“I tell you what, girls, I bet if you both carry a purse to church this morning, next week all the young girls will be carrying a purse,” my mother said confidently as we readied for church Sunday morning. We didn’t believe her. Nor did we want to carry a purse. That was not fashionable at the time.
I write at my mother’s old desk. As I have told you before, it sits upstairs in our family room. The same chair she sat in to pay the bills and read her Bible; is where I choose to write my stories. It seems only fitting when I see the well-worn drawers from where she opened and closed it so many times to grab a stamp and seal an envelope. The nicks in the side of the desk match perfectly where the chair would hit as she turned.
I remember walking into her study one day and feeling my way along her bookshelves. I looked at all the books and asked her, “Have you read all these books?” “Some more than once,” she said satisfactorily.
My mother is who I measure every lady next to, including myself. When my hands do not look well-kept like hers, or I see a woman dressed in tacky attire (I mean, they’re out there), I always think to myself – That’s not how my mother would dress. Even around the house, she lounged elegantly.
Mom didn’t have an eight-to-five job. She spent her day at home, ironing my father’s shirts, setting the table, and hauling us girls where we needed to be. To this day, seeing my dad’s creased shirts and ironed pants makes me smile. I always know where she has been spending her time.
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I find myself amid the same tasks as my mother was many years ago. The only difference, some days, I only get the visible toes painted. Yet, the most crucial influence I make is not on my toes but on the two little ones God has charged me with teaching.
The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. Which leaves me wondering, where are we? No matter where we spend our days, in the home or the workforce, does our family come first? Just because we stay at home doesn’t mean our focus is on our homes.
Teaching our children to behave like men and women is our responsibility. My mother taught me how to apply make-up, place a napkin in my lap, and call my grandparents. Mom made sure we enjoyed the dirt and mud to the extreme, but she also made sure we found a hairbrush. It was my mother who taught me not to slouch, and yet it was my father who showed me what a prince looked like.
Raising girls and boys has its differences, and rightly so. I have watched my sister and her husband address these differences as they raise both. Ben knows how to open the door for a lady and help carry things like a gentleman. He knows it is his job always to protect his sister, Caroline. If Daddy is away, Ben is the man of the house. He didn’t just figure these things out; his parents are teaching him how to be a man.
I read Bible stories to my girls from the children’s Bible my mother read from. On the inside cover is her inscription and the date documented. She taught us how to have faith in God and brought to life the power of Jesus living in my heart.
Not long ago, the same childlike spirit that heard all the Bible stories and knew of His wonder-working power was crushed. My heart needed mending by the Master.
My mother took notice, and of all the things she could have shared, she settled upon another Bible story. Who better than the Great Teacher to hold my heart. She shared, “Sis, the priest wore linen when entering the Holy of Holies. God did not want them to sweat before him. Don’t sweat it; God has already thought of everything. He knows how to put the pieces of your heart together again.”
That Sunday morning, my sister and I adorned our very first purse upon our shoulders. It felt odd and out of place. We got sneers from some and smiles from others. But, just as my mother predicted, the following Sunday, every girl carried a purse on their shoulder. Mothers have a knack for knowing.
As we raise our children or learn to let go of what we can’t hold, we can rest assured that God has thought of everything. He has outlined in His Book a plan for us to follow. If we will listen to the stories and live them out loud, we won’t have to sweat it.
Eva was jumping on the trampoline with Charlotte (which everyone needs to see). Charlotte bounces off the netting as she is engulfed by the tight springs. Every jump from Eva sends her flying through the air; giggles swallow the atmosphere.
Charlotte caught sight of me headed up the hill to throw out bird seed. I turned and picked her up so she could accompany me. At the top, I gave her a handful of seeds and showed her how to scatter them around for the birds. I left her with a small basket of seeds and went on to fill my feeders. When I returned, I knelt beside her and watched for a minute as she continued to throw out the seeds. Taking in my surroundings, I saw one lonely dandelion bristle; I picked it, knowing she would get a thrill out of watching the pedals take flight. I began to blow on it, and she smiled as each one lifted off into the air. As we watched them depart, I leaned in and said, “One day, I will teach you how to carry a purse as well.”
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