Your Mom

One day a few months ago I was talking to a woman at work. She asked a question or something, but somehow the conversation lent itself perfectly to an interjection of "Your mom". Only immediately after I said it I realized it was not a well thought reply for many reasons. One there is a generational gap, I'm not even sure she is aware of that phrase in any way. Two, she is over sixty five and the odds that her mother is still alive is not so great. So then I thought, what if she is really sad about her mother not being alive, or what if she didn't even like her mom and feels badly that she isn't sad her mom is not alive. And then I realized that the opportunity to interject "Your mom" into any of my conversations has long since passed. I instantly became the female version of Michael Scott and "That's what she said.", which needless to say made me die a little inside. So I admonish anyone who is reading this to remember that with age comes the responsibility to modify our colloquial speech. Much the same way our clothing styles should accurately portray or age. This is also to nicely inform anyone who is forty one wearing pigtails. Sorry, it just isn't working for you.

Flashback

Last Thursday I had the opportunity to go to a ladies small group held at my friend Jill’s house. I was pretty excited because I'd heard a lot about it. One really nice thing about my job is that the 16th of April is like a holiday for us and we have the day off. So, with my holiday I decided to put a face to some names.

We were studying Paul’s analogy of running a race, of counting all things as loss, and of being partakers in Christ’s suffering. As you can imagine with many different personalities, life experiences, and levels of understanding of what it is to know Christ, we had a lot of discussion. I was able to watch as one woman, who is not completely convinced of Christ’s completeness for salvation, began to have the layers of doubt removed. I saw the look on Jill’s face as some questions were asked and answers given, that this was a step forward. It is so great to see God working in someone else’s life.

A woman who has been a Christian for a few years asked how she could show her kids who Christ is in a way they can understand and want to know Him. Some offered examples from how they raised their children. But prayer really accounted for most of the advice, understandably so.

I thought of my own upbringing. We didn't have any special time of day to sit and read the Bible, or even family devotions that I remember. We did have two parents who taught us right from wrong and a responsibility to the Creator. Everyday situations became lessons in life and what God expects from us. With five children there were plenty of opportunities to learn forgiveness, sharing, thoughtfulness, the importance of being truthful, and on and on, you get the picture. More than this, I saw my parents live their faith.

I remember my mother hosting a Bible study at our house when I was little. All the little ones would be asked to play in the other room and we were only to interrupt for emergencies. When things would start to come to a close, I would walk into the room and would see the pastry of the day partially eaten, lipstick marks on the coffee cups, and a strange aroma comprised of dessert, coffee, perfume, and gum. I could never understand why my mom would invite those people to our house to read the Bible. It all seemed so completely boring to me at the time.

Fast forward twenty some years ahead and now I was one of these women invading someone else’s house, drinking their coffee, eating their pastry, and annoying their children. I am excited for Jill and for all the women there that they have begun to be the example they so badly want to be. It is nice to know that the woman who wanted to know how to show her children the way to Christ had already begun to do so.

I’m thankful for my own upbringing and how truly blessed I am for it. I don’t mean to put a Norman Rockwell point of view on my family. I had some friends say that I make it sound like my family never fights or has disagreements. I laughed because I had no idea I do that. And no, my family is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. We are fallen sinners and we get on each other’s last nerve. But, we are forgiven fallen sinners that get on each other’s last nerve, and that makes all the difference.

A Walk To Remember

As long as I can remember I have loved listening to stories from older people.  I don't know if it is part of imagining how the world was before I was a part of it, or picturing them as young people, but I love it.  Tonight I had the opportunity to listen to my Nana tell stories.  My sister Jen and I were visiting and she loves to talk as all of us girls in our family do.  She spoke of growing up in Emmaus, how her family would get four quarts of ice cream for a dollar at the corner store, and raising chickens in the back yard.  She remembered helping her family work at the garage they owned and spoke of eating potatoes of some fashion for dinner most nights during the depression.  She recounted stories of her and my grandfather during their courtship and how she was sent for to come home after she missed her ten o'clock curfew when she was engaged and at a family party at my grandfather's house.  She became teary eyed when she spoke of how she was reared with a firm hand by her father contrasted with the nurture and meekness of her mother.  She told us of how my grandfather would walk from the 8th Street bridge in Allentown to Chestnut Street in Emmaus to visit her when they were dating.  And that is where my thoughts dwell tonight.  I looked on google maps and entered in his starting location and finish point and asked for the distance by walking.  It is 4.8 miles and they estimate it would take and hour and 38 minutes.  I like to take walks myself.  I pray sometimes when I walk and run the gamut from family to friends, to issues in my life, to hopes for the future that I ask God's leading and guidance, and patience.  I can imagine my grandfather walking the nearly five miles getting more and more excited to see my Nana with each step.  I wonder if he jogged a bit, or just walked briskly, or took a stroll and prayed.  Knowing him, I can bet that at least part of the walk was filled with songs he would sing, as I find myself doing.  I wonder if the three children he would have with the woman he went to meet had ever crossed his mind.  Or if he could have possibly imagined the wonderfulness of his ninth grandchild :) To think of my grandfather, a young man of twenty or so walking to meet his sweetie is just such a wonderful image for me.  I dare say most men today would say that the girl is not worth it if they had to walk nearly five miles one way to see them.   I love that now, all these years later my Nana has that memory of her boyfriend coming to see her.  And I love how God knew the end from the beginning and all that would transpire in between.  And I love what an encouragement it is for me on my journey to know that whatever part of the spectrum I am on it is all as it should be.  Because even though he walked alone, the only thing more constant than the woman he walked to meet was the One with whom he walked.