The pages of this book are filled with hug after hug that express your warmest feelings and appreciation for Mom. Each portion of this collection is chosen to encourage and inspire her and let her know how very important she is to your life.
hugs for Mom
Stories, Sayings, and Scriptures to Encourage and InspireHOWARD PUBLISHING CO.
Copyright © 1997 Howard Publishing Co., Inc.
All right reserved.ISBN: 1-878990-69-1Contents
one nurturing hearts..........................1two shaping minds.............................19three imparting faith.........................35four giving encouragement.....................49five sharing laughter.........................65six valuing motherhood........................83seven building memories.......................103
Chapter One
nurturingheartsCultivate faith, goodness, knowledge,self-control, perseverance, godliness,brotherly kindness, and love inyour children. For if they are growing inthese qualities, they won't be ineffectiveor unproductive, and they will neverstumble.
Love,
Your Living God
2 Peter 1:5-11 Jeremiah 10:10
You may not realize it, butyou are a gifted gardener. Though you may beincapable of keeping a simple houseplant alive,you are an accomplished gardener nonetheless.The soil you work in is not of this world. No! It isthe soil of the human heart.
inspirational message
Your children are your fertile field, and intheir hearts you have tenderly planted your seedsof love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness,faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
At times, you have courageously protectedyour precious field from destructive anduninvited strangers. When spiritual orphysical disease threatened, you workedwith bleeding hands to free the rootsof life from contaminants. You havenursed the wounds left by the violentstorms of life. You have struggled through seasonsof drought; you have celebrated at the sightof unhampered growth. You have weeded,watered, plowed, and prayed.
In turn, you should know that your labor oflove has not gone unnoticed. You are deeply lovedand appreciated - not only by hearts you havetended and cared for, but by the God who madeyou the mother (and expert gardener) you are.
God bless you, Mom.
There never was a woman likeher. She was gentle as a doveand brave as a lioness ...The memory of my mother andher teachings were, after all,the only capital I had to startlife with, and on that capital Ihave made my way. -Andrew Jackson
I wanted something moresubstantial to cut. All ofthe trees on our place werefar too large for me totackle with my hatchet - allexcept one.
mother's cherry tree
My mother loved all growing things. We had appletrees, pear trees, a grape arbor, a rose arbor, tulips, lilacs,irises, and an annual garden. The Merdocks, who liveddirectly west of us, had a large cherry orchard.Although they gave us all the cherries we wanted, mymother was determined to have her own cherry tree.Accordingly, one fall we planted (I say "we" because Idug the hole) a three-foot sapling. Mother fertilized,watered, watched over, pampered, and stroked that treeuntil it was a wonder it didn't die from too much attention.It was amazing how it grew, and in its secondspring it actually blossomed and bore cherries - notenough to make a pie - but my mother was so proudof the accomplishment that she nearly burst. She evencarried some of those cherries in her purse to show herfriends.
We always shopped at the A & P grocery store inRoyal Oak. Fortunately for me, just down the street wasFrentz & Sons Hardware. While my mother shopped, Iwandered up and down the aisles of Frentz & Sons. Itwas a fascinating place. Great bins of nails, rows ofhinges, racks of shovels, balls of twine, smells of feed,seed, and leather goods, and a hundred other items allcombined 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 woodencabinet with a glass door. I stood for long minutes gazingin wonder that there could be so many fine thingsto be had.
At the bottom of the knife case there was one item inparticular that attracted me. It was a belt hatchet - justthe right size for me. It had a leather case that could bestrapped right onto your belt for carrying purposes. Ibegan to pester my mother about it. One day she actuallywent in to look at it, and I knew that my pleadingwas getting somewhere. It was a long process, but eventuallyshe bought it for me.
I remember going around the yard whacking onthings. It was exceedingly sharp. I whacked on old two-by-fours,I whacked on an old crate that had been sittingbehind the chicken coop - but it was all very dissatisfying.I wanted something more substantial to cut. All ofthe trees on our place were far too large for me to tacklewith my hatchet - all except one - the cherry tree. Aspreposterous as this seems, the idea was probablyenhanced by my school teacher telling us about GeorgeWashington cutting down the cherry tree. Since Georgewas quite a hero, the idea of cutting down our cherrytree was an easy step.
I guess that actually walking up and cutting it downall at once was a little too much for me, so I decidedto trim it a little first. The result was that I left nota single limb intact. Our cherry tree wasreduced to a forlorn looking, tapering rodprotruding from the ground. Aroundits base lay a pile of limbs with theleaves looking limp and sickly.
When I stepped back to survey my work, my consciencebegan speaking to me. You know, consciencesare often the most useless things. When I needed it wasbefore I started, but it was completely silent - didn'thelp me a lick. It never said, "John, you'd best thinkabout this," or "Are you sure this is what you want todo?" Now, when it was too late to be of any use whatsoever,here it came - full blast. "Now look whatyou've done," it cried. Pictures of my mother fertilizingand watering, her proud tones as she displayedthose first cherries to all of her friends - all flooded mymemory 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 intothe kitchen. I had studied some on how best toapproach this situation and had decided that it wouldbe to my best advantage to open the subject before itwas discovered.
"I know a little boy who cut down a cherry tree," Ipiped in my most cheerful, winning voice.
My mother, busily occupied, replied, "Oh, I bet Iknow who it was. It was George Washington." She saidit so nice and sweet that I was reassured and plungedahead.
"No, it wasn't. It was John Smith."
Right off, there was a noticeable change in both thetemperature and the atmospheric pressure in thekitchen. My mother turned on me quickly, and hervoice didn't have any sweetness in it - or light either, forthat matter.
"Did you cut down my cherry tree?" She grabbed meby my left ear (she was right handed so her grip was betteron that side), and we marched out to the scene of thecrime - with her nearly lifting me off the ground, usingmy left ear for leverage.
I would have gone anyway.
When she saw the tree, she started to cry; andsince she needed both hands to dry her eyes,she turned loose of my ear - which was agreat relief. It was a sad-looking sight - standingthere like a little flagpole - but I thought things might go a little easier for me sinceshe was so sad and all. They didn't. She whipped mewith every last limb I had chopped off that tree - whippedme till the limb was just shreds of bark left inher hand. I was afraid she was going to start on the peartree limbs, but she finally gave out. You know, a personis mortally strong when they're aroused like that, andthey also have an amazing endurance. It cheered mesome to think that she was using the limbs on meinstead of the hatchet.
You know, my mother went right back to work onthat cherry tree. She kept right on watering and fertilizingand caring for it. Anyone else would have given up.She willed that tree to live, and it did. It grew andbecame a fine tree with only a few scars on its trunk - toremind me of my folly.
Isn't it amazing how things will grow if they get theright kind of attention? I strongly suspect that there's alot of folks around right now who were at one time nearto death - like mother's cherry tree - because somethoughtless rascal started cutting on them, but nowthey're healthy and growing because somebody keptwatering and fertilizing and loving them - and theylived.
In fact, I strongly suspect that's what happened tome. Today, I am healthy and strong, with only a fewscars to remind me of my folly and some folks' attemptsto trim me. And I stand here knowing Christ, becauseboth he and my mother wouldn't quit on me.
She willed me to live. And I live as a result of her love and determination.
reflections ...
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Chapter Two
shapingmindsYour teachings have great importance!What you teach guides your childrenwhen they walk and watches over themwhile they sleep. Your instructions arelights for their lives and speak to themeven when you aren't there.
Love,
Your God of Wisdom
Proverbs 6:20-23
inspirational message
You may not have a professionaldegree, but you are a world-class teacher allthe same. And you practice your profession on adaily basis - not on a college campus or behind apodium in a marble-floored classroom - but rightthere in the warmth of your carefully kept home.
While you've gone about the rigorous routinesof motherhood, little eyes have watched and littleminds and hearts have been shaped for eternity.Your young pupils have learned of sacrificiallove as they've seen you take the last and leastso others can have more. They've learned todistinguish right from wrong as they'veobserved your life of honesty and integrity.They've learned about faith asthey've heard you pray to an unseenGod - sometimes in tears, sometimes with thanksgiving, always with a firmbelief that God is real, that he hears your prayers,and that he responds faithfully. They've learned thatfailure is not final as they've seen you confess yourown faults and offer generous forgiveness to others.Above all, they've learned what real love means - itmeans sharing hurts, hopes, joys, and homecomings;it means staying when it would be easier to leave,defending when others accuse, holding on whenyou're tempted to let go, and letting go when youdesperately want to hold on.
The same lips that have countless timesformed the word "Mom," will say, "Thanks,Mom, for your precious teachings.You're the best."
My mother was the mostbeautiful woman I eversaw. All I am I owe to mymother. I attribute all mysuccess in life to themoral, intellectual andphysical education Ireceived from her. -George Washington
The more I learned, themore fascinated I becamewith my mother's voiceand her moving finger.
learning to read
My mother taught me to read. She didn't mean to - Imean she wasn't trying to - but she did. I do not knowwhen she began the practice, but I do know that, frommy earliest remembrances, she read to me every daybefore my nap - except Saturday and Sunday. On weekdays,my father was at work and my sister at school, sowe would crawl into my parents' bed and prop the pillowsup against the iron posts of the bedstead - afterfluffing them of course. What a shame that modernchildren don't even know the word fluffing. They don'tknow it because they don't fluff - you can't fluff polyesterand foam rubber. We've added microchip to ourvocabulary and deleted fluffing. It was a sorry exchange,and our language is the more barren for it. Anyway, wewould fluff the pillows, nestle back into them, huddlevery close to each other, and she would read.
What did she read? The Bible of course - what else?It was the only book in our house. She read stories fromthe Bible.
She was a finger reader.
When I first read at school, I read the same way; butmy teacher, Miss Smoky, absolutely forbade it. I told hermy mother read that way, and she said it was okay formy mother but not for me. Miss Smoky was very nice - andshe meant well - but I'm really glad that my mother'steacher didn't forbid her to read with her fingerbecause if she had, you see, I wouldn't have learned nearlyso soon or so well, and I might not have loved it so.
Oh, you may not know what finger reading is. It'slike fluffing, I guess. Finger reading is following thewords with your finger so you won't lose your place orjump to the wrong line. It makes perfectly good sense ifyou think about it. In schools, nowadays, we're veryconcerned with how fast people read. If you can read athousand words a minute that is absolutely fantastic - and it really doesn't matter if you understand the wordsor enjoy them or take the time to think about them.You must learn to read them very quickly - becausethere are so many of them - and if you don't read themquickly - my goodness - you may never read all ofthem. And reading all of them is terribly important,even though most of them aren't worth much.
My mother was a finger reader. Every day as she read,I would hear her voice and watch her finger as it wentback and forth across the page. Of course it happenedvery slowly - and I didn't know I was learning to read. Ihonestly didn't even mean to learn - it was quite an accident.I began to associate what my mother was sayingwith the word above her finger. There were lots of ands,thats, and buts, and I guess I learned those first. It waseasy for an uncluttered mind to grasp that it took along time to say Belshazzar and that it also took alot of letters. The more I learned, the more fascinatedI became with my mother's voiceand her moving finger.
One day I corrected her. She either mispronouncedor skipped a word - I don't remember which - and Icorrected her. She was incredulous. "How did you knowthat?" she asked. I didn't know how I knew. I just knewthat the word she said wasn't the word that was above herfinger. I did not know the alphabet - that would comemuch later in school. I didn't know phonics - I still don't- but I could tell a telephone pole from a fire hydrant,and I could tell the difference between Jehu andJerusalem. My mother asked me to read, and I did itgladly - slowly, haltingly - finger under the words. Withher coaching, I read. Then I read with no coaching, andwe took turns. Mom read one day - I read the next.
Continues...
Excerpted from hugs for Mom Copyright © 1997 by Howard Publishing Co., Inc.. Excerpted by permission.
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