![]() Cari Harrop I was thinking about my mom on her birthday, and realized that there was something very special about my childhood—the times we spent together. More specifically, I was thinking about the Christmases when I was small. The thing that made each memory special wasn't the number or value of the gifts we received or the Christmas parties we attended. Rather, it was the simple things. First there was the Christmas when we made an extra effort to do things together as a family, when we made a nativity scene in our living room out of an old board topped with miniature pine trees and figurines that we'd made and dressed ourselves. The cold little house we lived in another year was warmed by a cassette tape of Christmas carols—a first for us children—and the joy of finding oranges in the stockings we had hung out, along with nuts and raisins wrapped in foil. That year we also had a Christmas tree with homemade ornaments. Then there was the Christmas when I was smaller still. We strung popcorn and hung it on the tree. There was hardly any left by the end of December, for a little mouse, cleverly disguised as a three-year-old in pigtails, nibbled away whenever she thought no one was looking. There was also the Christmas when I was nine, when we six girls awoke to a surprise—a line of white shoe boxes, each clearly marked with one of our names and each containing something special that we needed or could play with—skipping ropes, jacks, a hairbrush or hairclips, small clothing items, etc. Thinking about those special occasions caused me to want to give my own children that same love, excitement, and warmth this Christmas. I want them to have happy memories to look back on. That's when I realized what it was that made those moments so special: It was my parents' love and the time they gave us, which demonstrated that love. No, we didn't have a lot, but we had the Lord and one another—and that's what made those such happy and special Christmases. Originally published in Activated magazine. Used with permission.
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![]() I had lost all sense of time that hot July morning as I leaned on my hoe handle and let my imagination indulge me in projects more exciting than hoeing corn. Then suddenly I saw Grandpa-until that moment my role model of kindness and compassion-coming through the field, walking rapidly between the rows and swinging a long, keen maple switch. Now I’ve done it, I thought as I realized I had crossed the limits of his forbearance. I began to hoe the young corn as fast as my 11-year-old arms would move, not daring to look up as I heard his footsteps on the plowed ground and the corn brushing against his legs. Stunned by the reality of what was about to happen, I remembered the time he told me, “Jesus cried sometimes, but He could be tough when He needed to be.” Grandpa was going to be tough with me-for the first time in my life. That summer I was 11, and the Great Depression’s hard times still lingered in Tennessee. Most mountain people depended mainly on the food and livestock they raised on their small farms. On that morning, I was in the roastin’ ears patch to hoe so that Grandpa could finish up his plowing. “Don’t let him piddle along,” Dad had told Grandpa. “Dust his britches if he needs that, but don’t let him jest play along and lean on that hoe handle. He’s had some lazy spells lately.” Dad was afraid Grandpa would be too lenient with me, for I had heard him tell Ma, “Pa is jest too softhearted for his own good sometimes.” One of the great moments of my young life was that day the past summer when I overheard Grandpa tell a visiting preacher that I might turn out to be his best grandchild because I “hankered after things of the mind.” But “things of the mind” had possessed me that morning. As I leaned on my hoe handle, slapping now and then at the sweat bees and corn beetles, my thoughts were at the creek where I had been planning to build a dam across the narrow crossing. I would dam up the creek with mud, leaves, and rocks, and then make boats from bucket lids and old cigar boxes and have a navy on the high seas. Absorbed in my engineering project, I did not even notice that Grandpa was no longer calling out “Gee” and “Haw” to the mule in the nearby field. Then I saw him coming toward me, walking swiftly between two rows of corn with that maple switch in his hand, and I began to hoe. “Wait a minute, son,” he said softly. “Somethin’ I need to take care of. How’s yer hoe doin’ this morning’?” “It’s doin’ fine, sir.” “I don’t think it is, son. Let me have a look at it.” I handed him the short-handled hoe he had fixed especially for me, and he began to talk to it, holding it at arm’s length. “Hoe, I sent you here this mornin’ with my grandson to hoe this corn. You know this corn needs to be hoed. You know we’ll need roastin’ ears this fall-he’ll need some to take to school fer his lunch. But you wouldn’t hoe. Now, I’m going to have to tune you up a bit so you’ll help my grandson.” Then he whipped the hoe handle until the maple switch was broken and limp. As he tossed away the remnant of the switch, he handed the hoe back to me. “I believe it’ll do a better job this time, son.” “It’ll do much better, sir,” I assured him as I began to chop at the weeds with energy I had never realized. “I think it’ll do fine.” Grandpa turned and walked away. After a few yards he stopped and turned, tears in his big blue-green eyes. “Told yer ma you’d eat with us today, so don’t be late. Yer grandma’s cookin’ us a big peach cobbler, and she’ll be aggravated if we ain’t at that table on time.” - By Ernest Shubird, courtesy of Guideposts ****** The Best Way is the Love Way This is what God’s been patiently and lovingly trying to teach us all along: to do the right things with the right motivation, out of love. And using God’s example, we also should try to persuade others to do the right thing out of love. Certainly God has to have a lot of patience and love with us, so we should have patience and love with others! -David Brandt Berg Go with me to a crowded courtroom in a city in the northeastern U.S. A boy about sixteen years of age, who has been accused of stealing an automobile, stands before the judge, awaiting sentence. In a chair nearby, a mother sobs hysterically. An attorney has just testified that the young offender has been a constant nuisance to the community. Previously the chief of police had told how the boy had been arrested on numerous occasions for stealing fruit, breaking windows, and committing other acts of vandalism.
Now the stern, coldeyed judge, glaring over the rims of his spectacles, launches into a bitter tirade against the youth, reminding him of the dire consequences which will result from his lawless acts. Every word from the thinlipped judge is like the crack of a whip, as he mercilessly berates the defendant for his irresponsible conduct. He seems to be searching his vocabulary for the cruelest words he can find with which to humiliate the lad who stands before him. But the boy does not cower before this bitter tonguelashing. His attitude is one of reckless defiance. Not once does he lower his eyes from the face of the judge. With compressed lips and flashing eyes, he glares at his persecutor. When the judge pauses for a moment to let his words take effect, the boy looks him straight in the eye, and from between clenched teeth come the words, “I’m not afraid of you.” An angry flush spreads over the face of the judge as he leans over his desk and snaps out, “I think about the only language you can understand is a six-month sentence in reform school.” “Go ahead and send me to the reform school,” the boy snarls. “See if I care.” The feeling in the courtroom is tense. Spectators look at one another and shake their heads. “That kid is hopeless!” an officer has just remarked. All of the invectives hurled at the boy have served only to stir up a deeper feeling of hatred and resentment in him. The scene is much like that of a lion trainer jabbing at a caged beast with a pointed stick, with every thrust goading the victim to renewed fury. At this point the judge spies among the spectators a young man from a nearby town, the superintendent of The Golden Rule Farm for problem boys. “Mr. Weston,” he says, in a tone of weary resignation, “what do you think of this boy?” The gentleman in question steps forward. He has an air of assurance that immediately commands respect, and a kindly look in his eyes that makes you feel that here is a man who really understands boys. “Judge,” he says quietly, “that boy isn’t really tough. Underneath that bluff of his he is completely and thoroughly frightened and deeply hurt. My belief is that he has never had a chance. Life has been bewildering to him. He has never known a father’s love. He has never had the hand of a friend to guide him. I’d like to see him given a chance to show what he’s really worth.” For a moment the courtroom is quiet. Then the silence is suddenly broken by a stifled sob, not from the mother, but from the boy! The kind, sympathetic words of Mr. Weston have broken him completely. There he stands with shoulders drooped and head bowed, as tears slowly trickle down his cheeks. One kind word has reached the boy’s heart, whereas a half-hour of denunciation had served only to make him the more resentful. The judge coughs to hide his embarrassment and nervously adjusts his spectacles. Then the chief of police, who had testified against the lad, slips from the room, followed by the attorney. After a moment of deliberation, the judge turns to Mr. Weston and says, “If you think you can do anything with the boy, I’ll suspend sentence and turn him over to you.” The conclusion of the story is that the lad was given into Mr. Weston’s charge, and from that time forth he caused no more trouble. The friendly gesture of the man who had come to his defense that day in the courtroom had put his feet on a new path and helped to bring out those finer qualities of character which no one previously thought even existed. —Adapted from Clarence Westphall ![]() One of the most important things you can give your children is love—an attitude of love, an assurance of your love. Your children need to know that you love them. They need to feel and see your love expressed towards them. They see it expressed in the care that you give them in providing housing and food, but they often take these things for granted. They don’t see the sacrifices, or understand how you have structured your life in order to care for their physical needs. Therefore, they need to see spiritual love, emotional love, personal love. This is what will create a bond of love and trust. Create opportunities for closeness Love longs for expression. It longs for an opportunity. When you have this attitude of deeper love in your heart towards your children, they will see it, and opportunities for closeness will present themselves. Your children will say, “Dad, would you play this game with me?” “Mom, let me show you what I did at school today.” “Mom, what do you think I should wear to this party?” “Dad, can you help me fix this?” Look for opportunities. They may not be as you anticipate. You may have to make changes in your schedule. As your kids see and understand that you wish to be more a part of their lives, they will be happy that you are there for them, as a friend wanting to help. It may begin as simply as watching TV with them, but don’t let it stop there. Provide opportunities for discussion. For example, go places where they like to go, and then talk with them about it. Find out what they liked about it and what their impression was. Their views may be different from your own, but don’t try to push yours on them. Be there when they need you Look at the way things are now, the time that you spend in the evenings, the time that they spend in the evenings, the time that you or they spend on the weekends. Are there more ways your lives can touch? Could adjustments be made so that they cross more often? Look at where you may have points in common, activities you can share. Be there for them, in love. This is not a “being there” in a way that makes them think that you are looking for an opportunity to snoop, lecture them or condemn what they are doing—or to give them more rules or more instruction. It’s simply being there as a friend, as a sounding board, someone they can turn to, someone who will support them. Is there a sport your son is interested in? Is there a craft your daughter is interested in? Can you be a part of these in some way? Look at the ways your children are reaching out, and see what interests and experiences you can share together. Discover the art of listening Listening to your kids is one of the main ways you can help them. Learn to really listen. When you ask, “How was school?” stop and listen to how their day went. When problems are presented to you, you don’t always have to comment on the spot. Rather than pass judgment, take time to think about it, or pray for a solution. The main thing is to be a listener; provide a listening ear, as well as love and encouragement and support. The ultimate safety net Many children simply need a firm footing of love and acceptance by their parents. This foundation of love provides a cushion of protection and security around them that will help keep them from danger and bad influences, or even the pain of rejection by their friends. Your love and acceptance will provide a safety net of protection at such times. If they know that you will not reject them, even for their mistakes or foolish actions, they will come to you and there will be the bond that you desire. They need to know that you will always love them no matter what they do, that nothing will ever take your love away. They must know that they can always talk to you; that even though you may not agree, you may not see eye to eye, you may even think that they’ve done something that is very wrong or harmful, still you are always their parent. You will always love them and they can always come to you. Even if all hell would break loose, your child would know that they will always have your love. Excerpted from the book "Parenteening" by Derek and Michelle Brookes. © Aurora Productions. Used with permission.
![]() By Bil Keane In the nearly 30 years that I’ve drawn the syndicated cartoon “The Family Circus,” I’ve learned a lot about love. I’ve found it in my own family, and frequently what I’ve observed has provided the basis for a cartoon with Billy, Dolly, Jeffy or PJ. But I make no secret about it—when it comes to love, my greatest inspiration, and the model for “Mommy,” has been my own wife, Thel. We have five children (and now four grandchildren), and when they were younger, people often wondered how Thel managed with so many. I often wondered too. Whether she was soothing the hurt of a scraped knee, sitting in the audience at a school play, or helping with homework at the kitchen table, Thel was always there for us. And the more she did for us, the more she seemed to have to give us. That was how I came upon one of God’s paradoxical laws of love. Real love doesn’t come in limited, finite amounts. It can’t be used up so there is no more. Instead, in a manner that defies physics, the more love you give, the more you’re able to give. Like enthusiasm that fosters enthusiasm, kindness that inspires kindness, cheerfulness that inevitably spreads, love increases when it’s given away. I tried to put all that in one of my cartoons. There is Mommy, a full bag of groceries in one hand, her purse in the other, and Billy, Dolly, Jeffy and PJ tugging at her knees. The woman at the left asks the question, “How do you divide your love among four children?” And Mommy’s answer, real words to grow on: “I don’t divide it. I multiply it.” ***** The Essence of Love All the best things in life come packaged in a ribbon of risk. You untie the gift, you assume the risk, and equally, the joy. Parenthood is like that. Marriage is like that. Friendship is like that. In order to experience life in the full sense, you expose yourself to a bottomless pit of vulnerability. That is the essence of true love.—Kristin Armstrong |
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