Perhaps you have felt as I have that you must defend your existence if you are "just a mom". That somehow you are inferior or less interesting than the woman that has a job outside of the home. After all, a twelve year old girl can babysit. But babysitting is not parenting.
Being a mother is a high test of Spirit-filled living! It takes energy, commitment, discipline, discernment. It is the practical working out of Galatians 5:24 -- Those who are Christ's have crucified the flesh with it's passions and desires. Do you desire sleep? Do you desire peace? Quiet? Some time of your own? Do you desire to be appreciated? To see results? Mothering means daily laying down those desires as you walk worthy of your calling. Every day brings new opportunities to die to ourselves, to say no to our selfishness and instead choose to embrace love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, gentleness and self-control. Wow! Impossible without God. Our weakness and frailty are overwhelming, but his strength is made perfect in weakness.
So many times I am completely confused -- at a loss for direction. But God says, if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all who ask. How I need that wisdom. I am so inadequate for this task, but we must persevere. Someday we may look back on our lives and say with Paul, "I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith." Can you imagine hearing God say, "Well done, my good and faithful servant." Of course at that point we will fall on our knees knowing the foolishness of thinking we had achieved anything -- knowing that it is only by His power and faithfulness that we can be faithful.
We are walking in the footsteps of Jesus. Imitating Him as we walk in love, giving ourselves up for others -- a fragrant offering and pleasing sacrifice to God. We may never see all the harvest from the seeds we have sown, but out of faith continue to nurture and train your children in the Lord.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
House Memories
I wonder if my husband died if I would ever do anything fun again. I do not understand God. Since my sister-in-law left to go back to Pennsylvania, I have been missing my brother a lot more. Reminders and pain are everywhere. I almost wrote WV earlier instead of PA. That's where she was suppose to be living. That was the craziest house my brother bought. I remember when he first e-mailed us pictures. We kept clicking through, with amused disbelief, wondering -- what has he gotten himself into now? He was so excited about that house. They tore out so many walls and found more and more things that needed to be fixed. (Which tends to happen with remodeling projects)
When I visited last, I think they only had 2 rooms with paint. They had managed to put drywall in most of the house -- even over half the windows in the porch to make a closet. He had made shelves in the drywall in the kitchen walls just large enough to hold the spices. There were only two inside doors in the whole house -- one to the bathroom and one to the porch (now part closet and part office).
They had wood heat on the lower level and he had attached the stove pipe to the heat registers in the upper level to direct the heat up. Unfortunately the register covers were plastic, so they melted.
He salvaged a free industrial sized fan from one of his employers. He first put it in the window, but he said it kept sucking the children to the window, so he moved it to the attic. He had cooked a turkey earlier and it had spilled and burned in the oven. He said if the oven started to smoke while he was gone and I was watching the kids, just plug in the fan. It's pretty noisy, but it works. Some might think cleaning the oven would be another solution. Now that I think about it, my sister-in-law asked me to help her clean the oven after my brother died and she was staying with my mom.
I noticed the back door of the house leading into the room with the freezer had a sign on it that read "No food or drink allowed". It looked like an industrial door. He probably got it free somewhere.
He had the dishwasher facing into the dining room, a little hard for rinsing because the sink was in the kitchen. He was so proud of that idea. You could just sit at the table and load the dishwasher.
The fridge was probably the nicest part of the house. It looked new and was stainless steel. It was so hard emptying the fridge after he died. I kept thinking about the things he liked to eat, and picturing him with his snacks.
The closet and office was hard too. He used oatmeal containers to hold his CDs. It was the perfect size. I put some of his tattered work clothes on the garbage pile and I felt like I was throwing my brother out. I kept going back to the pile and seeing him laying there.
How does a wife deal with this kind of pain? I am ready for this game to be over and I want him to come back. I know we will be together for eternity, but waiting 60 years just seems way too long. I think of his young wife climbing into a single bed at night. How can she go on? I look at his children and feel squeezing, pressure inside, pushing against a dam, about to break. Who would have thought that his son would have to face his 7th birthday without his dad? I do not understand. I cannot, I never will. Can I trust?
When I visited last, I think they only had 2 rooms with paint. They had managed to put drywall in most of the house -- even over half the windows in the porch to make a closet. He had made shelves in the drywall in the kitchen walls just large enough to hold the spices. There were only two inside doors in the whole house -- one to the bathroom and one to the porch (now part closet and part office).
They had wood heat on the lower level and he had attached the stove pipe to the heat registers in the upper level to direct the heat up. Unfortunately the register covers were plastic, so they melted.
He salvaged a free industrial sized fan from one of his employers. He first put it in the window, but he said it kept sucking the children to the window, so he moved it to the attic. He had cooked a turkey earlier and it had spilled and burned in the oven. He said if the oven started to smoke while he was gone and I was watching the kids, just plug in the fan. It's pretty noisy, but it works. Some might think cleaning the oven would be another solution. Now that I think about it, my sister-in-law asked me to help her clean the oven after my brother died and she was staying with my mom.
I noticed the back door of the house leading into the room with the freezer had a sign on it that read "No food or drink allowed". It looked like an industrial door. He probably got it free somewhere.
He had the dishwasher facing into the dining room, a little hard for rinsing because the sink was in the kitchen. He was so proud of that idea. You could just sit at the table and load the dishwasher.
The fridge was probably the nicest part of the house. It looked new and was stainless steel. It was so hard emptying the fridge after he died. I kept thinking about the things he liked to eat, and picturing him with his snacks.
The closet and office was hard too. He used oatmeal containers to hold his CDs. It was the perfect size. I put some of his tattered work clothes on the garbage pile and I felt like I was throwing my brother out. I kept going back to the pile and seeing him laying there.
How does a wife deal with this kind of pain? I am ready for this game to be over and I want him to come back. I know we will be together for eternity, but waiting 60 years just seems way too long. I think of his young wife climbing into a single bed at night. How can she go on? I look at his children and feel squeezing, pressure inside, pushing against a dam, about to break. Who would have thought that his son would have to face his 7th birthday without his dad? I do not understand. I cannot, I never will. Can I trust?
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