Has anyone out there ever really calculated all the things that a mother does? Oh, I’m sure they’ve tried. But I’m not sure it’s possible to come up with a complete job description. Just when you think you have recorded every possible thing a mother is required to do, something new will inevitably make its way onto the list.
Things like, “Teach older child not to turn on the dryer when younger child is inside.” And, “Teach younger child not to climb into the dryer.”
Not that anything like that has ever happened in my family.
Ahem.
The more experience I get as a mother, the more in awe I am of my own mother. She is awesome. Terrific. There are no words to describe how amazing she is.
So here, in black and white, I’d just like to take a moment to say thank you to her, and to all the other mothers out there who make their children feel loved and important, who make sure their children are warm and well-fed and clean and safe and happy.
Mom, thank you.
Thank you for clean underwear in my drawer. I never really knew how it got there. Never thought about it, really. All I knew was, when I opened my drawer, I always had clean undies and socks. Thanks.
Thank you for making sure I ate breakfast every morning before I went to school. Even when I refused to get out of bed on time, and made you and everyone else in the house late, you always made sure that I at least had a banana or a piece of toast in my hand, as we rushed out the door.
Thanks for wearing panty hose with runs in them, so that I could have that new pair of shoes.
Thanks for saying, “No, I don’t really care for apple pie, and I’m not hungry anyway,” when there was only one piece left. (That’s going above and beyond the call of duty, in my opinion.)
Thank you for teaching me to stand up straight, and look people in the eye, and smile.
Thank you for telling me, over and over again, that I could do anything I set my mind to. I believed you.
Thank you for not letting me get by with average grades, when you knew I was capable of more.
Thank you for teaching me that being kind is more important than being popular.
Thank you for teaching me that the girl who doesn’t date much in high school is often the girl all the boys want to marry, once they’re out of college.
Thank you for waiting up for me, when I was on a date, and acting excited to hear all the details. I knew you’d be waiting, and believe it or not, I looked forward to those girl-talks. They were fun.
Thank you for forcing me to run for freshman office, my first year of college. I thought you were being pushy at the time. But when I won the election, I was glad. I wouldn’t have had the courage to try if you hadn’t told me I didn’t have a choice. So, thanks for being pushy when you needed to be.
Thank you for teaching me to believe in myself.
I guess, Mom, what I’m trying to say is, thank you for being my best friend. I love you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.
Proverbs 31:28 “Her children arise and call her blessed . . ."
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
A Pretty Package
In my bathroom drawer, I have about every type of cosmetic product you can imagine. There is lipstick, lip liner, eyeshadow, eyeliner, blush, mascara . . . even some sparkly, glittery stuff to give me that fairy-talish quality. Then, there is the stuff that removes all the aforementioned stuff: cold cream, cleanser, astringent . . . Finally, there are lotions and creams and moisturizers to put back what the cleansers and astringents took away.
And that’s just for my face! I also have hair products galore. Hairspray. Gel. Mousse. Shiny spray stuff to give my hair that fairy-talish quality, so my hair will match my face. Of course, with all that, I need an assortment of shampoos and conditioners to remove the hairspray, gel, mousse, and shiny stuff.
The sad thing is, much of it only gets used a few times. Then, I discover that it doesn’t do what it promises to do. No matter how much stuff I put on my face and hair, I still look like me. Not Julia Roberts. Not Cinderella.
The word “cosmetic” actually comes from the Greek word, “cosmos,” meaning worldly. It refers to a skin-deep beauty. It’s all about the packaging. Funny, if we spent more time working on what’s inside our packages, instead of spending thousands of dollars and hours trying to make the wrapping look great, we’d sure get a lot more from our investment.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I love a pretty package as much as anybody. I like a pretty house. But if there isn’t love in that house, it’s no more than a box. I like a pretty face. But if there’s not a kind, generous, loving spirit behind that face, well . . . I’d rather move on to another face. It’s kind of like getting a gigantic, sparkly, beautifully wrapped bag of fertilizer. It may be pretty on the outside. But after a while, it’s gonna stink. It’s not worth any more than a pile of rubbish.
In the end, this package – my body, is going to be discarded like wrapping paper and ribbons. I don’t want that to be all there is – just a big ol’ box of nothing special. When all the glitter and sparkles and packaging are removed, I want what’s inside to be so lovely that the packaging looks like what it is – worthless. I want the real value to be inside the box, not outside.
God’s Word, His wisdom shows us how to increase the value inside our package. He teaches us to be kind and generous. He teaches us to be humble and compassionate. He shows us how to really love others, and to make every single person feel important. And when we spend time learning His ways, it’s kind of like He takes a cosmetic brush and makes our spirits more lovely, more valuable. Only His changes are the kind that last and last, and can’t be washed away – no matter what kind of astringent life throws at us.
I John 2:17 “The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.”
And that’s just for my face! I also have hair products galore. Hairspray. Gel. Mousse. Shiny spray stuff to give my hair that fairy-talish quality, so my hair will match my face. Of course, with all that, I need an assortment of shampoos and conditioners to remove the hairspray, gel, mousse, and shiny stuff.
The sad thing is, much of it only gets used a few times. Then, I discover that it doesn’t do what it promises to do. No matter how much stuff I put on my face and hair, I still look like me. Not Julia Roberts. Not Cinderella.
The word “cosmetic” actually comes from the Greek word, “cosmos,” meaning worldly. It refers to a skin-deep beauty. It’s all about the packaging. Funny, if we spent more time working on what’s inside our packages, instead of spending thousands of dollars and hours trying to make the wrapping look great, we’d sure get a lot more from our investment.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I love a pretty package as much as anybody. I like a pretty house. But if there isn’t love in that house, it’s no more than a box. I like a pretty face. But if there’s not a kind, generous, loving spirit behind that face, well . . . I’d rather move on to another face. It’s kind of like getting a gigantic, sparkly, beautifully wrapped bag of fertilizer. It may be pretty on the outside. But after a while, it’s gonna stink. It’s not worth any more than a pile of rubbish.
In the end, this package – my body, is going to be discarded like wrapping paper and ribbons. I don’t want that to be all there is – just a big ol’ box of nothing special. When all the glitter and sparkles and packaging are removed, I want what’s inside to be so lovely that the packaging looks like what it is – worthless. I want the real value to be inside the box, not outside.
God’s Word, His wisdom shows us how to increase the value inside our package. He teaches us to be kind and generous. He teaches us to be humble and compassionate. He shows us how to really love others, and to make every single person feel important. And when we spend time learning His ways, it’s kind of like He takes a cosmetic brush and makes our spirits more lovely, more valuable. Only His changes are the kind that last and last, and can’t be washed away – no matter what kind of astringent life throws at us.
I John 2:17 “The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.”
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
To Kill a Mockingbird
An unlikely star has risen out of a village in Scotland. Her name is Susan Boyle, and she is a forty-seven year old, unemployed woman who lived with and cared for her ailing mother until the woman’s death, a couple of years ago. She’s never been married. Never been kissed.
She recently walked onto a stage in Glasgow as a contestant in “Britain’s Got Talent.” The winner of the show, which is similar to our own “American Idol,” will perform for the queen.
The packed audience mocked Susan, laughing and pointing at her unruly hair and her less-than-svelte appearance. Even the judges rolled their eyes when she revealed her age. When asked who she would like to be as famous as, she replied, “Elaine Paige,” a British actress and performer. The audience roared with laughter.
When asked why she hasn’t become famous before now, she smiled and said, “I’ve never been given the chance before. But here’s hoping that’ll change.”
The music began, and the three judges tried to look sympathetic. But their cynicism clearly reflected the mood of the entire audience. They were expecting to sit through several minutes of torturous, off-key singing. Everyone was.
And then, Susan opened her mouth to reveal the voice of a trained professional. Her performance was stellar. Within seconds, she had turned the audience in her favor. The judges, too. By mid-song, everyone was on their feet, whooping and hollering and cheering. Honestly, I don’t know how she stayed on key – she must have had trouble hearing the music with all the cheers. But with a smile on her face, with every note exactly on pitch, she finished the song and brought the house down.
Then, the unassuming little woman brought more laughter as she blew a kiss and began to exit the stage – even before the judges had their say. Only this time, the laughter wasn’t mocking. It was delighted laughter at a beloved, adorable woman who had, in one fell swoop, captured the hearts of millions. She was shooed back onstage to receive the best reviews in the history of the show, and was given the thumbs up from all three judges to proceed to the next round of the competition.
Along with the delight of the judges and the audience, however, was a bit of shame. They – we – had judged her too quickly. We had mocked her.
She showed us, didn’t she?
She silenced our mocking, jeering sneers with her pure, sweet voice. And like one of the judges said, “No one is laughing now.”
Sometimes, we’re a little too quick to judge, aren’t we?
Susan’s story reminds me of another story I’ve heard. It’s the story of One who has been mocked. His words have been scorned. His ways have been called “outdated.”
He doesn’t look like the world wants Him to look. He doesn’t try to be fashionable, or cover up who He really is. He doesn’t change His appearance or His standards to please the crowd. He’s very up-front about His identity. What you see is what you get.
Yet, we often don’t give Him the credit He deserves. We laugh and accuse Him of being weak, when He is all-powerful. We accuse Him of being a relic, when He is timeless. We assume He is cruel and judgemental, when He is actually loving, compassionate and merciful.
We have been known to laugh at Him and thumb our noses at His wisdom.
But rest assured, my friends. God will not be mocked.
One day, He will show us.
One day, the King of Kings will make His presence known to all the world, and we will be stunned. Many of us, I’m afraid, will be shamed.
On that day, our eyes will be opened, and we will see once and for all just how awesome, how brilliant, how incredibly amazing God is.
Only then, instead of bringing us to our feet, He will bring us all to our knees as every tongue confesses that He is Lord.
Galatians 6:7 “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked.”
She recently walked onto a stage in Glasgow as a contestant in “Britain’s Got Talent.” The winner of the show, which is similar to our own “American Idol,” will perform for the queen.
The packed audience mocked Susan, laughing and pointing at her unruly hair and her less-than-svelte appearance. Even the judges rolled their eyes when she revealed her age. When asked who she would like to be as famous as, she replied, “Elaine Paige,” a British actress and performer. The audience roared with laughter.
When asked why she hasn’t become famous before now, she smiled and said, “I’ve never been given the chance before. But here’s hoping that’ll change.”
The music began, and the three judges tried to look sympathetic. But their cynicism clearly reflected the mood of the entire audience. They were expecting to sit through several minutes of torturous, off-key singing. Everyone was.
And then, Susan opened her mouth to reveal the voice of a trained professional. Her performance was stellar. Within seconds, she had turned the audience in her favor. The judges, too. By mid-song, everyone was on their feet, whooping and hollering and cheering. Honestly, I don’t know how she stayed on key – she must have had trouble hearing the music with all the cheers. But with a smile on her face, with every note exactly on pitch, she finished the song and brought the house down.
Then, the unassuming little woman brought more laughter as she blew a kiss and began to exit the stage – even before the judges had their say. Only this time, the laughter wasn’t mocking. It was delighted laughter at a beloved, adorable woman who had, in one fell swoop, captured the hearts of millions. She was shooed back onstage to receive the best reviews in the history of the show, and was given the thumbs up from all three judges to proceed to the next round of the competition.
Along with the delight of the judges and the audience, however, was a bit of shame. They – we – had judged her too quickly. We had mocked her.
She showed us, didn’t she?
She silenced our mocking, jeering sneers with her pure, sweet voice. And like one of the judges said, “No one is laughing now.”
Sometimes, we’re a little too quick to judge, aren’t we?
Susan’s story reminds me of another story I’ve heard. It’s the story of One who has been mocked. His words have been scorned. His ways have been called “outdated.”
He doesn’t look like the world wants Him to look. He doesn’t try to be fashionable, or cover up who He really is. He doesn’t change His appearance or His standards to please the crowd. He’s very up-front about His identity. What you see is what you get.
Yet, we often don’t give Him the credit He deserves. We laugh and accuse Him of being weak, when He is all-powerful. We accuse Him of being a relic, when He is timeless. We assume He is cruel and judgemental, when He is actually loving, compassionate and merciful.
We have been known to laugh at Him and thumb our noses at His wisdom.
But rest assured, my friends. God will not be mocked.
One day, He will show us.
One day, the King of Kings will make His presence known to all the world, and we will be stunned. Many of us, I’m afraid, will be shamed.
On that day, our eyes will be opened, and we will see once and for all just how awesome, how brilliant, how incredibly amazing God is.
Only then, instead of bringing us to our feet, He will bring us all to our knees as every tongue confesses that He is Lord.
Galatians 6:7 “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked.”
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Love Letters
My family is into racing. No, not the Nascar kind of racing. Actual running. Every single day.
Well, except for Sundays.
Aren't you impressed? I'll bet you had no idea we were such a fit family.
We would probably be more fit if the race were a little longer. But our racetrack is only the distance between our front door and our mailbox.
Every day, when the mail truck comes, every person in my household - who happens to be present - races to the mailbox to retrieve the mail. Sometimes, out of gracious generosity, I let the kids win. But most days, I don't have to let them. They just beat me.
That is why I have, on occasion, resorted to cheating. If I spy the mail truck coming up the road, I have been known to send the kids to their rooms with some command. "Clean your room!" "Read a book!"
The truth is, I just want to get the mail.
I have no idea why we have such a fascination with those little envelopes that land in our mailbox. Ninety percent of the time, it is just bills or advertisements. Every once in a while, we'll get a catalogue, which is worth about ten minutes of entertainment. Sometimes, there will be a check, which always brings a smile.
But once in a blue moon, there will be a treasure of great price. A pearl.
An actual, honest-to-goodness letter.
On those days, there is dancing and great rejoicing in the Brumbaugh household. "Who is it for?" We all ask. "Is it for me?"
Usually, it's a card from Nana, addressed to one of the kids. Sometimes, it's a thank-you note or a family newsletter from some distant relative. And rarely - Oh Happy Day! - rarely it is a personal letter from a friend.
It's funny, really. I don't know why we get so excited about the mail. After all, it comes six days a week. And usually it's nothing to get excited about.
Yet, we all hope and pray for that moment when there will be an actual card or letter with our name on it. That small rectangular envelope is a reminder that, to someone, somewhere, we matter. We are important. Someone sees us, knows us, and cares enough to spend a stamp on us.
We all want to be noticed, don't we? We all want to be important to someone. And a simple letter in the mailbox assures us that no, we are not invisible. Someone knows we exist. Someone cares.
But whether or not we ever get an actual letter in our mailbox, there is One who notices us. We are important to Him. He sees us, and He cares.
Though He has been known, on occasion, to use the U.S. Postal System, He usually sends His love notes in the forms of blooming flowers and singing birds and unexpected smiles from our friends and loved ones. He gives us reminders, every single day, of how much He loves us.
And we don't have to scramble or race for His attention, either. He sends individual, personalized messages to each and every one of us. Messages of love and comfort and encouragement, each one tailor-made and specially delivered just for you. Just for me.
So from now on, I think I'll make it a point to watch as diligently for the delivery of His blessings as I do for the mail truck. And I'll even encourage the kids to watch with me.
Gen. 16:13 “You are the God who sees me.”
Well, except for Sundays.
Aren't you impressed? I'll bet you had no idea we were such a fit family.
We would probably be more fit if the race were a little longer. But our racetrack is only the distance between our front door and our mailbox.
Every day, when the mail truck comes, every person in my household - who happens to be present - races to the mailbox to retrieve the mail. Sometimes, out of gracious generosity, I let the kids win. But most days, I don't have to let them. They just beat me.
That is why I have, on occasion, resorted to cheating. If I spy the mail truck coming up the road, I have been known to send the kids to their rooms with some command. "Clean your room!" "Read a book!"
The truth is, I just want to get the mail.
I have no idea why we have such a fascination with those little envelopes that land in our mailbox. Ninety percent of the time, it is just bills or advertisements. Every once in a while, we'll get a catalogue, which is worth about ten minutes of entertainment. Sometimes, there will be a check, which always brings a smile.
But once in a blue moon, there will be a treasure of great price. A pearl.
An actual, honest-to-goodness letter.
On those days, there is dancing and great rejoicing in the Brumbaugh household. "Who is it for?" We all ask. "Is it for me?"
Usually, it's a card from Nana, addressed to one of the kids. Sometimes, it's a thank-you note or a family newsletter from some distant relative. And rarely - Oh Happy Day! - rarely it is a personal letter from a friend.
It's funny, really. I don't know why we get so excited about the mail. After all, it comes six days a week. And usually it's nothing to get excited about.
Yet, we all hope and pray for that moment when there will be an actual card or letter with our name on it. That small rectangular envelope is a reminder that, to someone, somewhere, we matter. We are important. Someone sees us, knows us, and cares enough to spend a stamp on us.
We all want to be noticed, don't we? We all want to be important to someone. And a simple letter in the mailbox assures us that no, we are not invisible. Someone knows we exist. Someone cares.
But whether or not we ever get an actual letter in our mailbox, there is One who notices us. We are important to Him. He sees us, and He cares.
Though He has been known, on occasion, to use the U.S. Postal System, He usually sends His love notes in the forms of blooming flowers and singing birds and unexpected smiles from our friends and loved ones. He gives us reminders, every single day, of how much He loves us.
And we don't have to scramble or race for His attention, either. He sends individual, personalized messages to each and every one of us. Messages of love and comfort and encouragement, each one tailor-made and specially delivered just for you. Just for me.
So from now on, I think I'll make it a point to watch as diligently for the delivery of His blessings as I do for the mail truck. And I'll even encourage the kids to watch with me.
Gen. 16:13 “You are the God who sees me.”
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Pick Me!
Do you remember that feeling, in third grade, when the teacher lined everyone up against the wall, appointed two team captains, and told them to choose teams? Man, I hated those times. My palms would get all sweaty, and I could barely breathe. Pick me, pick me, please pick me. If the teams were athletic, I was often the last picked. But I just loved it when they were choosing for the spelling bee, because then, I was the first choice!
It feels good to be chosen. It doesn’t matter if it is for a sports team, a spelling bee, or a job, we all want to be picked. We all want to feel wanted, needed, loved. And it doesn’t matter how old we get, or how successful we are, deep down, we all still get that sweaty-palm feeling any time we are thrust into a new situation. We all fear rejection. We all want to be chosen.
Today is Good Friday. Now, I know some of you who are reading this may not give any thought to this day, other than the fact that many of you get a day off. But whether you give any thought to the reason for this day or not, the fact remains. This day, nearly 2,000 years ago, is the day that changed the world.
This is the day that God chose us.
Now, I’m not a theologian. I don’t hold a fancy degree in biblical studies, and I certainly don’t claim to have all the answers. But honestly, folks. The idea that God chose me just blows my mind.
Why would He do that?
I wouldn’t have done that. If I were God, and the very same people who had waved palm branches and shouted my praises just a few days earlier had suddenly turned on me, if they were spitting on me when I had done nothing wrong, if they were shouting my curses and calling for my death, even though they knew I was innocent – I would have zapped them all. Seriously, I would have. I guess that’s why I’m not God.
Today, we remember that He chose us. Instead of condemning us, He loved us. Instead of leaving us to our own godless ways, He chose to show us a better way.
He let us kill Him.
And then, to show that His love and His power were stronger than death, He rose again.
And it gets even better.
Now, the God of the Universe has put Himself on the wall, so to speak, and He wants us to choose Him. He sits on His throne in heaven, and says, pick Me, pick Me, please pick Me . . .
If He had wanted to, God could have created a bunch of robots who have no choice but to love Him. But He didn’t. He chose us, and now He stretches out His arm in a divine invitation to choose Him back. And when we do, when we accept His love, all of heaven rejoices! He lifts us up, cleans us off, and adopts us right into His family! Then, He begins His work in us, making us more like Him, creating in us a family resemblance so that all the world can see - we have been chosen.
Ephesians 1:4 “For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.”
It feels good to be chosen. It doesn’t matter if it is for a sports team, a spelling bee, or a job, we all want to be picked. We all want to feel wanted, needed, loved. And it doesn’t matter how old we get, or how successful we are, deep down, we all still get that sweaty-palm feeling any time we are thrust into a new situation. We all fear rejection. We all want to be chosen.
Today is Good Friday. Now, I know some of you who are reading this may not give any thought to this day, other than the fact that many of you get a day off. But whether you give any thought to the reason for this day or not, the fact remains. This day, nearly 2,000 years ago, is the day that changed the world.
This is the day that God chose us.
Now, I’m not a theologian. I don’t hold a fancy degree in biblical studies, and I certainly don’t claim to have all the answers. But honestly, folks. The idea that God chose me just blows my mind.
Why would He do that?
I wouldn’t have done that. If I were God, and the very same people who had waved palm branches and shouted my praises just a few days earlier had suddenly turned on me, if they were spitting on me when I had done nothing wrong, if they were shouting my curses and calling for my death, even though they knew I was innocent – I would have zapped them all. Seriously, I would have. I guess that’s why I’m not God.
Today, we remember that He chose us. Instead of condemning us, He loved us. Instead of leaving us to our own godless ways, He chose to show us a better way.
He let us kill Him.
And then, to show that His love and His power were stronger than death, He rose again.
And it gets even better.
Now, the God of the Universe has put Himself on the wall, so to speak, and He wants us to choose Him. He sits on His throne in heaven, and says, pick Me, pick Me, please pick Me . . .
If He had wanted to, God could have created a bunch of robots who have no choice but to love Him. But He didn’t. He chose us, and now He stretches out His arm in a divine invitation to choose Him back. And when we do, when we accept His love, all of heaven rejoices! He lifts us up, cleans us off, and adopts us right into His family! Then, He begins His work in us, making us more like Him, creating in us a family resemblance so that all the world can see - we have been chosen.
Ephesians 1:4 “For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.”
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
April Fools!
I (drum roll please . . .) am the reigning April Fool’s Champion! Perhaps I shouldn’t be quite so proud of this accomplishment, but I am. It is a title I wear proudly, along with my crown, scepter and cape. I’ve even been known to hum, “We are the Champions” every year on April 1. For I, my friends, am the champion, and everyone in my family knows it.
I originally won the title several years ago. We were trying to sell our house, and you all know what that’s like. The idea of keeping one’s home spotless, twenty-four hours a day, just in case a potential buyer drops by is a noble one. The execution of that idea is a different story.
On that particular April 1, our house was a mess. Nothing unusual about that. But as I walked around the house, knowing that I was the one who was going to have to clean the mess, I had a momentary stroke of genius! I sneaked into the bedroom and made a stealth phone call to my mom.
“Mom!” I whispered.
“Renae, is that you?”
“Yes. Hang up and call me back!”
“Renae, are you okay?”
“Yes. Just call me back, please.”
After a moment, Mom laughed, and honored my request. There’s nothing more valuable than a good partner in crime. As far as crimes go. And April Fools’ pranks.
The phone rang. This time, I answered it in the living room, in front of everyone. “Very interested, you say? And you will be here in . . . 20 minutes? Oh, yes. Come on. We’ll be ready for you!”
I hung up the phone and feigned a look of terror. (I knew that semester of Speech and Drama would come in handy for something.) “The realtor will be here in 20 minutes. Move!”
(I was especially brilliant with the “Move!” It’s those extra touches that make an April Fools’ prank especially believable. Just in case you’re taking notes.)
Well, the speed with which my little family put away, threw away, and hid the mess in that house was unmatched. We looked like a fast-forward scene in a movie. Only it was real time.
After 23 minutes, the house was spit-polished and shiny. “We’d better get out of here. They were supposed to be here already,” Mark said.
Let me tell you, friends, I relished that moment. A slow, cat-ate-the-canary smile spread across my face, and I said softly, “April Fools!”
Since that day, each member of my family has tried to one-up me. Each year, on April 1, I am the recipient of every prank attempt in the book. But I am unmatched. I am, and always will be, the champion.
Oh, I’ve had my coffee creamer replaced with salt. I’ve had my car moved, so I’d think it had been stolen. There have been fake illnesses and fake insects and all sorts of other amateurish attempts. But no one has even come close to matching my skill.
It’s fun to pull pranks on April Fool’s Day, as long as no one gets hurt. But being a fool in real life isn’t fun at all. I’m so glad that God makes foolish people wise. He’s given us everything we need, right there in His Word, to make good choices and live prosperous, successful lives. And when we follow Him, we will all be champions!
No fooling.
Psalm 19:7 “The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy, making wise the simple.”
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Graduation
Mark and I have officially graduated. And to be perfectly honest, we feel a little cheated. We didn’t get a ceremony. We didn’t get the cap and gown, or even the little rolled up piece of paper with the ribbon tied around it.
There were no parties. No big sheet cake with, “Congratulations, Graduate!” There were no gifts. And – this is the worst – there were no cards with money inside them.
And what, pray tell, did we graduate from?
(Heavy sigh.)
We are now, officially, “Mom and Dad.”
To be perfectly honest, our daughter has been calling me “Mom” for a while now. But there was still the occasional “Mama,” and every once in a while, “Mommy” would slip in. Mark, on the other hand, has always been “Daddy.” Now, he’s just plain “Dad.”
And it’s killing him.
When did this come about? When did our little girl become a . . . big girl? She’s lived with us her whole life. How could this happen right before our eyes? When did we blink?
It’s more than just the name thing. She has suddenly developed a new hobby. Talking on the phone. And just a short while ago, we could say, “We’re going to Wal-Mart!” and we would actually leave our driveway within a reasonable amount of time. Now, we say, “We’re going to Wal-Mart,” and then we wait. And wait. And wait some more while she changes her clothes three times and fixes her hair and reapplies her tinted lip balm.
But even though the transition is breaking our hearts, we are proud. We are so proud of the young lady who is kind and thoughtful, who is funny and witty and helpful, who makes friends easily and reads everything she can get her hands on, and who, someday, wants to be a missionary to
Yes, we are proud. But that doesn’t mean we like it.
Not one bit.
You’d think proud and happy would go together. But that’s not always the case. I can’t help but think of the parents of our military men and women. I know that none of them are happy about having their children shipped off to fight in a foreign country. Proud, yes. Happy, no.
I wish that we could have our cake and eat it too, don’t you? I wish I could keep that little girl who rode around on my hip. But I wouldn’t trade my big girl for anything. I wish we didn’t have to send anybody to fight anywhere. But I’m so grateful that we have young men and women who are willing to step up to the plate and protect our homeland.
There are some transitions in life that we just have to go through. And though we may not be happy about each and every change, we have a choice. We can fight them, kicking and screaming like children, or we can accept those changes with dignity and grace. We can learn and grow and become better people. Or we can continue on without learning a thing. But that doesn’t leave much to be proud of.
So, all in all, I suppose I could learn to like being a graduate. I could learn to like being called “Mom” instead of “Mommy.” After all, I now have a shopping buddy. I have someone to give me fashion advice. I have a friend.
And that makes me both happy and proud.
1 Corinthians 13:11 “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.”
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