hugs for Mom

HOWARD PUBLISHING CO.

Contents

one nurturing hearts..........................1two shaping minds.............................19three imparting faith.........................35four giving encouragement.....................49five sharing laughter.........................65six valuing motherhood........................83seven building memories.......................103

Chapter One

Cultivate 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...