When you look at your newborn, tiny and soft, with eyes that hold the trust of the ages and hair as soft as down, you wonder how, in an instant, you can protect this little one. You are a mother. Somewhere your subconscious tells you that new title is yours for life. You cannot get enough of soaking in the sight of the little one in your arms.
And through those first weeks at the smallest sound you go over to where your baby is sleeping to check and make sure all is well. And all the years afterward you continue to “just check” and watch that little one grow and become a mixture of what you hope and what you don’t understand. Your child asks you to look. “Look and see what I can do!” Other times they hope you won’t see what they’ve done. And on through the years, the invisible, inescapable pull set in mothers everywhere by the Creator, Himself, is a contrast of welcome and unwelcome.
This Mother’s Day I think of my own mom and I remember . . .
Our dog was giving birth to a litter of puppies in the corner of our dirt floor garage. I was elementary school-aged. My mom had called a friend so she could bring her kids over and we could all watch the miracle of birth together. We huddled together by the garage door and watched Specky during her most personal moments as she ate the membrane and licked each newborn. I was embarrassed while Mom was enthralled, but we watched because she wanted me to learn.
As I drove home through the dark streets, I could see my house lit up and a shadow in the window watching for me. I’d been out with some high school friends drinking pop and talking and laughing. It was nearly midnight. In her mind I’d been kidnapped and was struggling to escape. In my mind whatever it was I faced from imagined kidnappers held nothing to what I faced from my mother.
I carried out a few suitcases and whatever other few things I had to bring, and stashed them all in a friend’s car. I was leaving for college during a time when my residence had one phone that hung on a hallway wall. There were no emails nor texts, and long distance costs were by the call and by the minute. Kids who went to college didn’t have much contact with their parents other than letters and holidays. As we pulled away, I could see my mom in the rearview mirror. She stood in the driveway and watched us until we were out of sight.
I was in my 30’s fulfilling some duty at the front of the church, probably leading worship or some other such role. My mom had, herself, spent her life doing the same thing, though her fingers always made the piano keys sing more sweetly than mine ever did. What can I say? She had a great touch. There was mom sitting in the pew listening and watching with a slight smile. It’s possible she was thinking what could have been done to make the song sound better. It’s probable she would have been right.
When I was in my 40’s, I look up as I inserted the key into the car, and there she was at the window watching to make sure I’d made it safely from her house to my car. Granted, by now her house was in a part of town that, while not riddled with crime, held the potential for occasional trouble. I don’t know how she planned to fight off my attackers.
We’d gotten a pretty good wallop of snow, wet and heavy and high; the kind that lands folks in the hospital with a heart attack. I was feeling my 50 some years as I shoveled the layers to get to the pavement, and as I trudged, out of breath, back to the house to return the shovel to its usual place, I caught a glimpse of my mom. She’d been standing at the window watching me. Still.
A candle is burning somewhere tonight. It burns to signify a prayer. Or penance. Or the presence of Christ.
our home needs since my husband’s idea of excitement is watching T.V. with a cold Dr. Pepper in his hand and my preference is a cozy mystery. Our action-packed evenings amaze even us.
bump (being without a working fist), can shake hands, and remembers what he first learned: sitting and lying down. He even stays if you don’t expect it to last beyond 30 seconds. He sits by my chair while I’m at the computer (as long as I have some snacks to bribe him with from time to time). He understands quite a few words and expressions, including “something to eat” and “drop it”, although he responds much better to one phrase than the other. He (mostly) comes when he’s called. We did have one little episode in Minneapolis, but it’s better left undiscussed, and my stress at a tolerable level.
His love of tennis balls is without compare. And the chase! If he was an orator I imagine he would expound on the thrill, ending with the words, “It makes my life complete”.
staff experiencing his love on a regular basis. And I’ll add here, that never was there, in my experience, a dog more social than this guy. All I have to say is, “Rocky’s outside,” and he bounds for the back door to visit the dog across the fence. I’m not altogether sure the feeling is mutual (Rocky is up in years and might think to himself the yard was more peaceful before an energetic puppy arrived), but some friendships take time, and our dog is in it for the long haul. He’s making in-roads with the tiny little dog kitty-corner to us, two dogs another yard over, and the rest of the walking public (including the high school track team). The expression “never met a stranger” is true of him. And while these days we are becoming doubtful of others’ good intentions, he is not.
And I have some news! We’re not the only ones who care about prayer! (Okay and yes, I rhymed on purpose.)
bedrock of freedom and morals taken from Moses, himself. If I told you the truth and said the Bible some of you would check out, so we’ll just say Moses for now. Everybody likes Charlton Heston. Or did at one time.
By the time everyone had either experienced or witnessed the plagues, Israel had crossed the Red Sea on dry ground while God parted it in two, and Moses had gone up on the mountain and fasted 40 days, there was some water under the bridge, you know? So when he came down and saw the folks that he’d led out of Egypt – the ones he’d put his own neck on the line for, the ones God was doing all sorts of beyond amazing things for – had made a golden calf and were worshiping it – worshiping it – you might understand his distress, frustration, and anger.
slammed those commandments down so hard, they shattered. Stone shattered! He must’ve really crushed it. He was mad. Witnessing corruption will do that to a person. But think how embarrassing it would be to be the one to shatter the 10 Commandments. It makes me like him even a little more. Fortunately, God made a second set for him to give to the people, and he put it in the Ark. Safe and sound.
God created nations, and He loves them. In fact, we are told in Revelation about the leaves of a tree used to heal the nations. Love of country does not equal hate of another country or other people. It simply means that you love your home.
being a rescue from an Amish puppy mill, was already over 3 months old when we got him. I was glad he had a little religion already. But by the time I signed up for training, he was too old for the puppy class. We went to our first tweener class last week. It is a walk-in situation, which suits us; though why we have trouble connecting schedules when all four kids are out of the house, I can’t explain. We were the only ones who raised their hands to indicate it was our first time being there, which leads me to my clue. When the instructor asks if your puppy knows “Sit”, and you say “Yes”, the answer to the follow-up question of “How many times do you say it before your dog obeys?” is not “As many times as it takes”. You’re welcome. I live to serve.
and growling and rolling around on the floor. Some of the sweet little things walked behind their owners’ chairs or bumped noses. Not ours. Ours was right out in the middle of things the entire time. I began to understand a bit more of how parents of kids with ADHD feel.