“Mama, I want to tell you something funny that Maddie said,” our son related over the phone. Since the two-year-old started talking several months ago, she astounds us with all the pent-up knowledge she had been keeping to herself! “We were watching a thing on TV where these guys took a helicopter to the top of a mountain, then snowboarded down,” he explained. Then he went on, “Maddie was standing there, and I heard her say worriedly, ‘Be careful!’”
I got a laugh out of that, and told Jamie that her nurturing and protective side was coming out. Watching children grow and develop is so fascinating, and the things they say often gives insight to the way they think. I laughed over two face book posts as an example of what comes out of their mouths. One mother of a 7 year-old boy wrote that her son pondered, “Why is it that God is in charge of us, adults are in charge of kids, kids are in charge of babies, and babies do whatever they want?” I guess he was feeling caught in the middle somewhere.
Another friend shared a story of a 5-year-old’s point of view on losing a pet. His mother was trying to explain that God’s plan is that after life on earth, all eventually die and go to heaven to be with God. The little boy retorted, “Yes, but what does God want with a dead dog?”
The other day I was alerted to watch a mini-video of my grandchildren at play. 5-year-old Anne-Marie and Maddie had called their daddy in to look at their surprise, which he had them re-create for the camera. When all was in readiness, Anne-Marie stood in front of a gigantic pile of toys and, with a flourish of her hand, announced dramatically: “Surprise!” Just then Maddie popped out of the toys like a jack-in-the-box, grinning from ear to ear and giving her own belated, “Surprise!”
I had gotten Maddie a Jack-in-the-Box for her first birthday, and she loved the suspense and surprise of the monkey popping up, which always brought squeals of delight from her. She was giving us a re-enactment. Which is what all kids do in their own way as they interpret life, never failing to give us a surprise!
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
At the End of the Day
I had been in a funk all afternoon, disappointed that I would have to return my boots I'd found after much searching. I had brought home the wrong size. When I called the store, I was told they didn't have the size I wanted.
Cold weather puts me in a bad mood, too, and it has been cold and bleak for days, with the coldest weather of the season last night. A scratchy throat and a nagging headache hadn't improved my disposition, either.
I'd been so thankful this morning when I realized Howard had slept without pain in his foot that had been troubling him of late. We praised God that he could bear weight on it again! The swelling was disappearing and the appearance was improved!
My husband had been taking medicine, but not the kind you find in a bottle. He read healing scriptures three times a day--his prescription, he said. "The Bible says He sent his Word and healed them," he explained, "and this is His Word!" And thank God, it was effective!
With that victory, why did a little thing like my purchase have me down? I was ashamed and asked God to work it out about the boots. Although I didn't see how He would, I went to the store tonight, anyway. I saw the ones like the clerk had suggested as a second choice on the rack, and sure enough, they were impossibly high and not even pretty. I decided to take one more look around and went to the spot where I had originally found the ones I wanted. There in plain sight was the pair in just my (right) size! I took them to the counter and had the cashier, a different one on duty now, double check both boots so I wouldn't make a mistake again!
"That box on the floor is probably the boots the other girl was holding for me," I told her, "but you can just put them back. I found the ones I was looking for."
And my husband's search ended in success, too! He and another minister had been trying to make contact with a family with only an obituary as a clue, when the pieces to the puzzle fell into place in an unexpected way. The family who had been in need was reached and ministered to, opening up possibilites for further ministry in the future. It had been a good day, after all! "This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it!" Now that scripture is good medicine!
Cold weather puts me in a bad mood, too, and it has been cold and bleak for days, with the coldest weather of the season last night. A scratchy throat and a nagging headache hadn't improved my disposition, either.
I'd been so thankful this morning when I realized Howard had slept without pain in his foot that had been troubling him of late. We praised God that he could bear weight on it again! The swelling was disappearing and the appearance was improved!
My husband had been taking medicine, but not the kind you find in a bottle. He read healing scriptures three times a day--his prescription, he said. "The Bible says He sent his Word and healed them," he explained, "and this is His Word!" And thank God, it was effective!
With that victory, why did a little thing like my purchase have me down? I was ashamed and asked God to work it out about the boots. Although I didn't see how He would, I went to the store tonight, anyway. I saw the ones like the clerk had suggested as a second choice on the rack, and sure enough, they were impossibly high and not even pretty. I decided to take one more look around and went to the spot where I had originally found the ones I wanted. There in plain sight was the pair in just my (right) size! I took them to the counter and had the cashier, a different one on duty now, double check both boots so I wouldn't make a mistake again!
"That box on the floor is probably the boots the other girl was holding for me," I told her, "but you can just put them back. I found the ones I was looking for."
And my husband's search ended in success, too! He and another minister had been trying to make contact with a family with only an obituary as a clue, when the pieces to the puzzle fell into place in an unexpected way. The family who had been in need was reached and ministered to, opening up possibilites for further ministry in the future. It had been a good day, after all! "This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it!" Now that scripture is good medicine!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Of Boots and Biers
I left the store exhilarated! Two pairs of shoes and a pair of boots! The shoes were 70% off, and the boots were a bargain, too! They were the only ones I liked of the many pairs on display. They actually didn't have them in my size, 8, so I had tried on a 9 and a 7. The sevens felt great, but the size 9 slipped and felt clumsy. I took the smaller size. My husband and I were in an upbeat mood that I'd found something I liked and stopped for a pleasant lunch before going home.
Putting my purchase aside to wrap a Christmas present when I got home, then being distracted by phone calls, I finally pulled the box out of the shopping bag about two hours later. Admiring the boots before putting them in the closet, I happened to see the size on the box. They were the wrong ones! I put them on and noticed in dismay how loose they were! I immediately called the store. The clerk said she didn't have a size 7 left in the boots I wanted! Busy with a customer right then, she called me back a little later.
"I found your boots," she said. "They were mixed up with a pile of other boots." I breathed a sigh of relief.
I asked her if they were the style I had picked out, naming it, and she said yes. "Are they a size 8?" I asked, forgetting they had been out of that size.
"No, they are a 7. Did you want an 8? I don't have any 8s in that style," the harried clerk said.
"That's okay," I assured her, and asked her about the style again. This time she gave a different style name, but I was willing to consider them. "How high are the heels?" I questioned, to which she said, "About an inch-and-a-half." That sounded good so I asked her to hold them until I could go back later to see them.
The nice employee had checked in vain online for the other boots, giving me the idea to go on the computer and see for myself the new possibility she had described to me. Looking through pictures of dozens of boots, I finally found the ones of that style. I was shocked when I read the description. Heels: 3 1/4 inches. Yikes! I may just have to get a refund!
Meanwhile, my husband was on a hunt of his own, filled with as many dead-ends as my shoe search. A retired former pastor at church had read an obituary and concluded that a relative of the deceased had visited our church sometime in the past. Unable to track down the family himself, and since Howard is new at being interim pastor there and doesn't know a lot of people, our friend wanted to give him this clue to a contact possibility.
Howard went by the funeral home this morning and obtained the name of a sister of the former visitor, but not her phone number. He called me earlier with the news that his employer had gone to the aforesaid funeral this afternoon! Calling back a few minutes ago, he wanted the number of the other minister, eager to tell him that his boss had gotten back from the services and knows the family well. Maybe they'll be more successful in their soul search than I have been in my search for a sole of the shoe (boot) variety!
Putting my purchase aside to wrap a Christmas present when I got home, then being distracted by phone calls, I finally pulled the box out of the shopping bag about two hours later. Admiring the boots before putting them in the closet, I happened to see the size on the box. They were the wrong ones! I put them on and noticed in dismay how loose they were! I immediately called the store. The clerk said she didn't have a size 7 left in the boots I wanted! Busy with a customer right then, she called me back a little later.
"I found your boots," she said. "They were mixed up with a pile of other boots." I breathed a sigh of relief.
I asked her if they were the style I had picked out, naming it, and she said yes. "Are they a size 8?" I asked, forgetting they had been out of that size.
"No, they are a 7. Did you want an 8? I don't have any 8s in that style," the harried clerk said.
"That's okay," I assured her, and asked her about the style again. This time she gave a different style name, but I was willing to consider them. "How high are the heels?" I questioned, to which she said, "About an inch-and-a-half." That sounded good so I asked her to hold them until I could go back later to see them.
The nice employee had checked in vain online for the other boots, giving me the idea to go on the computer and see for myself the new possibility she had described to me. Looking through pictures of dozens of boots, I finally found the ones of that style. I was shocked when I read the description. Heels: 3 1/4 inches. Yikes! I may just have to get a refund!
Meanwhile, my husband was on a hunt of his own, filled with as many dead-ends as my shoe search. A retired former pastor at church had read an obituary and concluded that a relative of the deceased had visited our church sometime in the past. Unable to track down the family himself, and since Howard is new at being interim pastor there and doesn't know a lot of people, our friend wanted to give him this clue to a contact possibility.
Howard went by the funeral home this morning and obtained the name of a sister of the former visitor, but not her phone number. He called me earlier with the news that his employer had gone to the aforesaid funeral this afternoon! Calling back a few minutes ago, he wanted the number of the other minister, eager to tell him that his boss had gotten back from the services and knows the family well. Maybe they'll be more successful in their soul search than I have been in my search for a sole of the shoe (boot) variety!
Monday, December 5, 2011
Sights and Sounds of Christmas
"It's snowing!" my granddaughter, Allison, reported when she came in from shopping awhile ago. The first flakes of the season! I wonder what it will be like in the morning! It's supposed to be a low 16 degrees tonight. Christmas is bursting out all over, here at the house and around town. The tree in the living room has had fluffy garlands of popcorn added to the homemade ornaments today. It is a work in progress, having been freshly cut from a tree farm two days ago.
Family members sit at the dining room table wrapping packages of mysterious shapes and sizes, and we are in the midst of showings on TV of 25 Christmas-themed movies from now until Christmas. Tonight I caught a bit of "Polar Express," but I found it too bizarre for my tastes. Even though our holiday is called Christmas, there are very few references to the true meaning of Christmas as relates to the Babe in the manger. Thankfully, I did see one message from a local car dealer that stressed the Biblical story of Jesus' birth.
We even went shopping ourselves, today. The cold snap prompted a sudden desire for more sweaters and a few other winter things. Yesterday after church, we stopped at a gift and bake sale at the historic home at Cann Gardens. There were many cars parked outside, but it turned out they mostly belonged to members of the Garden Club who were grouped in little clusters of conversation in the living and dining room of the house.
The gray-haired, perfectly coifed ladies in their festive Christmas sweaters watched with interest as we eyed their small plates of goodies offered for sale--tiny cookies, miniscule loaves of bread, and coffee-cakes cubed into bite-size pieces under saran wrap. There were also small jars of pepper jelly and fruit jams for a considerable price. We got a tiny lemon/poppy seed cake which turned out to be delicious, the intense flavor bursting like a surprise on our tastebuds. It was worth every bit of the $3 it cost.
With Christmas less than three weeks away, things are bound to get busier around here. But there is a peacefulness, too, for I feel no pressure to do anything but enjoy the season and reflect on the deeper meaning of Christmas. May all the trimmings and trappings of shopping, decorating, baking and feasting not hide what the celebration is all about. God's Son, Jesus, being born as a Baby to become the greatest Gift of all.
Family members sit at the dining room table wrapping packages of mysterious shapes and sizes, and we are in the midst of showings on TV of 25 Christmas-themed movies from now until Christmas. Tonight I caught a bit of "Polar Express," but I found it too bizarre for my tastes. Even though our holiday is called Christmas, there are very few references to the true meaning of Christmas as relates to the Babe in the manger. Thankfully, I did see one message from a local car dealer that stressed the Biblical story of Jesus' birth.
We even went shopping ourselves, today. The cold snap prompted a sudden desire for more sweaters and a few other winter things. Yesterday after church, we stopped at a gift and bake sale at the historic home at Cann Gardens. There were many cars parked outside, but it turned out they mostly belonged to members of the Garden Club who were grouped in little clusters of conversation in the living and dining room of the house.
The gray-haired, perfectly coifed ladies in their festive Christmas sweaters watched with interest as we eyed their small plates of goodies offered for sale--tiny cookies, miniscule loaves of bread, and coffee-cakes cubed into bite-size pieces under saran wrap. There were also small jars of pepper jelly and fruit jams for a considerable price. We got a tiny lemon/poppy seed cake which turned out to be delicious, the intense flavor bursting like a surprise on our tastebuds. It was worth every bit of the $3 it cost.
With Christmas less than three weeks away, things are bound to get busier around here. But there is a peacefulness, too, for I feel no pressure to do anything but enjoy the season and reflect on the deeper meaning of Christmas. May all the trimmings and trappings of shopping, decorating, baking and feasting not hide what the celebration is all about. God's Son, Jesus, being born as a Baby to become the greatest Gift of all.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Seasonal Rituals
"Do you want to go with us to get a Christmas tree?" my son asked. I was cold and covered with a blanket to take a nap. My husband was studying, so I told him no.
"Oh, come on, Mom, it will be fun!" Greg insisted. Howard seemed suddenly willing to put down his books, so I got my coat and grumbled at the chilly temperatures.
"We'll just stay in the car," I said as the rest of the family got out to go select and cut a Christmas tree. Again, I was dissuaded. I had to come in to the little shop, my son persisted. With the promise of hot chocolate, I went along.
The reception/gift shop was something of a combination stable and Santa's workshop. The exposed rafters sheltering the snug room with the straw-strewn floor lent a rustic charm to the whole space. Wooden Christmas crafts decorated the walls, and a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, emanating off-key strains of the Charlie Brown Christmas song as played by Lucy, sat on the pay counter. Free hot chocolate and cookies awaited tree buyers, trudging cold and shivering into the warmth.
This looked like a good place for the old folks to wait while the others braved the elements and wielded the saw on the trunk of the perfect tree. Revolving family groups came in steadily as we sat on bales of hay and drank our hot chocolate. One little girl was more interested in watching her handfuls of tossed straw flutter down than in the refreshments. The friendly proprietor showed an earnest tot how to peel the paper halfway from his candy cane so he could lick it without getting his hands sticky.
Between groups, my husband engaged the talkative clerk in conversation. Finding out he was a minister, she found common ground to talk of her father's Sunday School class preparation. "Do you study early in the week, or on Saturday?" she asked. Their chat was cut short when our son came in and announced the tree had been procured and went to pay for it.
Feeling festive by this time, everyone wanted to ride around the Christmas "Festival of Angels" lights at the lake. The children ooh-ed and aah-ed at the animated scenes of a runaway gingerbread man, elf-borne packages tossed into Santa's bag, the Nativity, Cinderella, her pumpkin coach and prince, and on and on with vignettes of the old west and other delights all around us in lighted displays. "Oh, you have a Christmas tree!" the attendants at the exit exclaimed of our still-roped tree atop the SUV. They gave us a handful of candy canes as we chorused, "Merry Christmas!" and dropped our donation into the pail.
After the table was cleared of a late supper of quiche and cottage cheese-and-fruit salad whipped up by our daughter-in-law, its surface was covered with fresh-baked and cooled salt-dough ornaments to be painted by the children to go on the waiting tree in the corner. Tomorrow we would string popcorn, but right now I was going to bed!
"Oh, come on, Mom, it will be fun!" Greg insisted. Howard seemed suddenly willing to put down his books, so I got my coat and grumbled at the chilly temperatures.
"We'll just stay in the car," I said as the rest of the family got out to go select and cut a Christmas tree. Again, I was dissuaded. I had to come in to the little shop, my son persisted. With the promise of hot chocolate, I went along.
The reception/gift shop was something of a combination stable and Santa's workshop. The exposed rafters sheltering the snug room with the straw-strewn floor lent a rustic charm to the whole space. Wooden Christmas crafts decorated the walls, and a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, emanating off-key strains of the Charlie Brown Christmas song as played by Lucy, sat on the pay counter. Free hot chocolate and cookies awaited tree buyers, trudging cold and shivering into the warmth.
This looked like a good place for the old folks to wait while the others braved the elements and wielded the saw on the trunk of the perfect tree. Revolving family groups came in steadily as we sat on bales of hay and drank our hot chocolate. One little girl was more interested in watching her handfuls of tossed straw flutter down than in the refreshments. The friendly proprietor showed an earnest tot how to peel the paper halfway from his candy cane so he could lick it without getting his hands sticky.
Between groups, my husband engaged the talkative clerk in conversation. Finding out he was a minister, she found common ground to talk of her father's Sunday School class preparation. "Do you study early in the week, or on Saturday?" she asked. Their chat was cut short when our son came in and announced the tree had been procured and went to pay for it.
Feeling festive by this time, everyone wanted to ride around the Christmas "Festival of Angels" lights at the lake. The children ooh-ed and aah-ed at the animated scenes of a runaway gingerbread man, elf-borne packages tossed into Santa's bag, the Nativity, Cinderella, her pumpkin coach and prince, and on and on with vignettes of the old west and other delights all around us in lighted displays. "Oh, you have a Christmas tree!" the attendants at the exit exclaimed of our still-roped tree atop the SUV. They gave us a handful of candy canes as we chorused, "Merry Christmas!" and dropped our donation into the pail.
After the table was cleared of a late supper of quiche and cottage cheese-and-fruit salad whipped up by our daughter-in-law, its surface was covered with fresh-baked and cooled salt-dough ornaments to be painted by the children to go on the waiting tree in the corner. Tomorrow we would string popcorn, but right now I was going to bed!
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Abundant Life
One of the highlights of our family get-together recently was watching a colorized version of "A Wonderful Life" in High Definition on our son's wall screen. Such a thought-provoking story of the importance of an ordinary life, though it was only a fictionalized account of an angel's intervention.
I was thinking of the Christmas story and how Joseph was warned in a dream by an angel to take Mary and baby Jesus and flee to Egypt for His safety. These were the days before the instant communication we have now. There was no early warning system for the storm that was about to erupt in the lives of parents of young children who would be murdered. No e-mail to alert the unaware of the impending danger. Only evangel (messenger) express from heaven in the form of an angel as recorded in Matthew 2:13, "And when they were departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him."
We heard a true story of a missionary/evangelist working under adverse conditions overseas. Suffering many hardships, he had no automobile, but he had remarkable success in his ministry. Some kind-hearted supporters from back home decided to help him out and raised money to provide a vehicle for him. Although he was appreciative and enjoyed the car very much, he had reason to wish they hadn't blessed him with it. Before, when he was dependent upon God to bring him into contact with the lost, he would find himself miraculously transported to distant places where he preached the gospel and won many souls. Once he got his own transportation, he no longer had these supernatural experiences!
It seems God only works miracles when a situation is desperate. In our country, we have access to so many conveniences, from doctors to good food, sanitation, ease of travel and communication, that we rarely call upon God as a first-response Provider. We take for granted and depend on all these things (which, of course, are God given), only turning to prayer as a last resort. Like the scenario of a bad situation when someone suggested prayer, and was met with the alarmed response, "Has it come to that?" No doubt desperation is the reason we hear of so many miracles in third-world countries where people have no other choice but to depend upon God.
All it takes is something to shake our personal world for us to get serious with God. We were up last night praying for a physical problem that had arisen with my husband. He had seemingly injured his foot unknowingly and was experiencing pain and swelling. At last he felt victory and was able to fall into a sound sleep, awaking refreshed. Nevertheless, we checked it out with a doctor later, who, after tests, ruled out anything serious. No treatment was required for only a superficial clot that would clear up by itself. We felt God did a miracle! Thank You, Lord, that you provide a wonderful life where there is always instant communication in prayer!
I was thinking of the Christmas story and how Joseph was warned in a dream by an angel to take Mary and baby Jesus and flee to Egypt for His safety. These were the days before the instant communication we have now. There was no early warning system for the storm that was about to erupt in the lives of parents of young children who would be murdered. No e-mail to alert the unaware of the impending danger. Only evangel (messenger) express from heaven in the form of an angel as recorded in Matthew 2:13, "And when they were departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him."
We heard a true story of a missionary/evangelist working under adverse conditions overseas. Suffering many hardships, he had no automobile, but he had remarkable success in his ministry. Some kind-hearted supporters from back home decided to help him out and raised money to provide a vehicle for him. Although he was appreciative and enjoyed the car very much, he had reason to wish they hadn't blessed him with it. Before, when he was dependent upon God to bring him into contact with the lost, he would find himself miraculously transported to distant places where he preached the gospel and won many souls. Once he got his own transportation, he no longer had these supernatural experiences!
It seems God only works miracles when a situation is desperate. In our country, we have access to so many conveniences, from doctors to good food, sanitation, ease of travel and communication, that we rarely call upon God as a first-response Provider. We take for granted and depend on all these things (which, of course, are God given), only turning to prayer as a last resort. Like the scenario of a bad situation when someone suggested prayer, and was met with the alarmed response, "Has it come to that?" No doubt desperation is the reason we hear of so many miracles in third-world countries where people have no other choice but to depend upon God.
All it takes is something to shake our personal world for us to get serious with God. We were up last night praying for a physical problem that had arisen with my husband. He had seemingly injured his foot unknowingly and was experiencing pain and swelling. At last he felt victory and was able to fall into a sound sleep, awaking refreshed. Nevertheless, we checked it out with a doctor later, who, after tests, ruled out anything serious. No treatment was required for only a superficial clot that would clear up by itself. We felt God did a miracle! Thank You, Lord, that you provide a wonderful life where there is always instant communication in prayer!
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Gratitude
My youngest son, Jamie, called me last night to thank me for his birthday card. He will be 36 day after tomorrow. I just remembered I was 36 when he was born! That means I'm twice as old as he is! Okay, I've told my age.
I was bouyed, though, when my husband and I were at the prescription window today. The assistant asked for his birthday, and he gave her the old run-around. He usually gives them the month and day, but gives a ridiculously recent year. She remembered him, though, and said suspiciously, "You're the one who does something with 32... or 38, aren't you?"
"Thirty-eight," I chimed in. "He doesn't like to give his age, but that's when he was born." She said in surprise that he looked young, and I agreed. Then I had to tell her the year I was born, and she looked at me askance.
"For real?" She said. "You're 72?" She didn't believe me, to my delight, but I thanked her anyway.
"What is your secret?" she asked after we had convinced her we were telling the truth, "You two don't look your age at all!"
"Clean living, married 53 years," I shrugged, then added, "and serving God," while my husband announced, "Six kids and 18 grandkids!"
"Very attractive couple," she said, shaking her head.
Wow! I walked on air all the way to the car. I knew she was used to seeing a lot of sick people who were probably at their worst, but her words still made me feel good.
When I got in the car, I admitted to my husband that we have a lot to be thankful for. Active, and in relatively good health, we don't often feel our age. Then I thought about the amazing family we are blessed with, and I couldn't hold back the tears. We are so thankful that they all serve the Lord, and have brought up their children to serve Him, too.
Although we are widely scatterd, we have peace and harmony with all our children, their spouses and families, and they all love and appreciate one another. I know that that can be a rarity, these days.
My husband is fond of quoting Proverbs 10:22, which says, "The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it." I have always down-played compliments on our family, not wishing to appear prideful, but I must acknowledge the goodness of God and the truth of His Word. He has enriched us in so many ways apart from money. We have always had enough and some to share, the children learned the work ethic early on, and we have remarkable grandchildren. Thankfully, our sorrows have been few, and our blessings have been many. That makes getting old worth it!
I was bouyed, though, when my husband and I were at the prescription window today. The assistant asked for his birthday, and he gave her the old run-around. He usually gives them the month and day, but gives a ridiculously recent year. She remembered him, though, and said suspiciously, "You're the one who does something with 32... or 38, aren't you?"
"Thirty-eight," I chimed in. "He doesn't like to give his age, but that's when he was born." She said in surprise that he looked young, and I agreed. Then I had to tell her the year I was born, and she looked at me askance.
"For real?" She said. "You're 72?" She didn't believe me, to my delight, but I thanked her anyway.
"What is your secret?" she asked after we had convinced her we were telling the truth, "You two don't look your age at all!"
"Clean living, married 53 years," I shrugged, then added, "and serving God," while my husband announced, "Six kids and 18 grandkids!"
"Very attractive couple," she said, shaking her head.
Wow! I walked on air all the way to the car. I knew she was used to seeing a lot of sick people who were probably at their worst, but her words still made me feel good.
When I got in the car, I admitted to my husband that we have a lot to be thankful for. Active, and in relatively good health, we don't often feel our age. Then I thought about the amazing family we are blessed with, and I couldn't hold back the tears. We are so thankful that they all serve the Lord, and have brought up their children to serve Him, too.
Although we are widely scatterd, we have peace and harmony with all our children, their spouses and families, and they all love and appreciate one another. I know that that can be a rarity, these days.
My husband is fond of quoting Proverbs 10:22, which says, "The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it." I have always down-played compliments on our family, not wishing to appear prideful, but I must acknowledge the goodness of God and the truth of His Word. He has enriched us in so many ways apart from money. We have always had enough and some to share, the children learned the work ethic early on, and we have remarkable grandchildren. Thankfully, our sorrows have been few, and our blessings have been many. That makes getting old worth it!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)