Omniscience

I went to Your house today;

It was Mother's Day.

I sat on a pew with my aged mother

and my not-so-aged grandson.

My daughter sat beside me;

Her mind intent on the speaker,

Her eyes intent on her son, not that he noticed.

I'll confess, I didn't hear much that was said,

But I think you would approve of what my spirit felt.

I don't remember the exact words of the prayer,

But I remember a wide-eyed look of innocence

and the feel of a little hand slipping into mine.

It was a day I'll never forget.

You knew it would be, didn't You?

Dear Lord

I know how Mary must have felt when she held her baby in her arms for the first time, knowing one day she would have to give him up to the world.

Even knowledge of a divine purpose didn't stop her heartache, nor Yours.

Now the same old world that destroyed her child is trying to destroy mine.

If there's a special lesson to be learned from all this pain, Lord, please help me hurry up and learn it.

Lord… are you up yet?

I tried to call several times last night, but your line was busy. You must have been talking to that new mother down the street... the one with all those kids... and I certainly didn't want to interrupt. Remember when mine were growing up and I'd call all the time... and about the silliest things, too. Seems all I did was worry about those youngsters of mine.

I felt everything they did wrong was somehow my fault. Maybe if I had given them time to learn on their own and not been so quick to judge; but I was afraid to let up, Lord, and I thought it all depended on me.

I know you were trying to tell me better, just like I was trying to tell them.

Well, that's why I called, Lord, to thank you again... and if there's anything You need me to do... Oh... that new mother down the street...

Why, of course I will! Anyway, one of the little ones reminds me of my youngest... the one whose goldfish died after she put lotion on its eyes and we stayed up all night crying...

I told You about that...remember?

Dear Lord,

When she was just a baby

And got pinched fingers and hurt,

I hurt.

When she got older

And experienced hurt feelings,

I hurt.

Then when she grew up

And out of my arms and into the world,

And hurt for all the things she couldn't have;

I hurt because I had to refuse her.

Even when she chose to go against my wishes

And eventually got hurt,

I hurt all the more.

At times I feel myself growing cold and distant,

Immune to hurt.

Don't let me do this, Lord,

For as long as I hurt,

I care.

Lord…

I feel like such a failure with my children.

They look to me for guidance

and find a floundering, insecure child instead.

Sometimes I feel they're the adult

and I the child.

Help me to remember that all knowledge comes from you,

that parents are but representatives of your wisdom and love,

that we are all your children

in different stages of learning and growth.

Remind me that I am to be

what I want them to become...

And thank you for listening to me with such patience,

as I should be showing mine.

Home by Suppertime

If you're not here by suppertime,

I guess I'll stop and take the time

To write and tell you what I want to say-

Of all the times I'm missing you,

Wondering if you miss me too,

And little things I do from day to day.

Now supper's cooking on the stove

And I don't want it getting cold

Before I see your car pull in that drive.

I washed the dishes, mopped the floor,

Combed my unkempt hair once more,

And thought of things I'd say when you arrived;

Like:

"How are things today with you?

That new dress looks good on you...

Have you always worn your hair that way?"

While all the time it makes me glad

To watch your eyes light up like that;

It's hard to hear a single thing you say.

Just being with you says it all,

And it's okay if you don't call.

Since writing letters takes a lot of time,

I will be the one tonight

To write to say things are all right

If you are still not here by suppertime.

I wish that you had been there then

And seen that mama's great big grin

And, with her apron, wipe tears from her eyes

When from behind the curtain she

Saw kids and dogs and finally me

Walk in that door at home at suppertime.

My Daughter, My Friend

Letters hidden in a trunk

Their oft' read pages worn,

Speak impatiently of life,

Hint of sadness, love forlorn.

They hunger yet for yesteryear's

Carefree times

And thrills-

Prom nights, dates, and whispered dreams.

Treasured moments, treasured still.

In time, they held

A lock of hair, a tooth,

A program from a play.

Later, scented lavender,

Dried petals from a bride's bouquet.

Age, then wisdom, formed a bond

Enriched by letters through the years.

Tearstained pages from a daughter

Stained once more by Mother's tears.

Last Born

When she came home for a visit

and we embraced,

A part of me wanted to hold my last-born

in my arms,

stroke her hair,

and sing lullabyes to her like when she was a child.

And when on into the night, she endlessly chattered-

A part of me withdrew to observe

my grownup daughter in her new habitat-

with new lifestyles, new friends-

So much a part of her, so distant from me.

And when we said goodbye,

My heart cried;

And later on, in solitude,

my eyes formed a duet with my heart,

and the part of me that longed to hold her,

let her go...

Where is she?

Where is the infant

who made parents out of two children,

and gave new meaning to the word love,

who dressed up in mama's skirts and papa's shoes,

who practiced music for obedience sake

and always came home on time?

Where is the teen who scraped the bike

and then the car,

who hated braces but never complained-

at least not about braces-

who went to church, and complained

about double standards and unfairness of life?

There she is—in her wedding gown—trying not to cry

as she straightens Papa's tie

and wipes tears from Mama's eyes.

For Jennifer & Dana

The house was empty, void of sound-

No little children running 'round.

There wasn't really much to do

But soon enough, God gave me two.

Sometimes I'd think, "I've done my part.

I do not want another start

At raising kids like others do!"

And God would point my heart toward you.

It's never hard to love your own,

Even when they're grown and gone.

God still had work for me to do

...discover love for both of you.

Echos

Graduation cap and gown,

Long lost laundry on the floor.

Special souvenirs from buddies

Fill a knapsack by the door.

Goodbye cries and friends' best wishes

Echo through an empty room

Grownup kids and happy teachers

End five years of nursery school.

Just for Me

I brought molasses

from the shed,

checked for eggs

just like she said;

then pushed my chair to Mama's knee,

while she made teacakes

just

for

me.

Mother of Three

A mother I am, a mother of three.

A mother of sons I was not meant to be.

I prayed for a son "for my husband," I said.

"I'll take any kind-even hair that is red,

or no hair at all will be all right with me."

But a mother of sons I was not meant to be.

I made frilly dresses for three little girls,

Made Easter bonnets to cover their curls,

And gave up my dreams for a son finally.

A mother of sons I was not meant to be.

I made wedding dresses for three grown-up girls,

Made satin bonnets to hold wedding veils.

God answers prayers in his own way, you see,

And soon gave me grandsons, not one, but three!

A mother of sons was not meant for me.

A mother of grandsons, He meant me to be.