"Have you seen my hat?" Howard asked repeatedly over the last few weeks of gusty, Oklahoma winds. I had looked high and low, but his favorite light-weight, golfer-style hat was nowhere to be found. My handsome husband resorted to borrowing my comb and smoothing his still-black hair in his reflection of a plate glass window of whatever public place we were entering.
"Why don't you use hairspray!" I suggest helpfully, but he doesn't like using it. His fine, wash-and-blow-dry hair is in disarray the minute we step out the door, and he can't stand to have a hair out of place. Oh, for the days of "Wild Root Cream Oil," or the red-colored, oily stuff favored by him and my brothers when we were teenagers!
"I'm beginning to think you left your hat somewhere," I conclude after another fruitless search. I think of the time when we had gone through this scenario a few years ago, and one day I received an e-mail from our son we had recently visited in Houston. He had attached a photo, and there stood our four-year-old granddaughter wearing Pa-Pa's hat with the caption, "Did you forget something?" No wonder I couldn't find it! It was 500 miles away!
More recently, some friends from Mississippi where we used to live were passing through town on the way to Kansas. We hadn't seen them in five or six years, so when they called and suggested we meet them at a local restaurant, we were thrilled. I recognized the couple immediately through the restaurant window when I saw the man in his signature golfer's hat. The first thing I said was, "Howard used to have a hat like that!" about the same time our friend said to my husband, "Here's your hat you left at our house five years ago!"
Monday night at the conclusion of our Bible study at the home of friends when one of the men got up to leave, I heard him say to the hostess, "I didn't leave my hat here last week, did I? I can't find it anywhere!" to which she replied, "No, the only one here is Howard's hat he left a couple of weeks ago."
My ears perked up! Unaware that Howard was engrossed in a private prayer with the leader, I exclaimed from across the room, "Howard, they found your hat!" He didn't hear me, but a mental picture flashed through my mind of my having him hang his hat on their hall tree when we came in last time we were there.
You would have thought it was Christmas morning by the look of glad surprise on Howard's face when he looked up. "My hat!" he blurted, "You found my hat!"
Jesus talks about the joy of the lost being found in several Bible stories. The woman who had lost a coin swept her house clean until she found it, when she was so glad she had to go tell all her neighbors. The shepherd with the lost sheep left the ninety-and-nine to search for and find the missing one he loved so dearly. The prodigal son was lost in sin, but the joy his father felt when he returned knew no bounds. Jesus said the angels in heaven rejoice for a lost sinner who repents.
Jesus is concerned about our lost items and what concerns us, but mostly, He is concerned that we make heaven, where our joy will be complete!
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Her Light
Some people we meet in our lifetimes have personalities that are just larger than life. Our friend Pat was one of them. We moved to the small town of Picayune, Mississippi in 1975 when we were expecting Jamie, our sixth child. Right away I noticed this friendly lady at the small church we began attending. She seemed to be always laughing and giving folks little gifts, often surrounded by young people. Our oldest boy and her sons were young teens and they became fast friends.
Jamie arrived prematurely, and whether the ladies were planning a shower or not, I don't remember, but I do remember "Miss Pat," as she was known in the proper way of addressing adults in the south, arriving at my door when he was a few days old with a carload of gifts. Cartons of diapers, little outfits, and miscellaneous baby products weren't the only things she brought in that "one woman shower." Like a ray of sunshine bursting in, her sparkle and smile brightened the whole room for a new "old" mom that day.
With their love for young people, Pat and her husband, Ron, were my older kids' beloved youth leaders. They got to go to Disney World for the first time on a trip she organized. With six-month old Jamie in tow, we took our station wagon and went along, too. We laughed later at the memory of her kids and mine holding their ears as Jamie screamed the last 100 miles of the trip. If I remember right, Jamie accompanied them with his older brother on a Disney trip years later. How apropos that Pat loved "The happiest place on earth."
Miss Pat was our four-year-old daughter Amy's first Sunday School teacher. Amy loved her class, and one day she proudly brought home a Bible that her teacher had given her for Bible verse memory work. Amy still remembers that and talks about it. She also remembers Miss Pat's signature blueberry and cherry cream pies that she would bring to our fellowship meetings. We learned to make them, and they are still among our favorite desserts.
The passage of time would find our families in different parts of the country, but with the marvels of internet, we have reconnected to several old friends of our Picayune days, including Pat and Ron's oldest son Ronnie and his wife, Dawn, with whom we went to church for years before moving away. I was surprised to see a family picture Dawn posted on Facebook recently with Pat in a wheel chair. I asked about her, and was told that although she was in poor health, Pat was "still the life of the party!" I've no doubt that's how heaven would describe her today: The life of the party!
Jamie arrived prematurely, and whether the ladies were planning a shower or not, I don't remember, but I do remember "Miss Pat," as she was known in the proper way of addressing adults in the south, arriving at my door when he was a few days old with a carload of gifts. Cartons of diapers, little outfits, and miscellaneous baby products weren't the only things she brought in that "one woman shower." Like a ray of sunshine bursting in, her sparkle and smile brightened the whole room for a new "old" mom that day.
With their love for young people, Pat and her husband, Ron, were my older kids' beloved youth leaders. They got to go to Disney World for the first time on a trip she organized. With six-month old Jamie in tow, we took our station wagon and went along, too. We laughed later at the memory of her kids and mine holding their ears as Jamie screamed the last 100 miles of the trip. If I remember right, Jamie accompanied them with his older brother on a Disney trip years later. How apropos that Pat loved "The happiest place on earth."
Miss Pat was our four-year-old daughter Amy's first Sunday School teacher. Amy loved her class, and one day she proudly brought home a Bible that her teacher had given her for Bible verse memory work. Amy still remembers that and talks about it. She also remembers Miss Pat's signature blueberry and cherry cream pies that she would bring to our fellowship meetings. We learned to make them, and they are still among our favorite desserts.
The passage of time would find our families in different parts of the country, but with the marvels of internet, we have reconnected to several old friends of our Picayune days, including Pat and Ron's oldest son Ronnie and his wife, Dawn, with whom we went to church for years before moving away. I was surprised to see a family picture Dawn posted on Facebook recently with Pat in a wheel chair. I asked about her, and was told that although she was in poor health, Pat was "still the life of the party!" I've no doubt that's how heaven would describe her today: The life of the party!
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Doubt is Out!
Sometimes it takes a little ingenuity to put over a lesson to the kids at our Wednesday night session. The last two Bible stories were set in scenes from the Sea of Galilee, so we had a nautical theme. We had done the one where Jesus walked on water, and this week's was when Jesus calmed the storm. The illustrations and activities suggested seemed a little lackluster, and the children whizzed through them in record speed.
Their attention was riveted though, when I told them we were going to make paper boats. "We don't know how!" they complained, but readily began folding the paper as I demonstrated for them. I had practiced at home, even showing Howard how to master the trick I had learned in childhood. (Lacking many toys or playthings growing up, we kids had to be creative!)
With a little help, their boats began to take shape, although they wanted to wear the paper hat that appeared first. It's funny how one does a procedure seemingly automatically, such as slipping a finger into the folds of paper, opening and flattening it, then realizing you have to direct each step for the little ones.
The final hurrah when we pulled the ends to reveal the boat that popped up brought looks of amazement and satisfaction. I wanted them to write "Peace, be still," on the sides, but in their imaginations the little sailors were already sailing the stormy sea.
Last week, we had adapted the kids' song, "Peter, James, John in a Sailboat," to include, "Jesus came walking on the water," and other verses of Peter's short water walk and his cry for help from Jesus. For this week, Howard and I had added verses about Jesus sleeping on the pillow, the stormy billows, "Peace be still," and not being afraid, with copies for each child.
As Howard picked the lively tune on the guitar, the children became a parade marching around the table, singing lustily and loudly from the sheets they waved in their hands. (I was beginning to doubt the axiom, "Music soothes the savage beast.")
Hopefully, the theme of "Do not doubt Jesus" stayed with them and they will think of it when they look at their paper boats they proudly took home!
Their attention was riveted though, when I told them we were going to make paper boats. "We don't know how!" they complained, but readily began folding the paper as I demonstrated for them. I had practiced at home, even showing Howard how to master the trick I had learned in childhood. (Lacking many toys or playthings growing up, we kids had to be creative!)
With a little help, their boats began to take shape, although they wanted to wear the paper hat that appeared first. It's funny how one does a procedure seemingly automatically, such as slipping a finger into the folds of paper, opening and flattening it, then realizing you have to direct each step for the little ones.
The final hurrah when we pulled the ends to reveal the boat that popped up brought looks of amazement and satisfaction. I wanted them to write "Peace, be still," on the sides, but in their imaginations the little sailors were already sailing the stormy sea.
Last week, we had adapted the kids' song, "Peter, James, John in a Sailboat," to include, "Jesus came walking on the water," and other verses of Peter's short water walk and his cry for help from Jesus. For this week, Howard and I had added verses about Jesus sleeping on the pillow, the stormy billows, "Peace be still," and not being afraid, with copies for each child.
As Howard picked the lively tune on the guitar, the children became a parade marching around the table, singing lustily and loudly from the sheets they waved in their hands. (I was beginning to doubt the axiom, "Music soothes the savage beast.")
Hopefully, the theme of "Do not doubt Jesus" stayed with them and they will think of it when they look at their paper boats they proudly took home!
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Senior Moments
"Mama, I'm sending you a gift-card on line to your favorite restaurant for Mother's Day," my daughter Amy said over the phone Sunday. "Will you have any trouble getting it printed off?" I thanked her and assured her it would be fine. I wasn't sure our printer was working, but I told her our grandson Adam could print it for us, or we could go to the library, where we've had things printed before.
We ran into Adam a couple of days ago, and he said he would be glad to print it, I should just bring my laptop over. We followed him to his apartment, and after he showed us around the place, he turned on my computer and his printer. We visited with small talk while he walked back and forth from his computer room to the printer. He seemed a bit distracted, and finally he said that there were complications because he had done something different with his system recently. I hated to put him to any more trouble, so I said we would just get it done at the library.
This morning we set out on some errands, including a stop at the library, but first my husband wanted to go feed our remaining pig, the huge Chester White we keep at our son's farm. I love saving table scraps for her, so we grabbed her bucket of tasty morsels and drove the short distance into the country. She gobbled her food, only a little distracted by the yapping of the tiny, resident chihuahua grabbing bites of her breakfast. Thankfully, the mild-mannered pig ignored him, although he was practically in her mouth.
She needed to be watered, so Howard asked me to turn the water on from the farmhouse spigot. I traipsed up the hill and found that yard work from yesterday had necessitated that the long, long, hose be wound neatly around a holder. I couldn't unwind or pull the lengthy hose, since it was intertwined with a second hose. Turning the water on to see which hose was filling, I stepped in the overflow and soaked my new athletic shoes. Howard took over and I opened the car door to wait inside. Not soon enough to avoid the little dog springing onto my lap with muddy feet on my clean jeans, though.
After a grocery stop, we made it to the library. The attendant waited patiently for Howard to produce his library card to use the computer. She offered to look it up on her computer and found the card was expired. I couldn't find my infrequently used card, either, and she said my name wasn't even on the computer. "We've had everything changed recently, and it isn't picking up all the names," she said. Taking the elevator (seniors and disabled only) back upstairs, Howard got a new card and sat down at the computer. For some reason we couldn't get online and it wouldn't take the password we remembered.
Hungry and anxious to get home, we got in the car only to have it sputter and fail to start. Howard said it wasn't getting gas, since we had parked on a slant next to the curb. "I thought you were going to get gas at Walmart!" I pointed out, but obviously he forgot. After prayer and during his repeated attempts to get it started, I was noticing a tall, husky man wearing a bandanna lounging around the library steps, seemingly waiting for someone.
"I'm going to see if I can push it so that it's level and can get gas," Howard said. I didn't want him to do that, and suggested asking the man standing over there to help him. "I'm not asking anyone to help me," he said.
"But he's a biker-type and looks strong," I insisted. He took a look and went to talk to him. I saw the man nod and stride toward the car. With what seemed like barely a flick of his little finger we were level and the car started. The filling station was our first stop on the way home. "Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all!" I think He had put the stranger there on purpose just when we needed help! And we will enjoy that meal out yet!
We ran into Adam a couple of days ago, and he said he would be glad to print it, I should just bring my laptop over. We followed him to his apartment, and after he showed us around the place, he turned on my computer and his printer. We visited with small talk while he walked back and forth from his computer room to the printer. He seemed a bit distracted, and finally he said that there were complications because he had done something different with his system recently. I hated to put him to any more trouble, so I said we would just get it done at the library.
This morning we set out on some errands, including a stop at the library, but first my husband wanted to go feed our remaining pig, the huge Chester White we keep at our son's farm. I love saving table scraps for her, so we grabbed her bucket of tasty morsels and drove the short distance into the country. She gobbled her food, only a little distracted by the yapping of the tiny, resident chihuahua grabbing bites of her breakfast. Thankfully, the mild-mannered pig ignored him, although he was practically in her mouth.
She needed to be watered, so Howard asked me to turn the water on from the farmhouse spigot. I traipsed up the hill and found that yard work from yesterday had necessitated that the long, long, hose be wound neatly around a holder. I couldn't unwind or pull the lengthy hose, since it was intertwined with a second hose. Turning the water on to see which hose was filling, I stepped in the overflow and soaked my new athletic shoes. Howard took over and I opened the car door to wait inside. Not soon enough to avoid the little dog springing onto my lap with muddy feet on my clean jeans, though.
After a grocery stop, we made it to the library. The attendant waited patiently for Howard to produce his library card to use the computer. She offered to look it up on her computer and found the card was expired. I couldn't find my infrequently used card, either, and she said my name wasn't even on the computer. "We've had everything changed recently, and it isn't picking up all the names," she said. Taking the elevator (seniors and disabled only) back upstairs, Howard got a new card and sat down at the computer. For some reason we couldn't get online and it wouldn't take the password we remembered.
Hungry and anxious to get home, we got in the car only to have it sputter and fail to start. Howard said it wasn't getting gas, since we had parked on a slant next to the curb. "I thought you were going to get gas at Walmart!" I pointed out, but obviously he forgot. After prayer and during his repeated attempts to get it started, I was noticing a tall, husky man wearing a bandanna lounging around the library steps, seemingly waiting for someone.
"I'm going to see if I can push it so that it's level and can get gas," Howard said. I didn't want him to do that, and suggested asking the man standing over there to help him. "I'm not asking anyone to help me," he said.
"But he's a biker-type and looks strong," I insisted. He took a look and went to talk to him. I saw the man nod and stride toward the car. With what seemed like barely a flick of his little finger we were level and the car started. The filling station was our first stop on the way home. "Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all!" I think He had put the stranger there on purpose just when we needed help! And we will enjoy that meal out yet!
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Heritage of the Lord
Awards day! When our son Jamie was in second grade, his teacher sent home a notice of an Awards Day in their class, just like the high school. I was excited to go and see what award he might be getting. I knew he was a good student, and very creative. I sat down eagerly on one of the small chairs arranged for the group of parents, mostly mothers, who appeared just as proud and expectant as I was.
The teacher began by calling out the award for "Best Speller." That had to be Jamie, I thought, since he made A's in spelling. No, it went to someone else. "Best Reader" came up, and again he was passed over. When "Best Writer" wasn't his either, I began to wonder. How could that be? On and on the presentations went, then "Best Artist" came up. A cinch! Wrong! My plastic smile was beginning to fade. What was wrong with this teacher? A sickening feeling came over me. What if he didn't get anything?
Finally, all awards were given out. Then the teacher said, "We have one very special award," and she handed it to Jamie. In big letters I read, "Super Student Award" on the large, decorative document. I breathed a sigh of relief, wiped my brow and grabbed the hand of my unconcerned offspring and headed home.
Fast forward 30 years. Yesterday was graduation and Awards Day at the Home School Enrichment program our grandchildren attend weekly. Jamie's little girl, Maddie, was graduating Pre-K, and Anne-Marie was completing first grade. Daddy, Mommy and Nana were there. Jamie called me last night, and I asked how the program went.
"That's what I wanted to tell you," he began. I couldn't see his face, but it sounded like he was smiling. "The teacher said Maddie was very social, and excelled in instructing the other students. (The little red-head can be quite assertive!)
"What about Anne-Marie?" I asked, to which he replied, "Well, there were 17 students, and we waited through award after award, wondering why Anne-Marie hadn't received one. Finally," he went on, "She was next to the the last one left, and the teacher called her up and gave her an award."
The suspense was killing me. "What kind?" I asked, and with a chuckle, he said, "A 'Super Achievement Award!'" De ja vu! "Now you know how I felt when you were in 2nd grade!" I exclaimed, to which he said with a chuckle, "I know, I was telling Tammy about that."
"Her teacher told us,'Anne-Marie could run this school!'" (Must take after her mother, a Type A personality in top management in her career.)
If parents are so pleased when their children excel, think how God must feel when we do well! His love for us far outweighs parental love! "Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn thee," Jeremiah 31:3. Better than the best award!
The teacher began by calling out the award for "Best Speller." That had to be Jamie, I thought, since he made A's in spelling. No, it went to someone else. "Best Reader" came up, and again he was passed over. When "Best Writer" wasn't his either, I began to wonder. How could that be? On and on the presentations went, then "Best Artist" came up. A cinch! Wrong! My plastic smile was beginning to fade. What was wrong with this teacher? A sickening feeling came over me. What if he didn't get anything?
Finally, all awards were given out. Then the teacher said, "We have one very special award," and she handed it to Jamie. In big letters I read, "Super Student Award" on the large, decorative document. I breathed a sigh of relief, wiped my brow and grabbed the hand of my unconcerned offspring and headed home.
Fast forward 30 years. Yesterday was graduation and Awards Day at the Home School Enrichment program our grandchildren attend weekly. Jamie's little girl, Maddie, was graduating Pre-K, and Anne-Marie was completing first grade. Daddy, Mommy and Nana were there. Jamie called me last night, and I asked how the program went.
"That's what I wanted to tell you," he began. I couldn't see his face, but it sounded like he was smiling. "The teacher said Maddie was very social, and excelled in instructing the other students. (The little red-head can be quite assertive!)
"What about Anne-Marie?" I asked, to which he replied, "Well, there were 17 students, and we waited through award after award, wondering why Anne-Marie hadn't received one. Finally," he went on, "She was next to the the last one left, and the teacher called her up and gave her an award."
The suspense was killing me. "What kind?" I asked, and with a chuckle, he said, "A 'Super Achievement Award!'" De ja vu! "Now you know how I felt when you were in 2nd grade!" I exclaimed, to which he said with a chuckle, "I know, I was telling Tammy about that."
"Her teacher told us,'Anne-Marie could run this school!'" (Must take after her mother, a Type A personality in top management in her career.)
If parents are so pleased when their children excel, think how God must feel when we do well! His love for us far outweighs parental love! "Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn thee," Jeremiah 31:3. Better than the best award!
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Every Day is Mothers Day!
We saw the parade again Sunday ! Rounding the same curve as last week on the way to church, there they were! Three grown geese crossing the road followed single-file by a string of goslings, a little bigger than last week. I guess Mom goose had her mate and a mother's helper with her, since it was Mother's day! Since we were on the same time schedule, perhaps they were on their way to church, too! After all, some people say they worship outdoors in nature!
My husband has sold the three little pigs. Mama pig was very unhappy about it, although the last of her litter were "teenagers." This normally placid, sweet-natured sow turned into a squealing, teeth-baring, protective mama at the sight of her babies being taken away. They were not even in the same pen as their mother, but close enough that she always kept an eye on them.
Sadly, sometimes animals are better parents than people. God has put in them protective, mothering instincts that many in our society deny or ignore. Isaiah 49:15 asks, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, but I will not forget thee."
I Kings 3:16-28, gives the story of two mothers, one compassionate and the other not at all. It is the account of the famous decision made by King Solomon when the mothers of newborns, one living and one dead in the night, disputed over the live baby. It was only when the wise king called for a sword to divide the baby in half that the real mother was revealed. She was willing to give up the child to spare his life, while the other mother wanted him killed. The king rescinded his order, awarding the baby to its rightful mother.
"And all Israel heard of the judgment which the king had judged; and they feared the king: for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him, to do judgment." I Kings 3:26. Would that our laws and leaders today let innocents live, rather than frivolously allowing them to be destroyed in the womb!
God assures us that He cares for us and will never forget us, saying in Isaiah 49:16, "Behold, I have graven you upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me." When my husband wants to remember something, he often writes it in his hand, which is fine until he washes his hands. Jesus had us in mind when the nails pierced His hands, and the scars an ever-present reminder of why He died. Perhaps the walls are the protection and concern for our well-being that He has for us.
We put farm animals in pens for their protection and security, and mother hens hide chicks under their wings. I have read that a goose will even spread her wings over her goslings and push them underwater until danger is past. The psalmist David implored God to "Hide me under the shadow of thy wings." Again scripture says in Psalm 91:4, "He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust."
Mothers have an enormous responsibility and privilege in rearing children, and mother love is strong, even in creatures. May we look to God in this tremendous charge and find comfort and assurance under His wings. He is mighty to save!
My husband has sold the three little pigs. Mama pig was very unhappy about it, although the last of her litter were "teenagers." This normally placid, sweet-natured sow turned into a squealing, teeth-baring, protective mama at the sight of her babies being taken away. They were not even in the same pen as their mother, but close enough that she always kept an eye on them.
Sadly, sometimes animals are better parents than people. God has put in them protective, mothering instincts that many in our society deny or ignore. Isaiah 49:15 asks, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, but I will not forget thee."
I Kings 3:16-28, gives the story of two mothers, one compassionate and the other not at all. It is the account of the famous decision made by King Solomon when the mothers of newborns, one living and one dead in the night, disputed over the live baby. It was only when the wise king called for a sword to divide the baby in half that the real mother was revealed. She was willing to give up the child to spare his life, while the other mother wanted him killed. The king rescinded his order, awarding the baby to its rightful mother.
"And all Israel heard of the judgment which the king had judged; and they feared the king: for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him, to do judgment." I Kings 3:26. Would that our laws and leaders today let innocents live, rather than frivolously allowing them to be destroyed in the womb!
God assures us that He cares for us and will never forget us, saying in Isaiah 49:16, "Behold, I have graven you upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me." When my husband wants to remember something, he often writes it in his hand, which is fine until he washes his hands. Jesus had us in mind when the nails pierced His hands, and the scars an ever-present reminder of why He died. Perhaps the walls are the protection and concern for our well-being that He has for us.
We put farm animals in pens for their protection and security, and mother hens hide chicks under their wings. I have read that a goose will even spread her wings over her goslings and push them underwater until danger is past. The psalmist David implored God to "Hide me under the shadow of thy wings." Again scripture says in Psalm 91:4, "He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust."
Mothers have an enormous responsibility and privilege in rearing children, and mother love is strong, even in creatures. May we look to God in this tremendous charge and find comfort and assurance under His wings. He is mighty to save!
Monday, May 12, 2014
Mama's Hands
A surgeon's hands are long and slender, I suppose,
But Mama's hands could pluck a splinter, plant a rose.
A musician's hands receive admiring looks,
But no more than my Mama's, when she cooks.
Not beauteous, slim, or manicured,
Just working hands which long have life endured.
Work-roughened, gnarled a little, they are tender still,
So cool upon the fevered brow of one who's ill.
"Whatever your hands find to do, doeth it," the Bible says,
And Mama's hands were quick to answer "Yes."
With one swift movement they could rip a bandage up,
Tie up a wound, a finger, or a cut.
Like wing-ed things I used to see them fly
O'er berry patch or cotton field, container high
To the brim, when ours were only half.
"How do you do it?" we would ask, but she would only laugh.
"Idle hands are the devil's workshop," so they say,
Mama's hands won't have to answer that on Judgment Day.
Her hands have spent a lifetime washing dishes,
Patching pants and cutting switches.
Smoothing every childhood braid in place,
They washed roughly, yet tenderly each grimy face.
They can crochet pretty lace or hang diapers,
(Look, she lifts them to her face.)
They make homemaking an art,
But Mama's hands just give expression to her heart.
Someday she to Jesus will be raised,
For when I saw her go, her hands gave praise.
(In memory of Beulah Cope Pruitt for Mother's Day)
But Mama's hands could pluck a splinter, plant a rose.
A musician's hands receive admiring looks,
But no more than my Mama's, when she cooks.
Not beauteous, slim, or manicured,
Just working hands which long have life endured.
Work-roughened, gnarled a little, they are tender still,
So cool upon the fevered brow of one who's ill.
"Whatever your hands find to do, doeth it," the Bible says,
And Mama's hands were quick to answer "Yes."
With one swift movement they could rip a bandage up,
Tie up a wound, a finger, or a cut.
Like wing-ed things I used to see them fly
O'er berry patch or cotton field, container high
To the brim, when ours were only half.
"How do you do it?" we would ask, but she would only laugh.
"Idle hands are the devil's workshop," so they say,
Mama's hands won't have to answer that on Judgment Day.
Her hands have spent a lifetime washing dishes,
Patching pants and cutting switches.
Smoothing every childhood braid in place,
They washed roughly, yet tenderly each grimy face.
They can crochet pretty lace or hang diapers,
(Look, she lifts them to her face.)
They make homemaking an art,
But Mama's hands just give expression to her heart.
Someday she to Jesus will be raised,
For when I saw her go, her hands gave praise.
(In memory of Beulah Cope Pruitt for Mother's Day)
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