazed.

My children will face many trials and sorrows in the years to come. A mother's heart hurts sharply all the while! We can only hold them, cry with them, and remind them of the Truth.

A reason for everything? Yes. He uses everything.

And in the end? It's all for our good and His glory.


Romans 8:28
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

When a daughter or son looses a child, or a spouse, or a home, these words won't provide any more comfort than they did for the boy in the story. But as each sorrow unfolds and begins to hurt less, they'll see. 

In the meantime we hold, we cry with them, and we remind them of His love, remembering that His grace rests on them in ways we can't immediately understand. We trust in His grace for their darkest moments.

When you see your own child suffering, you understand better how our Heavenly Father feels when He sees us suffering. He suffers with us.

Purple Towels And Princesses

A gift certificate to spend, Mary tells us on the way to the library:

"I'm getting princess things so I can wear them to AWANA. I want to be a princess when I grow up and you have to dress like what you want to be."

Peter tries to change her mind, hoping she'll pick something at Toys R Us that all the siblings can enjoy together.

Peter:  "Mary. You can't be a princess. We're not a royal family. "


Mommy:  "We're not a royal family? Oh.  I thought we were. We have purple towels, you know."


Peter, exasperated:  "Mommy!"


Paul:  "Yeah, Mary. There's no such thing as royalty in America. You can't be a princess here."


Mary:  "Yes, I can."


Beth:  "I want a princess dress too!"  


Peter:  "You have to have a father and mother that are King and Queen, to be a princess. We don't have Kings and Queens here."


Mary:  "You guys are hurting my feelings."  


Mommy:  "Mary, when you get married, your husband will think you are his princess. And in God's eyes too; we are all his favorites, like princesses and princes in a way, because He is our King. And of course, you'll always be my little princess.


The van falls quiet for a few minutes. I vow to remember this conversation always, like so many we have in the van. Life is lived in the journey, not the destination.

I love journeying with this bunch.

Peter:  "Well, if she plays princess, can I pretend to be a prince?"

Mommy:  "Sure you can."


My sweet Peter has a foot in both worlds--childhood and adulthood. On the one hand, he thinks more like a grown-up now: if there's no royalty in America, then his sister can't be a princess. But a big part of him still loves fantasy and pretending. He'll come up with some grand scheme for all the siblings to be part of a royal court. They'll have a enchanted time, just as siblings ought to.

He's my imaginative one. I pray when he grows up, he'll be able to slip easily into an enchanted world.


With his own children.


I mourn the loss of play in my own life. I've fallen for adulthood. Fully.

Father, may my children never stop dreaming. May they always feel the possibilities.

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A Few Big Blessings

~ My sweet Mary, excited after exchanging Valentines at AWANA, talked long last night in bed. She whispered in my ear, so as not to awaken little sister: "We're supposed to wear clothes next week for what we want to be when we grow up. I want to be a princess when I grow up, Mommy, so I'm going to wear my princess dress." Oh, the sweetness of a five-year-old whispering that in my ear. My heart wanted to bow down at the Lord's feet right there, thanking him for my two daughters--conceived when I was 40 and 42 years old. They have a wrinkled Mommy, but she's an incredibly grateful wrinkled Mommy.

~ Peter received his Time Tales DVD two weeks ago, and he's progressed more in multiplication in that time than in the previous year and a half. I can't recommend this program enough for memorizing the more difficult multiplication facts http://www.triggermemorysystem.com/. The student learns a few simple stories and recalls those stories when faced with a multiplication fact. The numbers become the characters in the story. For example, 9 is a tree, 4 is a chair, 3 is butterfly, etc. At first, to the parent, it might seem too simple and a waste of money ($40), but the child soaks up the mnemonic devices quickly and learns the facts in no time. Praise God for this resource, created by two moms!

The Lord patiently reminded me that every child can learn; it's just a matter of finding the right method. This philosophy has been mine all along, but the more Peter struggled and raged, the more I began to lose faith. God was faithful to lead me to the right source and provide the money.

Homeschooling blesses all involved, no matter how hard individual days might seem. Just like any aspect of parenting, we are incapable on our own, but with His strength, wisdom, and blessing, our imperfect efforts bear much fruit. No one cares more about your child's spiritual walk, heart, or success, than you do. The pull of your heart toward your child drives you to give up your own way quickly, seeking Him for answers. All blessings flow from seeking Him. The less we challenge ourselves, the less we seek Him.

There are many reasons to say no to homeschooling, but don't let insecurity be one of them! Our insecurity is a sign that our eyes are on ourselves, rather than on Him.

~ Peter's AWANA verse teacher told Peter that he was missed last week. My kids were all absent due to Mary's illness; she was too nauseous to ride in the car. Peter smiled shyly as he told us. I felt so blessed I had to plant kisses on that soft cheek. Praise God for a ten-year-old who still lets me plant kisses! And praise God for loving AWANA helpers.

~ Paul said that one girl, Loralee, really loved the foamy Valentine he'd designed. She told him she would use it as a Christmas ornament every year, remembering that he gave it to her. No romanticism here, just one child showing appreciation for another. He really worked hard on his Valentines and they were very special. "They all liked the Valentines, Mommy. I didn't know they liked me so much. I thought I was just normal, like everyone else." Praise God for little Loralee, who made my boy feel so special. He will remember that his hard work blessed; he' ll remember that it feels great to be a blessing.

The power of Love, expressed through words and action, always amazes. For another testimony to the power of Love, read this: http://blog.compassion.com/equipped-for-the-future-from-cry-baby-to-respected-leader/

~ Daddy gets home at 7:00 PM and we're alone with Beth for an hour on AWANA night, before he leaves to pick up the others and I put Beth to bed. That time blesses all three of us. She soaks up the extra parental love and attention, charming and blessing Mommy and Daddy. Her daddy is such a treasure to her!

Loving Difficult People

Romans 5:8
But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Do you ever think of this verse when a child tries your patience?

Every mother deals with a difficult child at times, especially in the toddler, preschool, pre-teen, and teen years. I have three impulse-normal children who occasionally misbehave, and a fourth who sends me to my knees daily. A lot of space could be wasted here explaining how irritating and relentless ADHD children can be, but that still wouldn't put you in my shoes. I keep most of the ugliness unpublished, choosing instead to highlight his heart--a heart that blesses me tremendously.

Yesterday Peter did a myriad of irritating things. Around 4 PM he came in with snowboots on, tracking thick mud from the garden area, all over the entryway and all the way down the hall. 

Already emotionally exhausted, I let loose:

"I don't understand how you could do such a thing! Even my three- and five-year-olds know better! When can I count on you to use your head? What. is. the. matter. with. you?!

After my shameful display of indignation, I gave him a damp towel and the Resolve carpet cleaner.

Then, heart pounding, I escaped to my room and locked the door. Incredibly convicted, I slumped to the floor.

How can I do this, Father? He can be so unlovable, so irritating. How can anyone do this? How can my words be love- and mercy-filled, despite so many days full of this and worse?

His lack of impulse control continues to be a serious matter. He knew he would mess up the carpet, certainly. But without proper impulse control, he can't quickly change his course. He had a question he wanted answered and that's all he could focus on at that moment--finding me and getting his answer.

He doesn't set out to irritate me, or to disappoint me. That's not his heart at all.

And yet he does irritate and induce stress for all of us, sometimes for hours a day. The smallest things set him off.

I see his sweet heart, his imagination, his unique gifts. I feel the blessing of him. But so often it's as easy to despise him as love him.

As I pleaded, God put this verse in my head...while we were sinners, Christ died for us. He encouraged me to handle Peter by rephrasing this same verse: 

While he tracked in mud, Christ died for him. 

While he bullied his brother, Christ died for him.

While he made his sister cry, Christ died for him.

While he stomped around and raged, Christ died for him.

While he fought me over school, Christ died for him.

While he asked the same question relentlessly, Christ died for him.

While he stole my peace, Christ died for him.

Jesus didn't want to suffer and be abandoned on that cross, anymore than I want to raise a difficult child. 

We can't extend grace and mercy toward difficult people, unless we view them as Jesus does. When we look through our own flawed lens, of course they don't deserve our love. They deserve our condemnation. Our wrath. For they steal our peace, our time, and in some cases, our health. 

We all have difficult people placed strategically in our lives.

We are called to take the cup, as Jesus did. I can pound my fists all I want, but the thing is, Peter is here to sanctify me. 

We need to pray thus:

Lord, help me to love as you do. While we were sinners, you died for us. Help me to die to myself and be a grace-filled lover. Thank you for placing _________ in my life to sanctify me. Help me to give up my anger and indignation, and instead, to heap blessings (grace gifts) onto ____________. 

In your name I pray, Amen.

And God, thank you for chocolate and may I not run out of it.

If you live with an abuser, you're not called to stay. Get to safety. If you live with a drug- or alcohol-addicted person, you're not called to enable. If you live with a misbehaving child, you're not called to give up on discipline.

We must discipline in love, with grace-filled words, rather than with angry, insulting words. We must forgive, letting go of tight-fisted anger because it poisons our relationship with God and prevents us from loving our neighbor. 

John 13:34
A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.


Ephesians 4:32
Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

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