Oh that God would give every mother a vision of the glory and splendor of the work that is given to her when a babe is place in her bosom to be nursed and trained! Could she have but one glimpse in to the future of that life as it reaches on into eternity; could she look into its soul to see its possibilities; could she be made to understand her own personal responsibility for the training of this child, for the development of its life, and for its destiny,--she would see that in all God's world there is no other work so noble and so worthy of her best powers, and she would commit to no others hands the sacred and holy trust given to her.

~ J.R. Miller, Homemaking

"By perseverance the snail reached the ark."

--Charles Spurgeon

Before I Was A Mom...

I found this poem in this month's newsletter for my MOPS group. I almost started crying right there at my discussion table. Just wanted to share. There is no author mentioned, otherwise I would reference the proper person.

Before I was a Mom
I never tripped over toys or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.
Before I was a Mom -
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts.
I slept all night.
Before I was a Mom
I never held down a screaming child so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into tear eyes and cried.
I never got glorously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.
Before I was a Mom
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put him down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.
Before I was a Mom.
I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small could make me feel so important and happy.
Before I was a Mom -
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth, the job, the love, the heartache, the wonderment or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much, before I was a Mom.

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"The Invisible Woman"

This piece was printed in the November issue of my local MOPS group newsletter. I read it over Thanksgiving and I was so touched that I just had to type it out here. I wanted to share with everyone else and to also preserve it because I know that sheet of paper would disappear somewhere. Be touched yourself!

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there fore about three hours and I was ready leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking. That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think we can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible.

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not! No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some day's I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude--but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She going she's going she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together as well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no on sees."

In the days ahead I would read-no, devour-the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals-we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam! He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make very day, when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see m self as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 am in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by sacrifices of invisible women.

~Author Unknown~

Told you it was AWESOME!



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I Was Brought to Tears...

I got this story as a forward this morning in my inbox. I rarely read forwards just like most people, but I read this one. I had tears all over the place by the end. My eyes are all teary right now as I write this. All I can say is, "WOW!:"

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4
year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she
missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got
to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could so
she dictated these words:

Dear God,

Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in
heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick. I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her. You will know that she is
my dog. I really miss her.

Love, Meredith.

We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.

Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, "To Meredith , "in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, "When a Pet Dies." Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:

Dear Meredith,

Abbey arrived safely in heaven. Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away. Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays
in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't need our bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by. Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you. I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much. By the way, I'm easy to find, I am wherever there is love.
Love,
God

This Is the Place!

This is the place where we gather our emotions.
This is the place where we leave the commotion.
This is the place where we mothers sneak away.
Even it it's for a few moments each day.

This is the place that all moms know
This is the place where all moms go.
This is the place with its porcelain chair
Where we sit 'til we hear "Mommy, are you in there?"

This is the place that gives us serenity.
This is the place that keeps our sanity.
This is a place that hasn't been found out.

We'd like to call it our "Bathroom Hide-out."

--By Sally Krempasky
Found in MomSense Magazine

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"Do The Next Thing"

I came across this poem over at Enjoy The Journey and I wanted to share with everyone! It is hard sometimes to keep moving forward when you have no sense of focus or motivation, but the best you can do is "Do The Next Thing." I remember reading Seizing Your Divine Moment by Erwin McManus and he was discussing knowing God's will in your life or a specific situation. You many not know exactly what to do but the best thing is to "just do something" and God will steer you in the right direction. Your first move may not be God's ultimate plan but he will bless your willingness and efforts and then take you where he ultimately wants you. God just wants you to "Do The Next Thing."

From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the doors the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration:
“DO THE NEXT THING.”

Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King,
Trust them with Jesus, do the next thing

Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe 'neath His wing,
Leave all results, do the next thing

Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, do the next thing.

Author Unknown

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Young Dreams

I have started reading Jesus Among Other Gods by Ravi Zacharias. I am not very far into it yet but I was struck by the truth of this statement.

Young dreams may be wild ones, but they are never corrected by ridiculing them. They must be steered by a loving voice that has earned the right to be heard, not one enforced by means of power.

Oswald Says...

"Choosing to suffer means that there must be something wrong with you, but choosing God's will--even if it means you will suffer--is something very different. No, normal, healthy saint ever chooses suffering; he simply chooses God's will, just as Jesus did, whether it means suffering or not. And no saint should ever dare to interfere with the lesson of suffering being taught in another saint's life."

--Oswald Chamber
My Utmost For His Highest

Laundry Nostalgia

WASHING CLOTHES:

Build fire in backyard to heat kettle of rain water
Set tubs so smoke wont blow in yer eyes if the wind is pert
Shave one hole cake of lye soap in boilin water
Sort things; make 3 piles---1 white, 1 colored, 1 pile of work breetches and rags
To make starch, stir flour in cool water to smooth, then thin down with boiling water
Take white things, rub dirty spots on board, scrub hard, then boil
Then rub colored things, but don't boil, just wrench and starch
Take things out of the kettle
Wrench and starch
Hang old rags on fence
Spread tea towels on the grass
Pore leftover wrench water on the flower beds
Scrub porch with hot soapy water
Turn tubs upside down
Go put on a clean dress, smooth hair down
Brew a cup of tea
Sit a spell and count yer blessings

Let us all remember this next time we want to complain about our ever growing laundry piles and really count our blessings.

Words of Wisdom

"If I could hear Christ praying for me in
the next room I would not fear a million enemies.
Yet distance makes no difference.
He is praying for me."

--Rober Murray McCheyne