There was a time when I thought everyone and every home was like me and mine. Weren’t mom and dad, warmth, food and bickering children standard equipment for all American middle class families? There was no need for tolerance, because I had no idea there was a difference. My education wasn’t neglected, it just hadn’t occurred yet. In my protected world there were brown beans every Wednesday (still one of my personal favorites), pot roast on Sunday, breakfast for supper occasionally and a jelly sandwich was dessert. Chores were evidence of a parent’s indifference to their child’s need for ‘me’ time, and sibling rivalry was to be worked out for the greater good. I just thought every one else’s home was the same! And then my youngest sister entered kindergarten and my mom morphed from domestic goddess to legal secretary.
Mother and I share much. We have the same face, love sewing, enjoy classical music, are equally diligent in our endeavors to rid the world of dust bunnies, AND we have a common, faulty filter between our brains and mouths and absolutely NO poker face! When my mother began working for a prominent, local lawyer, she became a daily witness to the underbelly of society. The burdens of victims didn’t stay at the office after 5:00 p.m. They came to our house. She did not carelessly disclose confidential information, but her children were not numb to the dynamics of distress she and my father quietly dealt with late at night when kids were supposed to be asleep. Sometimes I would hear mom and dad’s muffled voices, thick with tears, seeking ways to prevent and heal abuse and violence.
Over the next few years, phrases like, “We won’t judge.” were adamantly spoken around the dinner table. Once when I was snobbish about my clothing, because some one I deemed socially inferior had a similar outfit, I was told I’d be wearing my ensemble several days in a row if my attitude didn’t change. Respect for all men was the highest priority where our legs went under the dining table.
Happiness is not what drives man’s decision making. Pain does. The majority of life’s choices are motivated to free ourselves from present grief and hurt or to forget the agony we have emancipated ourselves from. The mind has more shadows than sunlight and sometimes, desperate choices make things darker or muddier, not clearer as hoped……so don’t judge! Love until the Son begins to shine and light their way.
With single minded determination, my parents invested their lifetimes in helping the broken find compassion and redemption at the Throne of God. Again I remind you, I am much like my mom: Most of what we think never pauses before it flows straight across our vocal chords. So I’m just going to give it to you straight. Your children will become just like you. They will love what you love, hate what you hate, bully who you bully and accept what you accept…….so live the life you want for them, and be the person you want them to be!
She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy. Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land. She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.
Proverbs 31:20,23,25 and 28.
Have a Wonderful Day of Rest and Peace,
Gretchen