This is a post about Mother. Not A Mother, just about Mother.
First: she is not, and never will be, perfect. She doesn't even hope to be. But she tries, over and over again, just to do her best - and hopes it will all 'come out in the wash.'
She and daddy brought that Little bundle home, in the car seat because it was against the law to hold him/her in her arms, in the back set because that's where the car seat had to be strapped in. She always tried to follow the rules. The Question of the Day was, "what do we do when he wakes up?" (Baby will be named in this blog "She" or " He" intermittently to make it easier to write.)
No answer was forthcoming, because neither Parent could know. No matter how much experience each had with other people's kids, things were different with your Own. First Kid was first in the lineup every time. Every whimper was a scare and needed immediate attention. What do we do, when--?
Every whimper, clean thru graduation. Not audible whimpers, but daily happenings. You gotta share money, belongings, treats, most of all Time. Mother has only one set of hands and a finite set of resources.
Later whimpers sometimes had to wait. She tried but impossible situations sometimes had to wait for slower solutions. Like whimpers from Kid Number Two, or Three, or...
She tried loving. She tried explanations. She tried dividing attention. She tried rewarding. She tried answering the loudest petitions. She tried penalties. She tried punishment. She tried positive reinforcement and using the old psychology. A million times a day. Anything might work. Nothing might work.
But always there was the Need for Mom--for Mom to work it all out. For Mom to figure what needed to be done first, and next, and last.
And it never ends. When Kid Number One is halfway trained, Kid Number Two is there, and so on. Mom dearly loves each one, loves the opportunities each one learns as she faces the world within her family and later outside its boundaries. Mother gives answers and "things" that she HOPES will equip each Kid for Life.
And finally the Kid grows up and moves out, into life. Mother misses each one, but is perfectly willing to let him pay his own way and experience the experiences of his own. She knows how busy the Kid will be, because she has seen it all in her own life and other lives she watched. She knows days' ends will bring satisfaction. And sadness. Loneliness, or too much busy-ness. And pure joy.
She wants to help, so she listens to others' advice--she watches and butts in. Or zips up her lips and lets the Kid suffer his own just desserts.
Does he need money? She "lends" it. Does she need a good meal? Mother's right there with help. Does she need a listening ear? Here's where she better tread carefully, because that's the hardest thing to give, advice.
And does Mom ever have the right to ASK for help? Is time freely given? And the Kid's resources available? Does he answer, willingly? Does he help before he's asked? He is not doomed to ry to repay what his parents shared--that is not fair and is not required.
But please remember. When the Kid is self-sufficient, rolling along in the Happy-Mobile, Mother is behind him, still wishing for him the best, and waiting for her recognition and thankfulness. Then she remembers all the love she shared and just hopes that her best that she gave willingly has filled the bill.
And she waits.
How I Taught My Child to Cook
We started early. He learned to eat.
He learned to eat most everything. He was hungry, and when we threw away the baby bottle we ate all kinds of things. My parents taught me to eat what was put on my plate; my child's father had been in the Army during World War II and after serving in the jungles of the South Pacific he ate most everything except fried grasshoppers (which I didn't know how to cook anyhow.)
He had younger siblings and we were busy young parents so he learned to amuse himself. Played with the cook pans. Spilled milk and things from his plate. Fed the cat on the floor. He learned where food was stored and cooked, learned to use spoons, helped stir cookie dough and cake mix.
When Mom started to teach school, the children were old enough to want allowances, so they were hired to work at home. In addition to homework and their own "room work," one would set table, one would cook, one would clean up the kitchen. Everybody had favorite foods, so our diets weren't too varied, but nobody complained about the menus. They knew their turn was coming and everybody wanted to enjoy the good stuff.
"Box mixes" were new, and they could read. Instructions were clear and mom was there to help interpret. Each could cook whatever pleased the appetites; sometimes they'd try new recipes from the cookbooks.
Great fun were the church "homecomings" and frequent covered dish dinners. Son loved the ethnic dishes that were new to me. He asked for recipes, oral and written, and followed them carefully. Vegetables were plentiful in our southern rural location, and again everybody learned their favorites. Stewed tomatoes, raw oysters and fresh fish, veggie casseroles, thing that his dad and I weren't familiar with. Fresh huckleberries, strawberries, stewed tomatoes, fruit cobblers, wow!
So it followed that cooking was not a chore. (Cleaning up was no fun, but that was a chore that was necessary and everybody learned to not mess up ALL the pans in the kitchen.)
So when he moved into his own apartment he was no stranger to the drudge of cooking and had the fun of learning about the microwave and convection oven, and oriental spices and regional dishes.
I didn't teach him to cook.
He learned.
He learned to eat most everything. He was hungry, and when we threw away the baby bottle we ate all kinds of things. My parents taught me to eat what was put on my plate; my child's father had been in the Army during World War II and after serving in the jungles of the South Pacific he ate most everything except fried grasshoppers (which I didn't know how to cook anyhow.)
He had younger siblings and we were busy young parents so he learned to amuse himself. Played with the cook pans. Spilled milk and things from his plate. Fed the cat on the floor. He learned where food was stored and cooked, learned to use spoons, helped stir cookie dough and cake mix.
When Mom started to teach school, the children were old enough to want allowances, so they were hired to work at home. In addition to homework and their own "room work," one would set table, one would cook, one would clean up the kitchen. Everybody had favorite foods, so our diets weren't too varied, but nobody complained about the menus. They knew their turn was coming and everybody wanted to enjoy the good stuff.
"Box mixes" were new, and they could read. Instructions were clear and mom was there to help interpret. Each could cook whatever pleased the appetites; sometimes they'd try new recipes from the cookbooks.
Great fun were the church "homecomings" and frequent covered dish dinners. Son loved the ethnic dishes that were new to me. He asked for recipes, oral and written, and followed them carefully. Vegetables were plentiful in our southern rural location, and again everybody learned their favorites. Stewed tomatoes, raw oysters and fresh fish, veggie casseroles, thing that his dad and I weren't familiar with. Fresh huckleberries, strawberries, stewed tomatoes, fruit cobblers, wow!
So it followed that cooking was not a chore. (Cleaning up was no fun, but that was a chore that was necessary and everybody learned to not mess up ALL the pans in the kitchen.)
So when he moved into his own apartment he was no stranger to the drudge of cooking and had the fun of learning about the microwave and convection oven, and oriental spices and regional dishes.
I didn't teach him to cook.
He learned.
A Nice Reminder!
Several years ago, a preacher from out-of-state accepted a call to a church in Houston, Texas. Some weeks after he arrived, he had an occasion to ride the bus from his home to the downtown area. When he sat down, he discovered that the driver had accidentally given him a quarter too much change.. As he considered what to do, he thought to himself
When his stop came, he paused momentarily at the door, and then he handed the quarter to the driver and said
The driver, with a smile, replied
When the preacher stepped off of the bus, he literally grabbed the nearest light pole, held on, and said
Our lives are the only Bible some people will ever read. This is a really scary example of how much people watch us as Christians, and will put us to the test! Always be on guard -- and remember -- You carry the name of Christ on your shoulders when you call yourself 'Christian.'
Watch your thoughts ; they become words.
Watch your words; they become actions.
Watch your actions; they become habits..
Watch your habits; they become character.
Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.
You'd better give the quarter back. It would be wrong to keep it.Then he thought
Oh, forget it, it's only a quarter. Who would worry about this little amount? Anyway, the bus company gets too much fare; they will never miss it. Accept it as a 'gift from God' and keep quiet.
When his stop came, he paused momentarily at the door, and then he handed the quarter to the driver and said
Here,you gave me too much change.
The driver, with a smile, replied
Aren't you the new preacher in town?
Yes.he replied.
Well, I have been thinking a lot lately about going somewhere to worship. I just wanted to see what you would do if I gave you too much change. I'll see you at church on Sunday.
When the preacher stepped off of the bus, he literally grabbed the nearest light pole, held on, and said
Oh God, I almost sold your Son for a quarter.
Our lives are the only Bible some people will ever read. This is a really scary example of how much people watch us as Christians, and will put us to the test! Always be on guard -- and remember -- You carry the name of Christ on your shoulders when you call yourself 'Christian.'
Watch your thoughts ; they become words.
Watch your words; they become actions.
Watch your actions; they become habits..
Watch your habits; they become character.
Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.
God's Revenge Over Berlin?
Berlin's TV Tower, Fernsehturm, is the tallest building in Berlin. Second only to Russia's tower, it is the tallest such stucture in Europe. Built in 1969 by East German architects, it is 365 meters high, so that every child can remember it every day of the year. Designed by Walter Ulbright, member of the German Communist Party and leader of the SED, it was to be a reminder of the rebuilt Germany's technological advances, and to take away any reminder of God.
The communist scheme did not work.
During days of sunshine, the sphere shows a reflection of a cross. This is said to be God's revenge, on the secular socialist State, for having removed the crosses from the churches.
Personally I don't think that God takes revenge on any person or thing. I think is just a reminder how God set up his world. He made rules that each of us is to follow--Communism did not work, and Christianity leads us to a better world. When we break any of his rules, chaos results. Bad things happen.
And so the representative of communism planned a beautiful and wonderful structure for us to see each day. But he disregarded God's sun shining, and there is a reminder to be seen that is entirely different from when he planned.
The communist scheme did not work.
During days of sunshine, the sphere shows a reflection of a cross. This is said to be God's revenge, on the secular socialist State, for having removed the crosses from the churches.Personally I don't think that God takes revenge on any person or thing. I think is just a reminder how God set up his world. He made rules that each of us is to follow--Communism did not work, and Christianity leads us to a better world. When we break any of his rules, chaos results. Bad things happen.
And so the representative of communism planned a beautiful and wonderful structure for us to see each day. But he disregarded God's sun shining, and there is a reminder to be seen that is entirely different from when he planned.
Did You Ever Wonder
Did you ever wonder
Where H. G. Wells, Sir Conan Doyle,
Margaret Mitchell and Clarence B. Kelland
Got their stuff?
I have
And now I know.
Psychology told me
They transport themselves to another world.
This explains where H. G. Wells got his ideas
Tf the world of the future.
He went there and saw it and came back
And told us.
Simple, huh?
And yet it isn't.
We know personally and intimately
Folks who have transported themselves to
These wonderful new worlds
On a one way Pullman ticket
But who don't have guts enough
To hitchhike their way back.
They are called "neurotics"
And end up in a mental hospital
Or suicide.
Because they went away
And couldn't get back.
We also know of folks who went away
And couldn't get back
They still haven't returned
And will probably die that way.
Nobody calls them anything
Because they don't cause a stir.
They, like the neurotics,
Have taken a one way ticket
To Pleasant Place
To avoid tremendous problems of
Livelihood
Sex
And social contacts
Now the Maker
Probably figured on producing a certain set
Who would retreat from these challenges
Into a super-fantastic land
Of his own making
So that there might be books, pictures, music
And statues.
It is our opinion
That He figured on a round trip ticket
But Adam forfeited his rightful power
For a measly old apple
Which probably had a worm in it
And as a result of the loss of this capacity
Fully seventy-nine percent of those
Who make the trip into the land
From which the "best sellers" are drawn
Don't have what it takes to come back
They are the people we call neurotic
Because they are nervous
And have to drink Ovaltine
In order to get to sleep
They "take themselves too seriously"
And are conscientious
They, in short, are defeatists.
Because they feel unable to stand up
To the terrors of
Livelihood
Sex
And social contacts.
Where H. G. Wells, Sir Conan Doyle,
Margaret Mitchell and Clarence B. Kelland
Got their stuff?
I have
And now I know.
Psychology told me
They transport themselves to another world.
This explains where H. G. Wells got his ideas
Tf the world of the future.
He went there and saw it and came back
And told us.
Simple, huh?
And yet it isn't.
We know personally and intimately
Folks who have transported themselves to
These wonderful new worlds
On a one way Pullman ticket
But who don't have guts enough
To hitchhike their way back.
They are called "neurotics"
And end up in a mental hospital
Or suicide.
Because they went away
And couldn't get back.
We also know of folks who went away
And couldn't get back
They still haven't returned
And will probably die that way.
Nobody calls them anything
Because they don't cause a stir.
They, like the neurotics,
Have taken a one way ticket
To Pleasant Place
To avoid tremendous problems of
Livelihood
Sex
And social contacts
Now the Maker
Probably figured on producing a certain set
Who would retreat from these challenges
Into a super-fantastic land
Of his own making
So that there might be books, pictures, music
And statues.
It is our opinion
That He figured on a round trip ticket
But Adam forfeited his rightful power
For a measly old apple
Which probably had a worm in it
And as a result of the loss of this capacity
Fully seventy-nine percent of those
Who make the trip into the land
From which the "best sellers" are drawn
Don't have what it takes to come back
They are the people we call neurotic
Because they are nervous
And have to drink Ovaltine
In order to get to sleep
They "take themselves too seriously"
And are conscientious
They, in short, are defeatists.
Because they feel unable to stand up
To the terrors of
Livelihood
Sex
And social contacts.
People, Like Most Automobiles
People, like most automobiles
Come in four speeds
High, low and in-between
Then, of course, the reverse
Which fill our asylums and bread lines.
Most occupy the "second" or in-between position
They are the steady, hardworking class
The solidifying element
You will find them
Exercising mental and physical capacities
On assembly lines, behind counters and desks
And digging into mechanical units.
The "low speed" type is interspersed
With the "seconds" as helpers and common laborers
They have their function
and their physical capacities
Could not be successfully dispensed with.
Such men as Willkie, Churchill, Roosevelt and Hitler
Not to mention scores of artists, writers, musicians
And other assorted famous men
Occupy high gear position
These are the "gifted"
According to popular opinion
But the truth of the matter is
They are gifted only
As the fish are gifted to swim
And the robin to fly
Their highly geared position
Demands every bit of extra power
They can muster
And if they can't produce it
They will slip past second and low
Into reverse. Hitler did.
All creation, like your Ford
Was started in low gear
Men lived in caves
And dragged their wives
By the hair of the head
Gradually as knowledge grew, speed was built up
And soon second gear took over the load
More and more speed, into
Pff / Something happened
Nero fiddled and Rome burned.
And the reverse gear dominated.
After much backward driving
Man finally got into low and started forward
And in twenty-ten are tearing along in high
With a heavier load and more rapid pace
Many gear wheel teeth have snapped off
and others are showing the terrific strain
Thrown upon them by the failure of others.
Come in four speeds
High, low and in-between
Then, of course, the reverse
Which fill our asylums and bread lines.
Most occupy the "second" or in-between position
They are the steady, hardworking class
The solidifying element
You will find them
Exercising mental and physical capacities
On assembly lines, behind counters and desks
And digging into mechanical units.
The "low speed" type is interspersed
With the "seconds" as helpers and common laborers
They have their function
and their physical capacities
Could not be successfully dispensed with.
Such men as Willkie, Churchill, Roosevelt and Hitler
Not to mention scores of artists, writers, musicians
And other assorted famous men
Occupy high gear position
These are the "gifted"
According to popular opinion
But the truth of the matter is
They are gifted only
As the fish are gifted to swim
And the robin to fly
Their highly geared position
Demands every bit of extra power
They can muster
And if they can't produce it
They will slip past second and low
Into reverse. Hitler did.
All creation, like your Ford
Was started in low gear
Men lived in caves
And dragged their wives
By the hair of the head
Gradually as knowledge grew, speed was built up
And soon second gear took over the load
More and more speed, into
Pff / Something happened
Nero fiddled and Rome burned.
And the reverse gear dominated.
After much backward driving
Man finally got into low and started forward
And in twenty-ten are tearing along in high
With a heavier load and more rapid pace
Many gear wheel teeth have snapped off
and others are showing the terrific strain
Thrown upon them by the failure of others.
Making The World A Better Place
It was the summer of 1948. I was a rising senior at a Virginia state teacher's college, looking forward to a "fun year" and graduating next June. I had worked in the dining hall the three first years and my mother would pay my tuition so that there would be only one class besides my student teaching that last year. A "lady of leisure," it sounded like!
Other students, if they needed to, had had summer jobs, but my summers had been spent "keeping house" for my working mom and my disabled dad. This summer I had applied for a non-paying job with the Methodist Church at a work camp. There were several camps, and I wanted to go to New York City because that would be a new place--to live there and see the Big City sights. Nineteen, a place to live, lots of time, new experiences, what else could one want?
But I was sent to a college town, in hot Iowa (before air conditioning, you know) with 27 other students. I went on a train to Chicago where friends took me to see the sights, then to another Big City, Des Moines.
Actually the location really didn't matter--our goal was to make the world a better place, and we spent two months enjoying every opportunity. We girls lived in a dorm, the guys in a frat house across the street. We did our own housework and laundry, ate in the college dining room and sometimes packed our own lunches to eat wherever we worked. Really a new experience for me, with a whole bunch of brothers and sisters.
For two months we painted and repaired churches, recruited new church members and taught in summer Bible schools (children and adults.) I had a part time job in a real estate office for a few days and tried to recruit teachers and church workers.
But there was one guy--he had applied to go to the Mexican work camp, because he'd never been to Mexico. Soon we realised that God's Plan was different from ours; we wanted to spend our life working together. He went back to his school, I returned to my college work in Virginia and we graduated. the next year he went to seminary in Atlanta and I taught there. We were married in 1950 and celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary, as minister and wife.
We volunteered in four different states in summer camps and visited our church mission headquarters. We cruised the Aegean Sea one year, I went to Russia and Brazil. We traveled, volunteered our time and talents, but my favorite trip was that in 1948.
Could one ask anything better?
Other students, if they needed to, had had summer jobs, but my summers had been spent "keeping house" for my working mom and my disabled dad. This summer I had applied for a non-paying job with the Methodist Church at a work camp. There were several camps, and I wanted to go to New York City because that would be a new place--to live there and see the Big City sights. Nineteen, a place to live, lots of time, new experiences, what else could one want?
But I was sent to a college town, in hot Iowa (before air conditioning, you know) with 27 other students. I went on a train to Chicago where friends took me to see the sights, then to another Big City, Des Moines.
Actually the location really didn't matter--our goal was to make the world a better place, and we spent two months enjoying every opportunity. We girls lived in a dorm, the guys in a frat house across the street. We did our own housework and laundry, ate in the college dining room and sometimes packed our own lunches to eat wherever we worked. Really a new experience for me, with a whole bunch of brothers and sisters.
For two months we painted and repaired churches, recruited new church members and taught in summer Bible schools (children and adults.) I had a part time job in a real estate office for a few days and tried to recruit teachers and church workers.
But there was one guy--he had applied to go to the Mexican work camp, because he'd never been to Mexico. Soon we realised that God's Plan was different from ours; we wanted to spend our life working together. He went back to his school, I returned to my college work in Virginia and we graduated. the next year he went to seminary in Atlanta and I taught there. We were married in 1950 and celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary, as minister and wife.
We volunteered in four different states in summer camps and visited our church mission headquarters. We cruised the Aegean Sea one year, I went to Russia and Brazil. We traveled, volunteered our time and talents, but my favorite trip was that in 1948.
Could one ask anything better?
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