Hugs for Mom, Book 2: Stories, Sayings, and Scriptures to Encourage and Inspire (Hugs Series) - Hardcover

Philis-boultinghouse

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1582293716 ISBN 13: 9781582293714

Publisher: Simon and Schuster, 2004

Synopsis

Inspirational Gift Book

About this title

About the Author:

John Smith wrote five books in the Hugs series. In addition to Hugs for Mom, he authored Hugs for Dad, Hugs to Encourage and Inspire, Hugs for the Hurting, and Hugs for the Holidays. He has been a preacher and teacher for more than forty years and taught public school at the junior and senior high level; he also taught at the college and university level. He is an in-demand speaker for graduations, as well as for athletic, education, fund-raising events. He and his wife, Kila, live in Huntsville, Oklahoma, and his three adult children are scattered about the country.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter One

Nurturing Hearts

    Cultivate faith, goodness, knowledge, self-control, perseverance, godliness, brotherly kindness, and love in your children. For if they are growing in these qualities, they won’t be ineffective or unproductive, and they will never stumble.

Love,

Your Living God

2 Peter 1:5–11, Jeremiah 10:10

Inspirational Message

    You may not realize it, but you are a gifted gardener. Though you may be incapable of keeping a simple houseplant alive, you are an accomplished gardener nonetheless. The soil you work in is not of this world. No! It is the soil of the human heart.

    Your children are your fertile field, and in their hearts you have tenderly planted your seeds of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

    At times, you have courageously protected your precious field from destructive and uninvited strangers. When spiritual or physical disease threatened, you worked with bleeding hands to free the roots of life from contaminants. You have nursed the wounds left by the violent storms of life. You have struggled through seasons of drought; you have celebrated at the sight of unhampered growth. You have weeded, watered, plowed, and prayed.

    In turn, you should know that your labor of love has not gone unnoticed. You are deeply loved and appreciated – not only by hearts you have tended and cared for, but by the God who made you the mother (and expert gardener) you are.

    God bless you, Mom.

 

There never was a woman like her. She was gentle as a dove and brave as a lioness . . .

The memory of my mother and her teachings were, after all, the only capital I had to start life with, and on that capital I have made my way.

—Andrew Jackson

Mother’s Cherry Tree

    My mother loved all growing things. We had apple trees, pear trees, a grape arbor, a rose arbor, tulips, lilacs, irises, and an annual garden. The Merdocks, who lived directly west of us, had a large cherry orchard. Although they gave us all the cherries we wanted, my mother was determined to have her own cherry tree. Accordingly, one fall we planted (I say "we" because I dug the hole) a three-foot sapling. Mother fertilized, watered, watched over, pampered, and stroked that tree until it was a wonder it didn’t die from too much attention. It was amazing how it grew, and in its second spring it actually blossomed and bore cherries – not enough to make a pie – but my mother was so proud of the accomplishment that she nearly burst. She even carried some of those cherries in her purse to show her friends.

    We always shopped at the A & P grocery store in Royal Oak. Fortunately for me, just down the street was Frentz & Sons Hardware. While my mother shopped, I wandered up and down the aisles of Frentz & Sons. It was a fascinating place. Great bins of nails, rows of hinges, racks of shovels, balls of twine, smells of feed, seed, and leather goods, and a hundred other items all combined to make it a whole world in itself. Inevitably, I was led to the fishing equipment, then the gun rack, and finally to the knife display case. It was a wooden cabinet with a glass door. I stood for long minutes gazing in wonder that there could be so many fine things to be had.

    At the bottom of the knife case there was one item in particular that attracted me. It was a belt hatchet – just the right size for me. It had a leather case that could be strapped right onto your belt for carrying purposes. I began to pester my mother about it. One day she actually went in to look at it, and I knew that my pleading was getting somewhere. It was a long process, but eventually she bought it for me.

    I remember going around the yard whacking on things. It was exceedingly sharp. I whacked on old two-by-fours, I whacked on an old crate that had been sitting behind the chicken coop – but it was all very dissatisfying. I wanted something more substantial to cut. All of the trees on our place were far too large for me to tackle with my hatchet – all except one – the cherry tree. As preposterous as this seems, the idea was probably enhanced by my school teacher telling us about George Washington cutting down the cherry tree. Since George was quite a hero, the idea of cutting down our cherry tree was an easy step.

    I guess that actually walking up and cutting it down all at once was a little too much for me, so I decided to trim it a little first. The result was that I left not a single limb intact. Our cherry tree was reduced to a forlorn looking, tapering rod protruding from the ground. Around its base lay a pile of limbs with the leaves looking limp and sickly.

    When I stepped back to survey my work, my conscience began speaking to me. You know, consciences are often the most useless things. When I needed it was before I started, but it was completely silent - didn't help me a lick. It never said, "John, you'd best think about this," or "Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Now, when it was too late to be of any use whatsoever, here it came - full blast. "Now look what you've done," it cried. Pictures of my mother fertilizing and watering, her proud tones as she displayed those first cherries to all of her friends - all flooded my memory and made me feel terrible

    But what good did it do to feel terrible after the fact?

    I put my hatchet in its case and wandered slowly into the kitchen. I had studied some on how best to approach this situation and had decided that it would be to my best advantage to open the subject before it was discovered.

    "I know a little boy who cut down a cherry tree," I piped in my most cheerful, winning voice.

    My mother, busily occupied, replied, "Oh, I bet I know who it was. It was George Washington." She said it so nice and sweet that I was reassured and plunged ahead.

    "No, it wasn’t. It was John Smith."

    Right off, there was a noticeable change in both the temperature and the atmospheric pressure in the kitchen. My mother turned on me quickly, and her voice didn’t have any sweetness in it – or light either, for that matter.

    "Did you cut down my cherry tree?" She grabbed me by my left ear (she was right handed so her grip was better on that side), and we marched out to the scene of the crime – with her nearly lifting me off the ground, using my left ear for leverage.

    I would have gone anyway.

    When she saw the tree, she started to cry; and since she needed both hands to dry her eyes, she turned loose of my ear – which was a great relief. It was a sad-looking sight – standing there like a little flagpole – but I thought things might go a little easier for me since she was so sad and all. They didn’t. She whipped me with every last limb I had chopped off that tree – whipped me till the limb was just shreds of bark left in her hand. I was afraid she was going to start on the pear tree limbs, but she finally gave out. You know, a person is mortally strong when they’re aroused like that, and they also have an amazing endurance. It cheered me some to think that she was using the limbs on me instead of the hatchet.

    You know, my mother went right back to work on that cherry tree. She kept right on watering and fertilizing and caring for it. Anyone else would have given up. She willed that tree to live, and it did. It grew and became a fine tree with only a few scars on its trunk – to remind me of my folly.

    Isn’t it amazing how things will grow if they get the right kind of attention? I strongly suspect that there’s a lot of folks around right now who were at one time near to death – like mother’s cherry tree – because some thoughtless rascal started cutting on them, but now they’re healthy and growing because somebody kept watering and fertilizing and loving them – and they lived.

    In fact, I strongly suspect that’s what happened to me. Today, I am healthy and strong, with only a few scars to remind me of my folly and some folks’ attempts to trim me. And I stand here knowing Christ, because both he and my mother wouldn’t quit on me.

    She w...

About this edition

• Publisher: Simon and Schuster
• Publication date: 2004
• ISBN 10: 1582293716
• ISBN 13: 9781582293714
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 119