When I was young, I sometimes thought my mother favored my sister. I knew it wasn't really true but sometimes as children, we judge and see things from a childish mindset.  There are so many things you learn as you grow and mature, and especially as you walk with the Lord and let Him open your eyes to truth rather than perceived "truth."

My mother didn't make me feel less favored  – it was simply my skewed perception at times - in my immaturity...

Growing up, my sister obeyed easily. She saw jobs that needed to be done and she did them. She didn't talk back to our parents. She didn't have the same stubborn streak that I had. I looked up to her.

Because of the differences in our personalities, I now see that our parents related to us differently. And it wasn't favoritism. My sister and I had different temperaments. (As did our brothers.)

But with the two girls,  I was head strong. I had opinions.  I liked to write those opinions down especially if I couldn't share them out loud.  My sister was steady. She liked tasks. She listened.

I've come to realize that my parents valued both of our temperaments. They valued the pleasing personality of my lovely sister. But they also valued the stubborn streak I had. They did their best to shape me and mold me and help me - they worked hard to turn my stubbornness into steadfastness. I believe they succeeded.

I'm grateful for the discipline I received as a child, for the standards they helped me attain, and especially for all the times I spent alone in our living room - working out my stubbornness (as my dad often said).

There was a swivel rocker in that room. There was also a record player. When I was in there being separated from the family, my dad would let me listen to records. And I did. A lot.  I have vivid memories of sitting by the fireplace with my elbows resting on the round wooden coffee table. I loved it. Even though I couldn't be with the family during those alone times, I was ushered into a world of Elvis Presley singing hymns and Marty Robbins serenading ballads.

As I grew and we moved from that little farmhouse, I carried the love of record playing with me.  I would set the record player at night with lots of albums that would drop down and I would go to sleep being serenaded not only by Mary Robbins ballads and Elvis Presley hymns - but now the Osmond Brothers, Glen Campbell, the Carpenters, and John Denver. My sister and I shared a room and I don't ever remember her complaining about my music habit.

I think about these things sometimes - especially now that my both my mom and dad are gone.

After my dad died in 2014, my mom had a "bucket list" of sorts - she wanted to do a road trip and go to all of four of her children's homes over Christmas. She was 81 and fit as a fiddle.  And as far as her children were concerned, she had no favorites.  She was going to spend an equal amount of time with each of us.

Mine was her first stop - being south of her - my three siblings were all clustered in North Carolina.  When she arrived, it was such a lovely time with her.

That Christmas, she gave me a Crosley "old-fashioned" record player.  It was the last "tangible" Christmas gift she ever gave to me. When I opened my present from her and saw that record player, I flashed back to all those times this stubborn girl had to be alone in the living room of our little Timmonsville farmhouse, and I realized that my mom didn't favor any of us. She just related to us differently because we were different. I looked her in the eye and hugged her because I knew for certain that her love knew no bounds.  I also knew how much she knew me - an old-fashioned record player was the perfect last gift.  

My mom prayed for each of her children faithfully - I have come to know that so much more as my sister and I have had time cleaning out her house. We have seen her written prayers for us, her children, all over her house in different places.

I am forever grateful. So now I will pop on a vinyl record – sometimes Marty Robbins, sometimes Elvis Presley, and sometimes John Denver … and I think of her and my dad. And you know what?   I'm ushered right back into that little farmhouse living room room sitting at the coffee table learning lessons about taking my stubborn streak to the Lord and letting Him work it out. That same coffee table now sits in my living room along with the Crosley record player. On top of it rests a lovely old-fashioned black and white photo of Mama when she was young and one of Daddy when he was a boy - a reminder to me of their influence in my life.  I don't know if I'll always leave them there ... but for now, I like it.

Merry Christmas!

Jordan and Maureen Broggi are strong Christians who seemingly had the "perfect life" until they faced devastating tragedies. Watch their story to see how their view of God expanded in the midst of losing a child and health battles.

When my own sons became fathers, I began to see them in a new light.
 
I knew that in all probability, each of my sons would get married and have babies of their own.

When I was a young mom raising them, it seemed so far off into the future. But I am in that future now and have been for the last 18+ years - see, my oldest grandson is 18.

And now all four of my boys are daddies.

It's such a wonderful thing to see them caring for their wives – providing, protecting, defending, and now raising their own children
 
I spent a good part of my life raising daddies. I remember when these dads were little boys. I remember those days as if I am still living them. Partly because my boys trust me with their children and I get to spend time with my grandchildren. Every time I have them, it's like jumping into a time machine and traveling back into the '80s. My oldest son's little girls are little feminine replicas of their daddy. My second son’s children each have a different image of their daddy stamped into their being. There is no mistaking to whom each of these children belong.

And now with my youngest two boys having their first babies – I see them in their children as well. It's just such an overwhelming thing.
 
Yet, my memory of raising daddies is as crisp and clear as a beautiful fall day. My grandchildren just bring it into sharper focus - if that's possible.
 
I love how they remind me that I can never erase seasons of my life from my memory. I love how, when I look into their faces, oftentimes I feel as if I'm staring into the faces of my boys. It's like having time with my little robust warriors all over again - except the girls hold dolls and tufted kitties rather than sticks and random car parts. But the boys? It's ALL the same. They're boys. I love, too, how they show me that some seasons of life are so indelibly etched, it's very easy to remember and go back as if no time has passed at all.
 
As far as these grown-up daddies are concerned, I can still hear their little voices and see their little faces. And sometimes when I look into their faces today, I stare at the strong jawlines when they hold their newborns or read stories to their children. I study the broad shoulders on which their children sometimes rest or sit and obviously feel so safe and secure on daddy's shoulders.  I gaze at the big masculine hands they use to wipe a tear from a child's face and I am captured by these tall adult masculine men - yet, I also see the little boys they once were.
 
The little boys who were sometimes afraid and wandered into my room at night and climbed into our bed - on my side. I think about the "nighttime" pallet I kept tucked away, yet close enough, because they, plus the two of us, couldn't fit very well or very comfortably in our bed. My two oldest, when they were little, were always in competition as to who would wake up first during the night - because the one who wandered in first got the bed - the other one got the floor. I slept many nights during that short season of life with my arm dangling from the side of the mattress holding a little boy's hand.
 
It's so true, some memories are as crisp and clear as a beautiful fall day.
 
And sometimes when I hear their voices today, I listen intently to the deep sound that comes out. Wow. Where did those baritones come from? And I hear, "Who's that trip-trapping over my bridge?"
 
I remember their little voices - the coos, the baby giggles - that grew into childhood squeals of rough boy-times and then of course, the I-sound-like-a-woman days. Oh the frustration in their voices when they answered the phone, "No ma'am, this is not Mrs. Broggi. But I'll get her for you." Indelibly etched. I always told them that "sounding like a woman" preceded "sounding like a man." I told them it was a good thing because it meant sounding like a man was coming soon – very soon. At the time, they didn't believe me.
 
Well now, they all sound like men. They act like men. They look like men. Real men. Not the sissy types. Not the wimpy types. Not the feminized kind. Not the womanizing types. Not the carousing types.  Not the domineering types. Not the lazy types. No, they are real men.
 
They are the kind of men who know and love God. The kind of men who know how to sweat and work hard. The kind of men who knew how to find and pursue good wives. The kind of men who would lay down their lives for their wives and now, their children.
 
The kind of men who also knew how to leave their mother and father and cleave to their wives. The kind who know how to provide for and protect their families.

So thankful God allowed me to raise daddies.
 
Daddies
by Edgar Guest

I would rather be the daddy
Of a romping, roguish crew,
Of a bright-eyed chubby laddie
And a little girl or two,
Than the monarch of a nation
In his high and lofty seat
Taking empty adoration
From the subjects at his feet.

I would rather own their kisses
As at night to me they run,
Than to be the king who misses
All the simpler forms of fun.
When his dreary day is ending
He is dismally alone,
But when my sun is descending
There are joys for me to own.

He may ride to horns and drumming;
I must walk a quiet street,
But when once they see me coming
Then on joyous, flying feet
They come racing to me madly
And I catch them with a swing
And I say it proudly, gladly,
That I'm happier than a king.

You may talk of lofty places,
You may boast of pomp and power,
Men may turn their eager faces
To the glory of an hour,
But give me the humble station
With its joys that long survive,
For the daddies of the nation
Are the happiest men alive.

I was just thinking about my mom this morning.
 
I was thinking about her because I miss her.  In fact, I think of her every day – in some way.
 
And now I have the garden box I bought at Home Depot. Mama and I used to go to Home Depot all the time together to buy plants and tools and look around. She loved making friends with the employees and was so proud to tell them of her grandson, my son, Jordan, who would “one day run the place.”  Yes, she actually said that.  

And so, in her last year of life, I bought a garden box for her at Home Depot. I didn’t know she wouldn’t live even a year after I bought it, but I’m so glad I did.  She wanted to plant tomatoes … as she had done her whole life.
 
And now? In that box, I’m gathering tomatoes from plants I didn't plant. Yes, in October. Why? Because of seeds she put in the dirt before she died.
 
I brought the garden box home when we were cleaning out her things. My sister helped me – she knew how important it was to me.
 
I had long taken out the dead tomato plants after a flourishing spring season with Mama and replaced them with pansies as the weather turned cooler.  I loved seeing the pansies bloom and grow.  So did Mama.  She got to watch them grow well into the fall of 2023.  She died December 27 of that year. 
 
So, when the pansies died, I just had to bring the box home – dirt and all.
 
When I first brought it to my house, I placed the box on my porch but then decided to move it to the back patio –  and clean out the last of the dead stuff.  My plan was to purchase new plants.
 
Then a few days later, I noticed sprouts.  Tomato sprouts.
 
Oh, my goodness.  It reminded me of a time when I was in a craze of having brie cheese on flat whole-grain crackers with a slice of tomato for lunch. 
 
Back then, I was thinking how cool it would be if I had a garden, like the ones my siblings and I grew up hating to weed - but a garden that boasted fresh green beans, radishes, tomatoes, cucumbers, watermelons, butter beans, green peppers, hot peppers, squash, and all kinds of fresh things.
 
 A garden, sigh  – I’ve had a few over the years, but I was never good at it like Mama.
 
My mother just stuck her thumb in the dirt and out came beautiful and edible things.  Didn’t matter if it was camellias, roses, forsythias, azaleas, pear trees, peach trees, blueberry bushes . . . or string beans.
 
 In fact, I think she just looked out of her window and imagined a garden of vegetables or a yard full of blooms and wow, they appeared.  Or she wiggled her nose in Samantha fashion or blinked her eyes in Jeannie fashion and poof, a watermelon rolled to her back door.  And not just any old watermelon . . . but a red juicy perfectly ripe one.  I mean dead of winter and she would have fresh tomatoes.  I mean brown grass, but she would have green. I know I’m embellishing but still …how did she do it?
 
I don’t know but after I grew up, I sure loved driving to Mama and Daddy’s farm any time of the year and see the work of her hands and the literal fruit of her labors.  I loved hearing her tell the stories of Granddaddy McKay planting the blueberry bushes and the pear tree.  I loved following her around in the yard when I was a child while she planted and nurtured whatever she put in the dirt.  I remember when she planted the pine trees behind our house, they were just little saplings then and I asked, “How long before they are big like the ones in the woods?”  She looked at me, “Oh you’ll be all grown up by then.”  I thought I'd never be all grown up.
 
I loved seeing the light in her eyes when she talked about the camellias and her little garden next to the barn - the one that used to be Granddaddy McKay’s country store.  I even liked seeing her coffee can compost bucket in the kitchen – and all her little seedlings on the windowsill.  I especially liked her cheerful, happy heart.
 
She was always that way - ready with a quick smile and a huge hug and . . . fresh stewed tomatoes.
 
Yes, I was thinking about Mama this morning.  I was thinking how cool it would be if I could show her my tomatoes – no, HER tomatoes - the ones she planted.
 
But I have something even better.  I have a mom who not only grew a garden full of tomatoes but she grew a little girl into a grown woman who fears the Lord.  My mom was faithful to put her thumb in the dirt of my life and there she nurtured me and watched me grow.
 
Just last week, my daughter sent this text to me, “You are her greatest achievement.  She would be so proud of you.”  I hope so.

I know she'd be proud of those tomatoes.

This is one of the employees my mom met ...
that's my mom's arm and purse you can see.

If you are a mom – whether you are new to motherhood or have several children; whether you are holding your grandbabies or even your great-grandbabies – you know babies cry.

Some of us get very anxious and nervous about the crying. "Am I doing something wrong?" "Why can't I make my baby stop crying?"  Others just take it in stride. But for the mom who is navigating motherhood for the first time (and maybe others who've been around the block a few times), I would love to encourage you.

Crying in infants is normal. And they are typically expressing a need - whether it's security, holding, feeding, diaper change, tummy rumble ...

When I had my babies, I learned to meet their needs immediately during the early months when I was exclusively breast-feeding - I did not let them "cry it out," but as they grew and could be entertained by toys and motion and other things, I began to use my "sanctified gut" to sometimes let my older baby occasionally be upset or cry...

When I use the term, "sanctified gut," I'm referring to trusting God as you walk with Him to show you what is best for your baby in the moment.

When I could not hold my babies or carry them around while I was doing whatever I needed to do – I would put them in a safe place like a playpen, or something similar, with plenty of stimulating toys and also where they could see me. I didn't leave them alone somewhere because this was not nap time; I did this during their waking hours.

They could see me and I would say "hey honey, I'm right here" … I might even sing a little song as I was doing what I needed to do… I would say things like "I will come get you in a few minutes, but you're fine…" Things like that.  I wanted my voice to be soothing and upbeat.

I do think this helps babies get a sense of delayed gratification and even though they don't like it, they know they're not "abandoned" because they can see mommy, they can see their siblings, if they have them, and they can begin to learn, even at this age, to control their emotions.

It's normal for babies to cry. It's the only way they have to express their unhappiness or discontentment. However, as moms, we don't have to let their unhappiness and discontentment make us unhappy and discontent.  

They are fine! And then when you finish up whatever you needed to do - as you've talked to them and waved at them - then you can go get them and say, "See, mommy told you I'd pick you up and play with you…" Or whatever it is that you as their mom want to say to them!

It is not harmful to let them cry some while you are nearby and they are fed, dry, and have their basic needs met. Don't beat yourself up about this

Also, remember your heavenly Father is near and He cares about everything!!! He cares even about your baby crying while you need to get some things done. Pray for this time in your life. And ask the Lord to help you be calm even when your baby is upset.  God is near! Deuteronomy 4:7 "For what great nation is there that has a god so near to it as is the Lord our God whenever we call on Him?"

Just remember, no one needs to be upset but the baby.  Your calmness and trust in the Lord will help your baby more than you know!

When I first became a grandmother, I was 47 years old. I loved and still love every moment of seeing my children's children. Besides birthing and raising my own children, becoming a grandmother has been one of the greatest joys of my life. And still is. I remember there were times in those early years when people often would mistake me for my grandchildren's mother. That doesn't really happen anymore except on a really good day when the lighting is right and deflects the wrinkles time has brought to my face.  I don't mind the wrinkles – I know everyone wants to fight them - but it's just part of life, and I'm OK with aging. I am a grandmother and I hope to be a great-grandmother. On top of that, I care much more about the inside of my body than the outside anyway. Don't get me wrong, I care about the outside very much and I want to do what I can to maintain my skin, energy, body, and take care of myself. But I have learned as I've gotten older what my grandmother meant when she said, "don't be ugly." She wasn't talking about the outside. She was talking about about the inside.

But here's the thing, I've done everything within my power and by God's grace to invest in my grandchildren's lives and I always want to invest more. Sometimes I'm very envious of those grandmothers who live close-by, or are within a short driving distance of all of their grandchildren. A day trip! Oh, how much I would love to go to every game, recital, and just drive over for an afternoon of hanging out with my grandchildren, talking to them about the Lord, doing Bible studies with them, and simply being in physical proximity to them. I'm grateful for technology that allows live-streaming of events and video calls. But still, it's not the same as being there.

However, it's our job as parents to launch our children. They leave our homes and they establish lives for themselves in this world, and they have their own families and they pursue their own God-given plans. And with that, sometimes it means they move far away from their childhood homes and us. I think about one of my sons before he married - how he was in Afghanistan – he's always been the one furthest away. And now, he'll be going on another deployment soon after his little girl is born. None of my children have ever lived closer than 3 1/2 hours to me once they left home. Well, I take that back. GraceAnna and Grant lived in Beaufort for two years and I drank in every moment of that time - their first baby was born here. And of course, after my youngest son launched from home, he worked and lived in Columbia for a couple of years, which was only two hours away. I drove up there and saw him as often as I could because it was within a day trip driving distance!

But with all of this, I have learned to be content. Well, I'm not the greatest at it and something I constantly have to give to the Lord. He knows I wish for closer proximity, but He's also teaching me to be content and grateful for the time He does give me to see them; in their spaces; where they live.  He (and they) allow me to have my eyes on all that's going on in their lives, plus I love the times they are able to come to their childhood Seabrook home.

Amy Carmichael wrote a poem  "In Acceptance Lieth Peace."  Her poem by that title so often comes to my mind. All throughout life there are things that cause us pain - things we don't like - things we wish were different. If they can't be different, we have to accept them. And when we do, peace comes. We have to let the Lord calm our hearts and grant the gift of contentment in those things.

Also, I love the time with my husband. We do so many things together - we're busy – both of us with ministry – in fact, it was our love for the Lord and our being independent of each other's "ministry hearts" that brought us together. And I love that I can invest in the lives of so many young families and young women at this stage of my life. I'm glad that they want to hear from me and that they seek me out. I'm glad God continues to let me teach women and children in my church. For over 30 years, God has allowed me help children learn Scripture.

You know,  our first child was born 18 months after we got married so we only had those 18 months "by ourselves."  Now with our pockets of time when we're not traveling, or separated because of ministry commitments, or seeing grandchildren - we get to do things - just us.  And our relationship is better than ever and, of course, our children and their children are our favorite conversations and prayers.

All of life is a blessing. I want to be thankful for my blessings. And because I don't get to see my grandchildren and my children as often as I would like, maybe I'm on my knees more for them. They occupy my heart and my mind constantly and because they do, I'm constantly in communion with my great God for them. He is so kind.

I am grateful my children are walking with the Lord and growing in maturity and raising their children to love the Lord. All of this brings me great joy. Even though, yeah, sometimes the gates open and tears fall when I ponder the distance - but still, they are happy tears – it's like happy/sad. Sad for all the right reasons because I love them so. My heart longs for them. I think about how Paul expressed this kind of heart for the believers in Rome. He said this, "First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all, because your faith is being proclaimed throughout the whole world. For God, whom I serve in my spirit in the preaching of the gospel of His Son, is my witness as to how unceasingly I make mention of you, always in my prayers making request, if perhaps now at last by the will of God I may succeed in coming to you. For I long to see you so that I may impart some spiritual gift to you, that you may be established; that is, that I may be encouraged together with you while among you, each of us by the other’s faith, both yours and mine."

This expresses my heart for my children and grandchildren.

In Acceptance Lieth Peace
by Amy Carmichael

He said, ‘I will forget the dying faces;
The empty places,
They shall be filled again.
O voices moaning deep within me, cease.’
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in forgetting lieth peace.
He said, ‘I will crowd action upon action,
The strife of faction
Shall stir me and sustain;
O tears that drown the fire of manhood cease.’
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in endeavour lieth peace.
He said, ‘I will withdraw me and be quiet,
Why meddle in life’s riot?
Shut be my door to pain.
Desire, thou dost befool me, thou shalt cease.’
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in aloofness lieth peace.
He said, ‘I will submit; I am defeated.
God hath depleted
My life of its rich gain.
O futile murmurings, why will ye not cease?’
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in submission lieth peace.
He said, ‘I will accept the breaking sorrow
Which God tomorrow
Will to His son explain.’
Then did the turmoil deep within me cease.
Not vain the word, not vain;
For in acceptance lieth peace.

This year the birthday of my son-in-law, Grant, falls on Memorial Day.  And this makes me think of him in a special way.
 
Thoughts of him make me think of his father, the late Captain Charles Kelly Castleberry and, really, all those who have served our country.
 
I had heard Captain Castleberry’s story when we first moved to Beaufort back in 1990.  Our family had moved to this military town because Community Bible Church had asked my husband to take the position of senior pastor.
 
Everyone in our church had been affected by the death of this Marine.  The mid-air collision off the coast of South Carolina that took his life had happened just four short years before we came.  The story was still fresh.
 
I remember hearing about their family, about the waiting when they were searching for him in the water, about finally realizing he was gone, and then I remember hearing about the funeral.
 
I heard how meaningful, touching, and sad, but also refreshing was the story of Kelly Castleberry.  See, I was told that this little family loved the Lord.  I was told that Captain Castleberry was not only one of the few and the proud in the Marine Corps, he was also one of the few and proud who knew Jesus Christ.  

___________________________________________
 
Visiting a cemetery – any cemetery – is sobering.  We walk among the graves and realize that one day there will be a headstone for us.
 
I think about that as I sometimes visit and put fresh orchids at the headstone of this man I never knew.  The little orchids seem so small but still I place them there and I think maybe I should put larger ones.  But there they stand – next to his marker – delicate, yet honoring this man’s life.
 
Each time I go, I linger.  I pray for my son-in-law.  I pray for my daughter.  I pray for their children.

I think about life.  It matters how we live it.  It matters what we stand for.  It matters how we invest it.  Our legacy matters.
 
I never knew this man.  
 
Sometimes I have stood alone at the headstone of a man I never knew.  Other times I'm with my husband my children and grandchildren. But when I am alone, I somehow, in my small insignificant way, want to honor his memory.
 
I gaze at the oak trees just behind his marker – the sun  filtering through the Spanish moss –  late in the day.  It's beautiful.
 
Then I stare beyond his gravestone.
 
Once when I visited back in 2013, when Grant Castleberry's birthday was on Memorial Day as well, I remember seeing a man sitting on a bench with his head down.
 
I saw another man cleaning a headstone.
 
I saw a young woman holding the hand of a little boy lingering at another grave marker.
 
And I thought, this is such a sacred place.
 
Back then, I looked again at Captain Castleberry’s headstone and I thanked God for his life as tears ran down my face.  I thanked God for his widow who placed her trust in the sovereignty of God.  I thanked God for the man who eventually married her and helped raise her boy as his own.
 
And then, I thanked God for that boy.  That boy is now part of my life.  
 
"No, Captain Castleberry, you didn’t get to see your boy grow up.  But my, what an impact you had in his young life.  You left a legacy.  From what I've been told, you were always faithful.
 
I never knew you, Captain Castleberry, but I know your son.  You would be so proud of both the husband and the father he has become.  And Carl and I know you would love our daughter.  You’d be so happy that she is the one helping your son and raising your grandchildren.  Your boy is following in your footsteps.
 
So I thank you, Captain Castleberry.  Semper Fi."
 
~ From a mother you never knew
Audrey Broggi

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www.audreybroggi.com

"You are the light of the world, a city set on a hill cannot be hidden; nor does one light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house.  Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father Who is in heaven."

As I write this, I just returned home after buying some white roses in memory of my mother. 

I've been thinking about her more intensely with the coming of my first Mother's Day without her. And I've been weepy.

After Daddy died, Mama  lived at her beloved farm alone. She continued all the things she had always done – planting tomatoes, taking care of her azaleas, forsythias, camellias, roses, sunflowers, hydrangeas, blueberry bushes, and weeding her flower beds. She loved outside work so much more than inside work. But that was Mama; and because of it, her yard was always flourishing with new growth.  She had beautiful red roses she could see from her kitchen window.

In early 2022, we moved her into Bethea Baptist home after she had a brain bleed. It was the place where she had planned to live if, according to her, "there comes a time when I can no longer live at home."  We children knew how much she loved the farm and we did the best we could to keep her there as long as possible. We visited her all the time - both when she lived at the farm and after she moved to Bethea.

At Bethea she still loved to grow tomato plants. She would save the seeds from her meals.  We initially bought some flower pots for her to plant the seeds. They started growing so fast and so tall in her windowsill that I eventually went to Home Depot and purchased a raised planter box to put outside her window. My sister bought a trellis and together we tied her tomato plants up and watched them grow and she could see her tomatoes flourish. I would take her outside and she would admire her tomatoes and it was really a great thing. The staff and other residents began to call her "Farmer Frances" and they would gather those tomatoes and share them with each other. It was so sweet.

Mama grew tomatoes the entire time she lived there - until the last month of her life when she took a turn and lost interest in earthly things. It was like she was looking toward heaven. 

On my last visit with her, I took her to a Christmas party, and when we got back to her room, she reached out and said "I know who you are." And I said, "You do? I'm Audrey!"  and she said, "Yes. Audrey."

That was the first time she had said my name in months. Then she reached and hugged me like she didn't want to let me go. So I didn't let her go until she decided it was time. The next day when I walked in her room, she was sleeping, so I just stood there and stared at her. Then she turned, looked at me with the faintest smile. I exclaimed "Mama! This is just like when I was a little girl! Remember when I would walk in your room in the middle of the night and just stand there? I wouldn't say a word, but you would turn, open your eyes, look at me, and then you would say 'get in and don't wiggle.' So today, I'm gonna get in and I won't wiggle."

I got in bed with her, held her hand,  and told her how much I loved her as I cupped her sweet face in my other hand. 

She said faintly,  "I know you do and I love you too." 

Those were the last words I heard from my mother. I didn't know it then.  I still thought I would have much more time with her, and even if that time was diminished, I didn't care because I loved her and loved being with her. 

I remember leaving her room that day and seeing how sweet she looked. I was grateful for those two days.  My brothers and sister had been there that week as well. And I told her one of my sons and his wife would visit her on their way to my house for Christmas. I also told her, as I always did, "You're my magnet! I'll be back and I will spend New Year's Eve and New Year's Day with you!"  She smiled. 

All of my children and their families had been with us at Thanksgiving. We celebrated the coming birth of our newest grandbaby as all the girls in our family gave Marilyn a baby shower. Then all the guys came and we took lots of family photos. It was over Thanksgiving that each of my children and grandchildren visited my mom. 

As Christmas rolled around, we had a small Christmas with our youngest son and his wife. Then our son Jordan and his family came after Christmas. 

They were there when I got the call early Wednesday morning, December 27, letting me know Mama had gone to heaven. Her nurse said Mama had the sweetest smile on her face. I'm sure she was smiling as the angels were escorting her into heaven. She was truly smiling at her future because she knew it was so much better than what she was leaving behind. And yes, I miss her like the dickens. Even though there were many times in this past year when she seemed not to know me, and could not call my name, it didn't matter to me because I knew her. My siblings and I always felt like deep down inside she knew us.

Sometime after her death, I brought the tomato box home. I left the dirt in it ...  and now ... as Mother's Day approaches,  her tomato plants are thriving– the ones she planted.

I can’t even begin to say how much these plants mean to me. She put those seeds in the dirt with her own hands and now there is so much new growth.

Jesus said this in John 12:24

24 Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

These tomato plants remind me that Mama's life is still bearing so much fruit in my own. Losing her, though I knew it was coming, has changed me. One thing I have learned is that nothing could have prepared me for such a great loss. Knowing the truth about death and knowing what the Scripture teaches helps as I walk through the grief.  But it's like walking against high tide. You know how the water pushes against your legs, fighting against you, trying to push you down, and take you under? Yet you keep slogging through it, you keep going, and you make progress. Your legs get so tired and you get so wet but you make it and you're stronger because of it. 

And then, little things she did, things she said, her smile, her laughter - they all crash in on me…like giant waves. And I am carried to the shore filled with hope…

And I am reminded my time is coming when God will take me home. And it matters how I  live.  Though I'll be gone, all I  did, all I said, and the way I encouraged others will live on – it remains for those I love, and I want them to push against the waves and push against the water and become stronger because of it. 

When I was growing up, it was tradition to wear a rose to church on Mother's Day - a red rose if your mother was still living and a white rose if she was gone. Today, I bought some white roses. It's been a long time since I've worn a rose on Mother's Day, but this Sunday, I'll be wearing a white rose for Mama.

As I write this, it's early Monday, April 1, 2024 and I'm thinking about  my mom. For the first 18 years of her life, she celebrated her birthday on April Fool's Day.  She was born during the night at home and because her grandfather said April 1 was her first daylight, that day was her birthday. It wasn't until she needed her birth certificate for nursing school that she realized her birthday was actually March 31. Though she never complained about all the jokes and tricks played on her as she was growing up, she was relieved to know her actual birthday was March 31 and not April Fools' Day. 

My mother was no fool. She was smart, hard-working, wise, and loyal. 

Mama was 90 when she died in the early morning hours of Wednesday, December 27, 2023. Though I did not expect her to live to be 100, I was still shocked at the timing of her death. It's crazy to say that because death is expected for every one of us - no matter our age -  but even more so if we live till 90.

When she died, I thought how she did not die on a Sunday. It struck me because everyone whom I have loved dearly - those closest to me - my grandma, my granddaddy, my daddy, and my little granddaughter, Jane - have died on a Sunday. I remember saying to my daughter-in-law, Maureen, "But it's still a church day." 

In these last months since she died, I was looking toward her 91st birthday and, yes, so wishing she was still here. Don't misunderstand, I am so happy for her, but  feeling sad for me. Grief is a such a process. Yet, in my sadness, it dawned on me that her birthday would fall on a Sunday and not only a Sunday, but on Easter! Resurrection Sunday.

So much hope - just so much hope. This realization was such a reminder to my still grieving heart that I do not grieve as those who have no hope.  I have the hope of resurrection. 

This dawning made me so grateful for how she learned her actual birthday was March 31 and not April Fools' Day. All these years later, I was comforted that her birthday was on Easter Sunday. So, with my husband and one of our grandgirls, we celebrated the resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Because of Him, even in this broken world, we smile at the future and we look forward to our final home. I know my mother was looking forward to getting to Heaven. In her final years, she was smiling at the future. In fact, when she died, she had a smile on her face. I know why - she saw her Savior!

We do not fear death, we just live our lives fully until the Lord takes us home.

This past week has been a great week because as I have reflected on all of my children, and I think about their lives and how they love the Lord, and how they are taking such good care of their families, I, too, smile at the future. There will come a time (unless the Lord returns first) when my children will be where I am now. My greatest  joy is knowing that they love Christ. 

And really, if we know the Lord, the reason our hearts still beat in our chests is so we can live for Him and tell others how they can know Him and live for Him as well. 

When all is said and done, that's all that matters. 

He is risen! He is risen indeed!

This is the text I sent my son, Grant...

Strength comes in all forms. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Grant, I am thankful to God for grabbing my heart back in the 70s and helping me learn how important it was to build my spiritual muscles. Life is hard, and when all is said and done, spiritual strength is the core of getting you through life, and not only getting you through it, but enjoying it along the way. And emotional strength? That too. I think Mama helped me with that the most as I was growing up - telling me things like "sometimes you have to keep going, even if you don't feel like it," and "you have to do the job whether you want to or not," and, "some things are worth crying over but this isn't one of them, so stop crying," - things like that.

And then there's physical strength. Early in my college days, I wanted to be intentional in taking care of my physical health, so I joined in the craze of running and aerobics, and worked hard at it, even majoring in health education. But I never saw the importance of resistance training with weights and a barbell. That didn't happen until I was 61 years old. It was YOU who kept telling me that though I was "fit," I was weak. Insulting but true. So you started me on a journey of getting under a barbell.

I had no idea how much this was going to help me in the final two years of Mama's life. In 2019, the same year I began weightlifting, she was diagnosed with white matter disease. And then typical Frances McKay fashion, she looked it up and she knew what was coming. After all, she was retired registered nurse – and so she began preparing herself (and us) for what was to come. I think we children were somewhat in denial because she had always been so strong – but nonetheless, it strikes me that her mental decline and my getting strong began at the same time.

Then she had her brain bleed in January 2022 that sent her on a downward spiral. Those first days were so tough as she was in the hospital - and you were such a source of strength for me, you came, and you stayed with me at the farm and you even got me in the gym when I certainly did not feel like it. Mama was then moved to an intense rehab facility, and then to Bethea Baptist retirement home, where she had always said she wanted to live if she could no longer live at home. we realized at some point that there was no way she could live at her home again. But, she had even made those arrangements financially. It's not that she did not love us her children, but she had expressed that she did not want us to care for her in that way. She just wanted us to spend time with her.

So the last two years of her life, with her memory fading, she was still so much fun. She was confused, yes, but she laughed a lot, and we saw her all the time, took her places, and told her stories, and basically enjoyed life with her. Then, in the last two months before she died, her physical body, which had always been so strong and robust, took a huge turn. As you know, she lost her ability to walk as her brain could not send the signals anymore, she became wheelchair bound, and I quickly learned that I was strong enough to literally deadlift her from her recliner to her bed to her wheelchair to the car to wherever it was that I wanted to take her. She still enjoyed life in her limited capacity and I wanted to enjoy life with her till the very end.

And I did, as did my siblings. God is so very kind. She is now rejoicing with her Savior.

Grant, in some ways, these past two years have been the hardest of my life, but I have seen God work - He kept giving me the physical strength, the emotional strength, and most of all the spiritual strength to walk through them.

And though my heart is still grieving, I am strong, because God is strong, and I know that, as time goes on, the weight of the grief won't feel so heavy. The stress of it will make me stronger. I will adapt and I will be better for it by the grace of God.

And I thank you for your part in this. I love you, Mom

When My Heart is Sad ~
(I wrote the following poem at a very sad time in my life ~ Audrey Broggi)

When my heart is sad, when my pain is great
When so much seems bad, that my tears won’t wait.

When my eyes fill with sadness; reflecting my heart
When my world fills with madness, when I see a part.

He protects me from much, I don’t understand
The depth of His love, the grace from His hand.

His comfort, so deep; As deep as His Word
Giving me sleep since I know He has heard

The God of all grace stands ready to share
The tears on my face so I won’t despair

He gives to the poor; the needy He hears
His Word is so sure; He calms all my fears

This life and its pain reminds me to trust
The One Who remains; Oh, how I must

He suffered much more than I’ll ever know
He did it for me; Oh I love Him so.

His cup, it was bitter, so filled with my sin
And mine is so light; yet I’m crushed from within.

But He feels all my pain, He bled just for me;
He holds me so close; He wants me to see

That He paid for my sin, He settled my debt
When He died on my cross; drenched in my sweat.

His death brought me hope; He is my King,

He rose from the tomb; this makes my heart sing.
Though pain in this life makes my heart sad
My Savior is here and makes my heart glad.
And one day He’ll come and wipe all my tears
Maybe tomorrow, maybe some years.

When my heart is sad, when my pain is great
I’ll give Him my heart and on Him I’ll wait.

Audrey Broggi

Sometimes I get questions about how to handle a strong-willed child. I was talking to a young mother last week about this very thing. After our conversation, I began reflecting on my own journey as a very strong-willed child, because, yes, I was not only strong-willed, but I was incredibly stubborn.

After I was engaged, my parents came to Chapel Hill, and took Carl and me out to dinner. I don't remember what we ate. I don't remember much of the conversation, but I do remember my dad jokingly saying to Carl something like, "Good luck! Audrey was stubborn. We had to half-kill her  to get her to obey!"

Though his words stung, he was right. I was stubborn. I wanted my own way no matter what. And I thought my own way was the right way.

However, my parents, particularly my mother, did not give in to my strong will. My mom had a calm, no-nonsense way about her. She let me work it out on my own. But she still made me do what I had to do. Sometimes I got a spanking and sometimes I had to sit it out. As I reflect on it, I realize how very wise she was in the way she handled my strong will.

For example, when my siblings and I were growing up (two boys and two girls), we had to take turns cleaning the kitchen after supper. I remember once when it was my turn, I was convinced  I could go outside and play and not do the dishes - when it was clearly my night to do them. I bounded out the door with the screen door slamming behind me. I was poised for my mom to bound out behind me to remind me that it was my turn to do the dishes. However, she didn't. She didn't come. Neither did she say anything to me - she just waited. And, after all my playing, I walked back into the house to see all the dirty dishes still on the kitchen table and stove. I immediately started whining about it, shouting, "This isn't fair!"

In her calm, no-nonsense way, she said something like, "You made the job harder because you neglected your job and did what you wanted to do. You had a good time outside and now you're gonna have to work harder to get it cleaned up."

And then she left the kitchen. 'The nerve! She didn't help me one little bit.'

When I was outside playing, I had a guilty conscience but I played anyway.  I seriously thought my mom and sister would clean up the kitchen because they would get sick of looking at it. I was so wrong.

Another time, my mom told me that I had to clean out my closet. Again, I argued with her - well, it wasn't an argument because I was the only one arguing - but I said something like, "This isn't fair! Hope should have to help me - we share the closet"

However, I was the messy one so, according to my mom, I was the one who needed to clean it. She probably also knew that if she had my sister help me, Hope would do it by herself, while I played.

My mom gave me a stool so I could reach the top shelves and she left me to clean it. I was so mad. I remember screaming and shouting and crying, thinking that would bring her in to negotiate the job with me or to help me. It did bring her in but only to close the door so she would not have to hear me. And then, when I increased the volume of my complaining and crying, she came in again, but this time it was to tell me, "If you want to keep screaming and crying, that's your choice - but you're still going to have to clean the closet, and you will end up with a headache." And with those words, she left, closing the door behind her. I guess I cleaned the closet.

And here's another thing about my mom. Even though she was matter-of-fact and no-nonsense, and didn't give into my strong will, she also had a very tender heart. I remember when I was so upset about our dog destroying my bathing suit and went to bed in tears, unbeknownst to me, she stayed up all night, making a new skirt for my bathing suit. When I got up the next morning, there it was on my chair at the breakfast table. I didn't really appreciate her sacrifice at the time, but I was so overjoyed - I hugged her in a way that I don't think I had ever hugged her before. I have never forgotten. There are more details to that story, but nevertheless, this captures who she was.

She really did have a good balance. I think it was just her putting God's Word into action combined with her God-given wisdom and common sense approach to things.

Strong-willed children are going to be fine as long as parents walk closely with God, hold the line, and keep them accountable. I learned that from my mom. I learned that there's no need to lose your cool or your hope that God works when you don't see it.

God is capable of molding and shaping strong wills and stubborn hearts as they are directed and given to Him. He molds those traits into a very strong, courageous person who will stand strong for Him. We must trust God to help our children with that, and He will. He certainly did it with me.

When I was a child, all of my family would describe me as the girl "who wanted her way no matter what."

That would hurt my feelings at the time. But it was true. I can remember digging in my heels, folding my arms, and just being so mad when I didn't get my way. I can remember pouting, hoping my moods would change my parents' minds. I don't remember ever changing my parents' minds about anything. I do remember having to sit in the swivel rocker in our living room, separate from the entire family, until I worked it out. I usually did - but it took a while - and my mom didn't keep coming in to check on me, to stroke me, or negotiate with me.  She waited.

God was working during my childhood and I remember being convicted of my sin. I remember feeling so guilty that one Christmas when I secretly switched dolls with my sister. (I had slept with mine and her hair was crumpled.) But even as I was doing it, I felt the weight of my sin. I not only switched those dolls, but I lied about it. Yet, God was working on my heart – no one can see what God is doing in the heart, but when He broke my will and got through to me, it started showing up on the outside. Little by little, my own way gave way to His way. And my parents saw that. I'm sure my mom in her quiet time with God was thanking Him for His work in the background of my life.  

I also need to say that with my mom's biblical no-nonsense approach, there was also a mom who was very encouraging with my strengths. I can still remember when I would write poetry or stories, she would read them, and share them with her friends, as if I was the greatest poet or novelist who ever existed. I remember that too. I remember once when I drew a picture that had mountains in the background, and forsythias in the foreground, how she reacted as if I was the greatest artist who ever lived – maybe, at least in my mind, like Mary Cassatt.

I don't think my mom ever read a parenting book on dealing with a strong-willed child. But she read her Bible which is filled with practical, no-nonsense wisdom and with her trust in God, she hit the nail on my stubborn head.

When I became an adult, she was and still is my biggest cheerleader. As I grew up, I don't remember her being discouraged over her strong-willed daughter. Maybe she was, but I never saw it. I saw her as the one who would not give in to my whiny fits but also as the one who encouraged me the most.

All of us have our strengths and weaknesses in our personalities, and none are better or necessarily worse than others.  As they are given to the Lord, and as we apply His Word practically in our lives, He molds us and shapes us for His glory and for our good. And He uses just how He made us in the lives of those around us. He takes our little bit and multiplies it.  Not one of us is perfect in our parenting. But God knows our frame, He remembers that we are but dust, and in spite of it all, He works through us in the lives of our children.

We have so many examples in Scripture of strong-willed people. God captured their hearts and used them mightily: Moses, Miriam, Rahab, Daniel, Esther, Jochabed, Hannah, Nehemiah, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Mary, the mother of Jesus, John the Baptist, Paul ... and the list could continue.

I am still strong-willed, but by God's grace, I'm strong willed about things that matter.
I still must trust God with my stubborn heart, and my wanting my own way, no matter what. I still must take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ and submit to His way. His way is always right.

So, for those of you with a stubborn, strong-willed child, – remember Isaiah 53:6, "All of us like sheep have gone astray, Each of us has turned to his own way; But the LORD has caused the iniquity of us all to fall on Him."

That is the power of the cross. God wants to save us from our own way. And that is why He sent His Son. Continue to walk with God and pray for your child's salvation as you walk with God and trust Him.

A number of years ago, I read an article about an old blind woman who had memorized many books and chapters of the Bible using Braille.  

I remember feeling so convicted. I can see.  I can read.  What is my excuse? I had none.

As I read her story, I wondered, “What would it be like to REALLY know the Word of God?”  Not just to be familiar with it or know where things are but to really know it.  

I determined that I was going to learn God’s Word. I asked God to make my heart beat for it.  To help me learn it.  I didn’t want to just be familiar with it, or just to study it, or just to read it, or just to make lists and take notes from it.  I wanted to continue to do those things but I wanted it on my heart.  

And I wanted heart memory.  Like Psalm 119:  Thy word have I treasured in my heart. I wanted this treasure. And like Psalm 1:  His delight is in the law of the Lord and in His law he meditates day and night.  I wanted this delight.  I wanted to know what it would be like to meditate on God’s Word in my heart day and night.  

I wanted the touching, grabbing, clutching, lodging-in, taking-root-in, forcing-growth-from, rooting-sin-out-of kind of memory.

Sometimes memorizing has been so much fun.
Other times it has been so difficult – it is a discipline, it is hard work, it is sweat.

I have reached heartbreak hills and many times I haven’t felt like doing the work.

Sometimes I have been just plain lazy.

Then sometime along the way – and I’m sure it was a time when I was getting lazy - I read the biography of St. Patrick to my youngest child.  I don’t know how much he got out of it, but God pierced my heart once again.

I read how after he became a missionary to Ireland, he only had one hand-printed copy of the Bible.

He had to build a layered hut with a hidden room to protect it from those who wanted to destroy it.  And I wondered, what would that be like?  To only have one copy of the Scripture and to keep it, I had to protect it.

He had only one copy, but it was his treasure.

And I thought, what would it be like to really treasure the Word of God?

I have so many copies of the Bible - what excuse do I have?

I have none.  Now that my children are grown, I have uninterrupted morning time to be in God’s Word.  When they were growing up, I often got up before them to have unhurried, uninterrupted time … but somehow their radar went off and they sensed Mom was up.

At first, I wished they would sleep a little longer but then, God showed me that it was a good thing they saw me in His Word first thing in the mornings.  I began to gather them in my lap if I was on the sofa, or have them pull up a chair next to me if I was at the kitchen table.  I began to show them what I was doing and tell them how important it was to me.

I have scribbles I still treasure as they copied what I was doing. As they grew up in our home, I witnessed each of them having their own morning time with the Lord.  Now, they are all grown – married - some with children of their own. I have witnessed their spouses and my grandchildren having this same morning time.  I have heard them teach God’s Word to their children.

I continue to pray that all of us would have hearts beating for the Lord and His Word during our stay upon this earth.  None of us know how long that will be.  

Last Wednesday night, as I was listening to a child recite Psalm 100, I was reminded once again that God’s faithfulness is to all generations.  I looked at the children in the room, thought about how I will be long gone when they reach my age, and was encouraged by God’s Word. His faithfulness is to all generations.

God was faithful to that blind woman.

God was faithful to St. Patrick.

God is faithful to me.

And He will continue to be faithful …


Shout joyfully to the LORD, all the earth.
Serve the LORD with gladness;
Come before Him with joyful singing.
Know that the LORD Himself is God;
It is He who has made us, and no we ourselves;
We are His people and the sheep of His pasture.
Enter His gates with thanksgiving
And His courts with praise.
Give thanks to Him, bless His name.
For the LORD is good;
His lovingkindness is everlasting
And His faithfulness to all generations.

Praying For Your Children

Jesus prayed to His Father. Jesus prayed for His disciples. Jesus prays
for you and me. How much more should I pray for my children.

I will pray for my children:

1. That they will know Christ early in life. Psalm 63:1; 2 Timothy 3:15
2. That they will hate sin. Psalm 97:10
3. That they will be caught when guilty. Psalm 119:71
4. That they will be protected from the evil one in each area of their lives;
spiritual, emotional, physical. John 17:15
5. That they have a responsible attitude in all their personal relationships.
Daniel 6:3
6. That they will respect those in authority over them. Romans 13:1
7. That they will desire the right kind of friends and be protected from the
wrong friends. Proverbs 1:10-11
8. That they will be kept from the wrong mate and saved for the right one.
2 Corinthians 6:14-17
9. That they, as well as those they marry, will be kept pure.
1 Corinthians 6:18-20
10. That they will learn to totally submit to God and actively resist Satan in all
circumstances. James 4:7
11. That they will be single-hearted, willing to be sold out to Jesus Christ.
Romans 12:1-2
12. That they will be hedged in so they cannot find their way to wrong people
or wrong places and that the wrong people cannot find their way to them.
Hosea 2:6

You can see there are 12; one for each month. Within a year, you will have
consistently prayed this entire list.

Grant was 5 years old. He wanted a puppy for a long time. He asked his daddy and his daddy always said the same thing, “Not now. Dogs are a lot of responsibility.” It’s not that Carl didn’t want his boy to have a dog – it was just a counting the cost thing.

Grant continued to ask. His dad continued to say no. One night when Grant and I were saying prayers before bed, he asked me, “Why can’t I have a puppy? Why does Daddy say no?”

I really didn’t answer his questions, I just said, “Grant, why don’t you pray about it? God is your heavenly Father. He knows what you need. He guides our family through your daddy. Why don’t you pray that if God wants you to have a dog, He’ll change your daddy’s mind. But remember – God may agree with your dad. And you’ll have to accept His answer.”

Grant was satisfied and right then began to pray, “Dear God, please change Daddy’s mind. Please make him let me have a dog. Amen”

Grant prayed that night after night. From August through the fall. I don’t think he missed a night and sometimes he prayed it other times too.

Sometime in the fall, my friend told me about a stray female dog that started hanging around her house. I wasn’t interested – Grant wanted a puppy and Carl was still saying no. Out of the question. She told me how gentle this dog was and how she had tried to find the owner but couldn’t. Wouldn’t I like to see her?

Not really. Why should I begin to love a dog that I know wouldn’t work for our family?

Harvest Festival rolled around – at the my friend’s home. This dog was on the property and for some reason at the bonfire that night, she sat on my feet. A beautiful brittany spaniel. My friend was quick to tell me how wonderful this dog would be for Grant and the whole Broggi family. Tell Carl.

Time passed and the children and I would go to my friend’s home  – to see our friends, not the dog.

By Christmas, somehow I had talked Carl into getting this dog for Grant for Christmas. “But she’s not even a puppy,” Carl said. I knew that but somehow we both knew she was our dog.

Grant named her Speckles because of the rust colored spots against her white fur. The vet said she was 2 years old and when we took her to have her spayed, we were surprised to find it had already been done.
Grant loved her. She was gentle and kind. She ran with everybody in the family. She hated coming in the house – always felt embarrassed – but we brought her in when the temperature was freezing. She was afraid of a broom – every time I swept the porch, she cowered. I would say, “Speckles, I’m not going to hit you with the broom.”

She loved Patch, our cat. They huddled and cuddled together. She loved our porch and deck. She loved to go for walks with us. She loved us.

She was so gentle that I wondered if she was a good watch dog. One day, after Jameson was born, I went for a walk with him in the stroller. We passed a house in the neighborhood and a huge chocolate lab ran out wagging his tail and wanting to lick Jameson’s face. Speckles jumped in the way and chased that dog off as if to say, “That’s my baby – don’t you dare touch him.”

I knew then she was loyal to us and would protect our children.

She liked to dig holes – that was the only thing for which I had to gently spank her. We have such a large yard, nearly 3 acres, so eventually she learned to dig the holes where I wouldn’t see them. In the summertime, she would dig out a shallow hole under shade trees to keep herself cool.

She loved our neighbors – the people across the street would feed her sometimes. And sometimes I would find big bowls that weren’t mine in my yard. I always wondered where they came from. One day when I was getting back from a run, I saw Speckles with a huge bowl in her mouth crossing the street from the neighbor’s yard. The little thief. Mr. and Mrs. Neighbor, though, loved her visits. They told me so. I asked them what kind of dog food they bought because obviously Speckles loved theirs better than ours.

She had a sad face. I always wondered about that. I didn’t know if her face reflected a melancholy “dogality” or if that’s just the way she was. Sometimes she seemed to smile but the more she aged, the more sad she seemed, especially if we were gone for any length of time.

One day, in Grant’s senior year of high school, he was working on a term paper at our kitchen table. All of a sudden I saw him get out of his chair and run out the back door, down the slope of our back yard, to his beloved dog who was struggling to get up the hill.

We knew she was old and frail, but she had the heart and muscles of a young dog – the vet always said so and was amazed. My mind flashed to all the years Grant played with her on that same slope. Speckles’ eyes flashing with delight, tail wagging uncontrollably, and Grant tumbling down the hill with her on his heels. But not today. When he reached his dog, it was like her back legs were paralyzed. Carl thought maybe she was having kidney failure or some kind of bone problem after talking with the vet.

But as Carl and Grant cleaned her back legs and hip, they could clearly see that someone had shot her. A bullet hole through the top of her spine.

Who would have shot such a gentle dog? We knew of a man who always threatened to shoot dogs - he lived nearby but we didn’t want to think he did it. He seemed friendly enough to us but you never know about people and there was certainly no mistake that Speckles had been shot.

We took good care of her, did everything the vet told us, kept her wound clean and finally after about a week, she was walking. She had lost a little weight but her appetite was good and she was doing so well.

One night about two weeks later, Jameson and I drove home from town. It was dusk and as we approached our driveway, we saw Speckles between the tree line and the road. She was looking for us as she often did whenever we were out past dark. She always wagged her tail and greeted us – sometimes even crying with excitement. I pulled into the driveway just a little and told Jameson to get out and bring her up to the porch. She was still recovering and I didn’t want her to struggle to get to the house. He did and we stroked her fur and said all the things a good owner says to a beloved dog. Good girl. Good girl. You’re so sweet. Good girl.

She wagged her tail, licked our hands, and seemed to be smiling. Really big.

We never saw her again. When morning came, Jameson went out to feed her but Speckles was gone. Nowhere to be found or seen. We searched every nook and cranny of our yard and neighborhood. We called and called. Knocked on neighbors’ doors.

Nothing. We called the animal shelter. We even watched to see if buzzards would begin circling somewhere – but it was like she had vanished off the face of the earth.

We cried. And we wondered if whoever shot her the first time shot her again. We couldn’t help but wonder. This dog never left us – and I know what people say. Some say when dogs get old and sense death is near, they wander off to die. Maybe. But Speckles was too loyal; it’s hard for us to believe she would have left without a goodbye. We had her for 12 years. She was loyal, faithful and I couldn't believe she was gone.

Back in 2004, I was saying goodbye to so many things in my life. Jeremy and Jordan, my big boys, were leaving home for good. Jeremy was heading to the Washington,DC, Jordan was getting married and moving to Oklahoma. GraceAnna was graduating from high school and leaving for college.

It was the year of big transitions for me because yes, I’m the kind of mom that likes home and family and children and our dog and noise. I not only love my children because they’re mine, I really like them. I liked them as babies and toddlers. I liked them as children – even through the “awkward, dumb joke” phases. I especially liked them as teens and then as the older ones were becoming adults, I realized I had these great people who were funny and fun, yet serious about all the right things. And they were my children.
I was thinking about these transitions and it hit me that this was our last Christmas as a family of seven. The adult years that always seemed so far away had come for some of my children.

One of the things I wanted to do before the children left after the holidays was to get final portraits of the two oldest – to hang in our living room as a contrast to their 1-year-old portraits. I often look at those baby faces and remember those days. All the children were basically bald – even at a year old, except for Jameson. He had a head full. Carl is quick to say that Jameson must have been two years old for his portrait. I am quick to say, “Absolutely not – I know.” Mothers do know and remember those kinds of things.

Since we were bringing the photographer out to our home, it was also the time to get a family portrait. That would be quite the appointment – with 7 people. Especially Broggi people.

I had few rules:

No T-shirts.
No jeans.
Wear what you are comfortable in and what you don’t mind seeing hanging in our living room for years to come.

Though I had asked the photographer to come to our home – she mentioned going to the beach - but we didn’t live on the beach. We lived in Seabrook. We lived on the marsh. And I wanted the pictures taken in the backyard – where I had watched my children and Speckles playing for so many years – the live oak that hangs over the marsh was the perfect backdrop for the family photo.

It was a balmy January day. Not unusual for coastal South Carolina. The gnats were out in full force as the photographer snapped away. So many pictures of the Broggis – but something or someone seemed to be missing. Grant said, “Let’s get Speckles.” We called her – she obeyed in her painfully shy way. She sat very proud, almost majestic, like she was guarding the Broggi family.

The picture was taken and now I look at that portrait as it hangs in our living room. I remember a little boy’s prayer, “Dear God, please change Daddy’s mind. Please make him let me have a dog. Amen”

God did. He changed Carl’s mind. He made him let Grant have a dog. God knew we needed that dog. She was our Speckles and we loved her so.

Sometimes even now, I look for her sad eyes when I turn into our driveway. What happened to her? It makes me think of all the questions I used to wonder about animals when I was a girl. Will my puppy go to heaven? How ‘bout my kittens? And what about the bird I rescued? What happens to animals when they die?”

Most children wonder those things. God provided animals for us to rule over but also to enjoy. He says a lot about them in His word.

He speaks of them right away in creation when He made them. It was on day 5 that God made the great sea monsters and the all the aquatic creatures. It was on day 5 that He made the feathered, winged birds.

But it was on day 6 that He made all the land animals – including those that we call our pets. These were made on the same day He made people.

Then God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures after their kind: cattle and creeping things and beasts of the earth after their kind”; and it was so. God made the beasts of the earth after their kind, and the cattle after their kind, and everything that creeps on the ground after its kind; and God saw that it was good.

Making those animals was a good thing for us. God continues in verse 24, Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness; and let them rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over the cattle and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.”

It’s like they have a special place in creation – oh, they are not people; they do not have souls. God did not breathe the breath of life into them the way He did with us. But God and even the passage of time has shown us that animals help us perform work and duty for the Lord like the ravens who fed the prophet, like the donkey that carried Mary when she was great with child, and like the one that carried Jesus into Jerusalem. They not only work for us, though, they somehow help us through life.

They teach us a lot about this journey –

Speckles . . . so much more a part of our family. And now all these years later, we've said goodbye to a beloved dog. She taught my children a lot – especially Grant. But she taught me too. I saw so much in her sad eyes, I heard a lot listening to her happy cry whenever we came home, and I felt a lot of pain when she left us. And Grant knew then, as he does now, that God does hear and answer prayers of even a 5-year-old boy.

Speckles . . . hmmm. She now sits forever in our family portrait that hangs in our home, figuratively, yet faithfully guarding the Broggi family.

Audrey Broggi

Now that I’m starting over (after 9 years of homeschooling) with a fresh-faced little preschooler (Jameson is 3), here’s an overview of my preschool curriculum and what I’m doing:

I’m spending a lot of time re-reading Ruth Beechick’s books:  A Strong Start in Language, An Easy Start in Arithmetic, and A Home Start in Reading.

I’m spending lots of time reading fun, yet educationally minded (loosely defined) books to Jameson such as The Three Billy Goats Gruff, Bob Books, Basic readers, Bible stories, The Little Engine That Could (one of my personal favorites), Little Bear books, and everything written by Shirley Hughes.

I’m taking more interest in nature (again), such as turning over logs and bricks to find worms, staring at the detail in a bug’s back, discussing spider webs and granddaddy longlegs, and why do butterflies “do their wings like that,” ants (they like to bite me -- do they think I’m yummy?)

I’m collecting leaves, playing with dirt, making mud pies, and saying “ha - yah!” while waving a stick in the air.  It’s quite fun.

I’m answering a lot of “why” questions.  Why do I have to have rest time? It’s not dark!

I’m playing with bristle buddies, building towns with blocks, setting up train tracks, speaking for a plastic person.

I’m playing with water and measuring cups.

I’m getting dirty -- a lot.

I’m enjoying pretend food.  I’m enjoying pretend people. I’m pretending -- a lot.

I’m painting with watercolors, using templates and trace-arounds, drawing letters in the dirt and with chalk on the sidewalk.

I’m correcting a lot.  I’m establishing my authority.  I’m training my little boy.  Sometimes I’m tired.

I’m saying, “What a good boy!  That pleases the Lord!  That pleases Mommy!  I’m so happy when you take turns.  I’m glad you listened to your teacher.”

I’m saying, “What a naughty thing you did!  You displeased the Lord. You need forgiveness.”
I’m saying, “What a naughty thing Mommy did.  I dipleased the Lord.  I need forgiveness.”
I’m looking at the sky to find funny shapes in the clouds.  I’m noticing street signs and colors and dogs with crooked ears and nice cats  and the man with the green hat or the big mustache or my eye color (Mommy, they’re blue!) in a fresh way.

I’m talking about how God made the world and how much He loves us.  Who put the stars in the night sky, Jameson?  “God did.”  How did He do it?  “He glued them!”

I’m apologizing -- a lot.  I’m seeing new areas of  selfishness in my life.

I’m praying for the stuff hanging on our walls, one at a time.  “And thank you for the paper thing and the flowers and the . . .”

I’m dressing and playing with teddy bears and bean bag cats.

I’m singing Who Made Mountains with the hand motions.  I’m dancing in the living room again.  I’m dancing everywhere again.  Jameson laughs, but come to think of it, the rest of the children laugh too -- perhaps for different reasons.

I’m watching Lady and The Tramp, Charlotte’s Web, and Psalty again.
I’m bouncing balls, playing London Bridge, listening to Raffi, and making cookies.

I’m finding great pleasure in watching a leaf bug walk across my porch for a long time.  I even shout, “Hey Carl come look at this!  Hurry!”  Or sometimes we call him at work.

I’m leaving a spider web suspended in the corner of the porch beside the laundry room window because there are baby spiders in an egg sack and it looks like a paper bag.  We have to take care of it because the Mamma Spider, Leafy, is gone now.   I called the Mamma Spider “Leafy”  because my Jameson called it “Leafy” and he  cares about the babies. So do I.  So does Carl.   And now that Leafy’s gone, Carl and I discuss what will become of all the babies and “should we get rid of the web?”

I’m squeezing fat cheeks, holding little hands, hugging a little body, teaching a little mind, loving a little guy, shaping a little life, preparing a little preschooler for a lifetime of learning.  Is that all?  My God says He has set eternity in our hearts -- and for me, my greatest joy is knowing that God will use all of the above not only to educate my little guy but to help me build a relationship with him and to keep me fresh.  God uses the time I spend getting into Jameson’s little world to allow him to get into God’s great big world and to trust me -- to want to be with me -- and to remind me of His great love for children.  I can just imagine the Savior of the world watching a leaf bug walk across the porch with Jameson.   After all, He took the time to create that bug and to create childhood.  But by far, the greatest thing I’m doing, with grace for each moment, is preparing Jameson for eternity  -- and that is my preschool curriculum.

Audrey Broggi

www.audreybroggi.com

When I was teaching the series Growing Girls in my church, I said I was working on a list of women teachers.  As promised, here is my "list," but rather than it being a list of names - it is a treatise concerning this day of Christian women celebrities.  I could write SO MUCH MORE but this is a start.  Please feel free to comment or ask a question ... my heart is to obey God in my own life and as He leads, help other women to do the same.  So here goes ...

On one end of the spectrum we have women who are complete heretics – they would not view themselves that way and they may even have portions of truth nuggets in what they say, but there are major problems with their doctrine and they are teaching a false gospel and should be completely avoided.

On the other end of the spectrum there are women who are completely orthodox, who not only teach the gospel and the truth of the gospel but also teach the proper perspective of biblical womanhood and practical application for living it out. They understand the roles of both men and women, understand the biblical narratives, commands, accounts, and biographies in the Scriptures. Though not perfect (none of us are), these women would be highly recommended.

Then, in the middle of the highly recommended and the heretics, there is so much mushy ground filled with mushy women. There are women who might be close to those we would highly recommend but there is so much error in their teaching plus the direction in which they are moving make them the kind of women we don’t recommend. We might have recommended them a few years ago but they’re moving closer to the middle. Then there are those in the middle but they are leaning against the heretic line. We would not call them heretics yet -but they are so close, probably given a few years they will be full-blown in that camp.

We see this throughout history with people who started out seemingly doctrinally sound but then moved - and either completely abandoned or almost abandoned Christian orthodoxy. Popular women’s authors of the past like Hannah Whitall Smith or Hannah Hurnard come to mind. There are others but these stand out because their books have been Christian bestsellers even to this day and supposedly solid women have not only recommended them - but love them. I was exposed to both of these authors and their books when I was an early staff member with Campus Crusade for Christ. At the time, I sensed there was something not quite right but I was not mature enough in my discernment to do anything except stay away from their writings. I am so glad I did.

Women, it seems, tend to flock after women teachers who appeal to their senses, emotions, and have an “I’m like you” relationship – girlfriend to girlfriend thing.  Often women almost develop a sense of “worship” toward their women teachers to the point that even if heresy or false teaching is brought to their attention, they defend their “women teachers” because they have developed a sisterhood - rather viewing their teachings from the lens of Scripture.

Today there are so many “false teaching celebrity women” who are capturing the hearts of good, godly men and building a relationship with supposedly orthodox men where even these men are not willing to call the women out (respectfully) on their teaching errors. This is tragic.

And the sad thing is, those men who are willing to call them out are labeled as misogynists and oppressive – labeled as men who only want to put women down rather than as men who are trying to hold fast the faithful word as God calls them to do.

Keep in mind that there is a reason certain Bible studies are not in our church, certain authors are not in our church. Our pastors and the elders want to protect the flock. Sometimes there are books and study materials that have been recommended or available in the past but then they get pulled because the author and/or authors are going in a wrong direction.

God’s way is that His people are taught and nurtured through the local church. God equips His church with members who are capable of teaching, discipling, and leading the people within its own membership. Of course, using other materials is very, very helpful and encouraged but they have to be carefully weighed. There are so many authors that our church loves – other pastors like a John MacArthur or Alistair Begg or Erwin Lutzer or Mike Fabarez or an author like Elisabeth Elliott or Elizabeth George or Joni Tada.

However, so often people write and publish books to get a speaking gig or to line their own pockets with money. Nothing wrong with earning money from writing but again, we have to be so careful. And in this day where everyone wants to be an influencer, famous, and known - we have to be even more careful. So many of these women have become the cash cows of Christian bookstores and publishers - and even good godly people are tempted by the power, money, and influence and they end up not holding fast to the truth.

Guidelines for Women Teachers

1. It’s very important that a woman teacher does not violate 1 Timothy 2:12. This means she is not to teach or exercise authority over men. Period. This is different from speaking to a mixed group where she shares her testimony or prays or something like that - but if she is opening up the Word of God and teaching it, she is disobeying God. If she says she is under the authority of a pastor or an elder, then not only is she disobeying the Word of God – her pastor or elder is disobeying the Word of God. A pastor or an elder cannot allow something that God forbids. God‘s Word is so clear. Obviously, that’s just one passage in Timothy but this is taught all throughout the Scripture.
2. This goes without saying or it should go without saying, but a woman who is teaching should not be living in any kind of open unrepentant sin. This can take forms - but if she is living with her boyfriend or she is a lesbian, or she approves of homosexual marriage and lifestyles or she is actively seeking an unbiblical divorce or anything like that ...
3. Some women are completely orthodox and she teaches the biblical roles of men and women - but if she is a mom of young children, she should not be spending the bulk of her time away from the home to pursue anything - even Christian ministry. Her most important Christian ministry is right around her kitchen table. I know this is difficult for so many gifted women but that is because they have been infected with the spirit of the age and they like the notoriety and they like feeling like they’re doing something “more.”  How is it that we think "more" is out there when God has entrusted us with the "more" right in our own homes?  We have children to teach, train, and raise.  To give the BEST of our knowledge!!!  But here’s there's this too, whatever age or stage a woman is in, the bulk of her ministry outside of her home would be employing her gifts serving in her local church where she knows the people and the people know her.   This is what the Scripture teaches.  
4. God loves the local church. He established it and it is the main place where we serve God's people and use our gifts.
5. Also a woman teacher should be teaching through the lens of Titus chapter 2. It's not that she's teaching that passage exclusively, she can and should teach and exhort from ALL of Scripture BUT she is teaches  through the lens of Titus 2, helping women live out right doctrine as they go about the duties that God clearly assigns to women.  A woman should teach like a woman – not like the pastor or like a man.
6. It’s very important that a woman teacher is not partnering or appearing with false teachers. This is a violation of 2 John 9-11.  But see, in our day women want to be so kind and sweet and likable by everyone, so much so that they do not want to ever take a stand. They want to be all inclusive so as to be popular- even if they know better - and they end up partnering with anyone. This is so dangerous.

If I am not familiar with a particular woman about whom someone asks me, I check these things – sometimes I don’t even need to examine what a woman has taught or what she is writing because if she is violating 1 Timothy 2:12, I know she can’t be trusted. If she can be deceived on that one issue, she can be deceived on so many more ...

This, of course, doesn’t mean that some of these women are teaching flat out heresy as a whole, but I would not recommend them, especially because of the direction in which they are going. There are several women teachers whom our elders would have recommended five years ago but now because of  what these women are teaching and in what they are doing, no more. Sometimes people start out correctly but then they begin to drift. In light of that, from time to time, our elders pull their works from our bookstore and no longer recommends them.

As much as I would like to name particular names, I’m not going to do that at this point. Even if I did name them, I would not be saying that they are not nice people – please do not misunderstand me - it just means that we should not be following them as teachers at all even though they are extremely popular among so many women.

One last thing:

There are plenty of men who are dangerous as well. But usually women worship other women. And I teach women.

~ Audrey Broggi

Psalm 34:3 O magnify the LORD with me; and let us exalt his name together.
 
When I was growing up, I learned from an early age to be in big church with my mom and siblings.  My dad was a pastor and we always went to church together – as a family – in one car.
 
The first church my dad pastored was small, it took 35 minutes to get there, and I still don’t quite know how Mama and Daddy did it but on Sundays, they did something quite spectacular.
 
They had all four of their young children ready at least 30 minutes early.  The four of us then had to occupy ourselves in a way so as not to get our bodies dirty nor get our Sunday clothes messy.  Yes, we wore Sunday clothes – set apart clothes – different from the clothes we wore during the week.  They weren’t fancy, not expensive – just set apart.  Oh, and our hair was always freshly washed for Sunday.
 
So during our time waiting on Mama and Daddy, we children gathered in the living room.  That room was set apart – it too was special.  See, we never played in that room during the week.  It was always clean and in order, and I remember how in the winter it was always cold.  The only times I can recall being in the living room as a child was on Christmas morning, on Sunday mornings, and when someone special came to visit.  Occasionally I would sneak in there and sit on the floor at the round coffee table and daydream.  Sometimes I would listen to records on the stereo. I knew I could be by myself in that room because it was set apart.
 
But on Sunday mornings, the living room became the special gathering place for all four of us children and it was there we “played church.” I’m not sure how it started.  Maybe Mama and Daddy told us to wait there - it would certainly explain how we could spend maybe 35 or 40 minutes without getting dirty.
 
Well, in our pretend church, my older brother was the pastor.  My older sister was the pianist.  My younger brother ushered and collected the offering.
 
And me? Well, I was the congregation – all by myself – at least in the beginning of our worship service.  Eventually my sister and younger brother joined me in our “pews” after they finished their duties of piano playing, collecting, and ushering.  I think I was the only one my brother ushered into our pretend sanctuary.
 
In our playing church, we sang hymns together.  My brother read the Bible and preached in front of the fireplace.   I sometimes sang solos, “What Will You Do with Jesus?” and “Have Faith in God.”  And I often went forward at the close of our service.
 
I was raised Baptist.  If you were raised Baptist, you understand this.  You know about an invitation at the close of the service.  You understand singing “Just as I Am.”  You understand about going forward.
 
So I guess my siblings and I are the ones who started the trend of two services – because every Sunday morning, we attended services twice – once in our living room and once at Hebron Baptist Church.
 
And I’ve been thinking - the reason we did this is because we saw it modeled every week in church. We were in church every week worshiping with our parents.  We went to Sunday School on Sunday morning, Training Union, and Sunbeams and prayer meeting on Wednesday nights.  We learned children’s songs and Bible stories.  We learned about missionaries and how they gave their lives to share the gospel with people in other lands who never heard the name of Jesus.  We memorized Bible verses and Bible passages.  We had sword drills.
 
I loved everything about church.  I loved my Sunday School class being with children my age and learning about God.  I loved our teachers. And I loved big church.  We didn’t have a separate children’s church – children’s church was big church.  And my parents did a great thing in training us.
 
They talked about preparing for the Lord’s Day.  They gave clear expectations to us about behaving – but more importantly about expecting God to speak to us.  About His noticing our presence in the congregation.  About letting children come to Him.  Sundays were and still are my favorite day of the week.  It’s still set apart, different from the rest.
 
Maybe we didn’t have children’s church for other reasons, but I would like to think that the reason was because our church and my parents believed there was no substitute for us being with and seeing our parents worship God with the body of Christ in “big church.”  I’d like to think it was because my mom and dad thought it was important for us, as soon as we were at least kindergarten age, to be in church together – magnifying the Lord with them.
 
In fact, I think young children can be trained to be in big church.  I think with some teaching, some explaining, some forethought – young children can be excited about being big enough to be there!  I not only think it, I know it from my own personal experience growing up in big church.
 
Worshipping with God’s people matters. It’s in big church where children see their parents model worship through singing great hymns of the faith with God’s people, model listening to the teaching and reading of God’s Word, model praying and giving, where they see baptisms and the Lord’s table, and other ordinances believers hold dear.
 
It’s the perfect place for questions about God and His ways to enter their minds.  Why do those people go in the water?  What is that juice?  Why do you put money in that bag?  Why do you open your Bible?  Why are those words on the screen?  Why?  How come?
 
But here’s the challenge.   Today, so many do not have a heritage of going to church, so many do not understand basic Bible doctrine, so many do not understand any thing about church.  And it’s even harder today to help parents because even adults have no idea the purpose of the Lord’s Day, the whys of corporate worship, who God is – it’s a different day from the days my siblings and I “played church.”
 
And yes, it is a challenge to help children learn to be in big church.

I remember long worship services with four young children in tow.  I remember being called to get a fussy baby from the nursery and having no place to go – and trying to keep my children focused on what big church was all about.  I remember crayons rolling on the floor under the seats, children whispering, “How much longer?” and all the wiggling.  I remember a child’s snoring, loudly.  I haven’t forgotten.
 
But instead of thinking things like, “Why did I even bother to come?” (which, I confess, did enter my mind occasionally), I wanted my children to know about worship and Sunday – I wanted them to realize how very, very special this day was.  I wanted to be with God’s people even if sometimes that meant walking the halls and/or serving in the nursery or children’s classes all morning.
 
But I also wanted to make it to the day when my children would love the worship service in the worship center and that they really would learn to magnify the Lord with me, that we really would exalt His name together.
 
So with lots of prayer and advice from those who LOVED the Lord’s Day, who had walked before me, I came to discover that I needed to train my children for worship.  And yes, Carl and I worked on this together especially in our early years, before he was a senior pastor.  Those were the days we would sit together in worship and if one of our children wasn’t getting it, one of us would exit and deal with it and then come back.  And oh yes, we sat near a door in the back.  We didn’t want to be a distraction by parading in and out.
 
But most of the time I was on my own because Carl became a senior pastor.  By that time, however, I did have an 8-year-old who had loved the Lord’s Day and who was very, very helpful to me.
 
So over time, I learned a few things about training children for worship and I hope my experience will help you and I want to give some practical suggestions.
 
But first, I want to say a few things about children’s ministry and age-segregated classes for younger children.
 
I love both. While I believe that overall in Christendom and in our culture at large, there is too much age-segregation, I believe there is benefit in having children’s classes at church.  Let me explain.
 
It is appealing to children. It is great fun for children to learn about God in children’s ministry.
It is a wonderful way for young mothers to use their teaching/serving/administrative gifts in the body of Christ teaching and loving children.  Using our gifts in children’s classes stretches us and helps us hone our abilities even further.

Serving in children’s ministry allows our own children to see us involved in the body-life of the church.  They see us care about others - they see us reaching out to other children, helping them grow, loving them – and we provide a ministry for parents who don’t know yet how to teach or serve.

I loved it when our children were small and I love it now that I have  grandchildren.  
 
I remember the wonderful women in my church when I was growing up.  I don’t remember a lot of their names but I remember their care.  I remember their dedication. I remember knowing that church was a safe place.
 
And now?  I am so grateful for the people who teach and love my grandchildren.  I am reminded of this every time my grandchildren visit and go to church with me.  Wow.
 
So many women bring excellence to their ministry each week, and our children learn deep spiritual truths in ways that are fun, simple, true, and crystal clear.
 
I am impressed – touched - by all the teachers, all the helpers who serve our great God in this way.  Serving others is an act of worship.
 
I love children’s ministry and I am so thankful for those who make it happen.  It enhances everything we try to help parents do with their children.  It enhances worship, it enhances home discipleship, BUT it is not a substitute for either.

Suggestions:
 

• Practice at home on Saturday.  Set up your living room as a mini worship room and pretend.  Assign roles to the children. When our children were young, Carl would go through his sermon (on their level) during this time. 
• Teach them that we don’t “have to go to church” - we “get to go to church.” But don’t expect them to grasp that attitude if you’re not excited about church.  If you’re not, ask God why.  Ask Him to renew your heart – to renew a right spirit within you.  He will do it.  He is so faithful 
• Teach them about the Lord’s Day.  Use the Ten Commandments and then tell them that after the resurrection of Christ, God’s people met on the first day of the week – Sunday.  If you feel you don’t quite understand this, listen to my husband’s sermon titled, "How to Work and Not Get Tired," 
• Tell them that God wants to speak to them through His Word. 
• Set apart a special church tote – only to be used on Sunday.  I filled ours with felt books and the only time they could look at the books was during big church.  Eventually I transitioned them from this to taking notes. 
• Give clear expectations.  
• Sit near a door, in the back, when you are beginning with a new child.  The goal is to train your child so that you can sit anywhere and worship together.  But everything takes time – so while you’re transitioning – remember there are other people in the worship center and your child doesn’t need to be a distraction.  If you’re having trouble, use the worship training room temporarily. 
• Build up to your child how special it is to be in big church!  He’s growing!  She’s big enough!  It’s special! 
• I personally think it’s fine to reward your child when he/she does well.  A new Bible.  A new pen for note-taking.  A new tote for Sunday things. 
• At lunch, talk to your child about how it went and what could go differently next week.  Ask questions like,  “What did you learn today?” “What was your favorite part?”  And tell them what you learned, what you liked.   Don’t criticize or be sarcastic – the Bible warns us about the effects of coarse jesting. 
• Tell them what you admired about their behavior. 
• If they didn’t quite live up to your expectations – tell them what they can do better next time 

Give it time.  Remember how important this is.  God the Father delights in our praises.  He instituted the church and He loves it when we gather with our families to worship Him together and as we serve His people in children’s ministry.
 
“O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together.”

Five years ago, I went to a couple's home to look at a rocker they had posted on Craigslist.

When I met them, it seemed like we were old friends. I'm not sure of their age, but probably old enough to be my parents. I liked them right away. The wife told me all about the rocker, why she was selling it, how she really didn't want to sell it, but she knew she needed to begin now to get rid of things.

We talked about antiques and little towns and lunch and Beaufort and how much my daughter would love rocking her little baby in this chair. The husband was just as friendly as the wife. He followed me out to the car to help me with the rocker and then to guide me out of his driveway.

Before I left, he asked me, "Do you have other children?"

Oh yes, I do. Five. He seemed shocked. "But this is your first grandchild?"

Oh no, I have four. This is my fifth.

"Fifth??"  I wish I could tell him that I now have twelve!

He seemed amazed and followed up with questions about my children. He wanted to know what they were doing and was it difficult raising them - and when he found out I educated them at home, he asked if I pushed them along or led them along. I answered, "Both."

"Explain," he queried.

I said sometimes they needed pushing when they needed to do something they didn't want to do. I told him how I had learned that it wasn't my job to be my children's friend when they were growing up - it was my job to be their parent.  I told him that I believed friendship develops as they grow and becomes so beautiful when they are adults.

But I not only pushed them;  I also, by the sheer mercy of God,  led by example.

But oh my,  I also told him how I prayed like crazy all their growing up years.  I prayed, too,  they would follow me in the good stuff and somehow not even see the bad.  

Then, in reference to home education, he asked, "Do you think you've been successful?"

Well, I didn't know if I was successful - but, I told him, "I know my children are successful."

He wanted to know more - about college and sports and maybe about things my children missed being schooled at home.

I said something like this, "Well, I guess my children missed out on some things. In fact, I know they did. But don't we all? We don't all get to go to the best schools, we don't all make the team, we don't all win the prize, we don't all become great musicians. We don't all have the best teachers or the best opportunities or the best anything, really. No, we just do the best we can."

He nodded. He said, "I hope your daughter loves the rocker." I know she will.

I drove away yet this man's questions followed me home like a lost puppy. They were nipping at me and forcing me to give attention to them. I began to think about lots of things my children missed because of our decision to home educate.

But I also began to think ~ for all the things they missed and for all the opportunities they didn't have, there were countless other things they gained. It went kind of like this in my head, "They didn't have this, but they had that."

And isn't that the way it is in life? We missed this, but we gained that. And shouldn't our perspective be on what we have, rather than on what we missed?

So, in relation to what my children may have missed, I began to think about what they gained.

I've seen God's hand all over their lives. And I thought how God never misses anything. Just like He gave so much to me when I was growing up, He has given my children opportunities and shaped them in ways I'll never fully realize. He guided their steps whether I was successful or not. He stepped in and filled in the holes of their education with buckets of water when I was running dry and He pushed open doors that I didn't even know existed.

Faithfulness is all God requires.  I can be faithful.  I can cling to the Lord.

My new friend caused me to reflect and thank God for His faithfulness even though I self-doubted so many times.

The last thing I remember saying to this man about my children as I stood in his driveway was this, "My youngest child graduates in June and he'll be headed to college in the Fall."

And yes, when my new friend asked about college, imagine - I got to tell him about four universities and scholarships and graduate schools. It just hit me really hard.

See, I heard myself say, "My youngest child graduates in June . . ."

It was like my words hung in the air then made their way into my head where they echoed, but instead of fading away like most echoes do, they got louder and louder and louder. In my mind, I heard myself shouting me, "My youngest child graduates in June and he'll be headed to college in the Fall!"

That meant when June rolled around back then, I would have officially finished the home education of my children. And I did.  I finished the job that I never even thought I could ever do. (And by the way, that youngest child has now finished college and has launched his own career.)

So, questions loomed.  And sometimes they still loom.  Did I harm my children? Did I cause them to miss opportunities? Did I push them? Did I lead them? Did I inspire them? Was I successful?

You know, as a parent, you do the best you can. You follow the Lord through His Word and as He guides and directs, you make decisions that you really believe are in the best interest of your children. At least that's what we tried to do. There were so many times I self-doubted. So many times I wondered.

But when he asked me about my children, and particularly about how in the world did I not only raise five children, but also educate them, and did I push or lead . . . I had the chance to tell him. And I had the chance to tell him about the God Who helped me. The God Who did it.

Then as I drove away, I had the chance to thank God for His faithfulness.

And I thought I was just going to pick up a rocking chair for my daughter.

I wrote the following back in 1998:

“Busy hands,” I heard my aunt whisper as we gazed into the coffin where my grandmother’s body looked so lovely, even in death. Both of us seemed to be alone with her although we were standing next to each other in a room filled with hundreds of people.

“Busy hands,” my aunt whispered again as I turned to look at her. Her eyes were fixed on her mama before she focused on me. Then she elaborated, “You know, mama’s hands were always busy. Think of the hundreds of biscuits she made in her lifetime.” My aunt’s eyes were filled with tears, looking like a dam trying to keep a waterfall from overtaking her.

I said nothing as I looked at this child of the grandma I loved so much.

I had been so lost in my own grief but I was beginning to realize, more deeply, that all of us who loved my grandma were partaking in this grieving process together. It was a bond that unified us even in our silence.

Busy hands. That’s all my aunt needed to say to bring images of countless times I had seen my grandma knead dough for biscuits while I stood next to her, countless times I had sat beside her while she crocheted, and countless times I seemed to have just walked in at the right time to “lick the bowl” where the cake batter seemed to linger -- leaving extra for little hands to dip into. Somehow Grandma’s pound cakes never seemed to be bothered by missing batter.

Countless times, I had seen her sitting at her treadle sewing machine -- she never did get a new one -- mending old clothes or making new ones until the years crept up on her and it became too difficult for her to thread a tiny needle. Funny. Now I sit at an old treadle sewing machine that holds my computer. A place for busy hands.

And countless times, I had been grabbed as a little girl, running past my grandma’s kitchen, only to be stopped by her reaching into her apron pocket to pull out a handkerchief to wipe my runny nose. It was a handkerchief that all the cousins shared. I smiled at the memory of my Grandma’s laughter when countless times, as a grown-up mama, I would share the story of the “chasing handkerchief” from a little girl’s perspective. She had a grand sense of humor.

I sighed as I looked into her now stone-cold face wishing somehow she could laugh again and reach into her apron pocket for a handkerchief to wipe my runny eyes.

As I stood over her I understood more clearly that “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord,” -- this body was just an empty shell, but this was the body that carried my grandmother’s heart, this was the body that I knew and loved.

Scripture teaches that the body is important; that there is as much hope for the body as there is for the soul. Someday, Jesus will resurrect this body from the grave and reunite it with my grandma’s spirit. She will have a glorified body ~ without spot or blemish. Somehow, looking at her aged body lying in the coffin, I was comforted in the truths from Scripture. I knew that my grandma was enjoying His presence in a place where a handkerchief is not needed . . . because there are no runny noses there and God is the One who will wipe every tear from our eyes.

But if she could, my grandma would be right there with her handkerchief. Busy hands. Now they were still. I placed my hand on hers one last time.

In 1 Thessalonians 4:13, the Apostle Paul states:

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve, as do the rest who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus . . . Therefore comfort one another with these words.

I’ve thought about these words a lot since my grandmother’s death in June. And I remembered how I felt when a close friend, who didn't know the Lord, died years before. I thought about the difference in the grief. I grieved for my friend; incredibly so, but I could not be comforted in the same way as I could with my grandmother’s death.

The difference? Hope. For the non-Christian, only eternal death awaits. In a horrible place called hell.  I grieved for my friend, because as far as I knew, he did not know Jesus Christ. Once he died, his eternal destiny was settled and there is no hope for him. I cannot hope for his salvation, I cannot pray him into heaven. It is settled. Non-Christians cannot “comfort one another with these words.”

For the Christian, though, eternal joy awaits! We shall always be with the Lord. There is a great reunion waiting for us. We will not only be reunited with those we love but we will see Jesus! The Bible teaches that we will live together with Him. And even though we grieve when someone we love dies, our grief leads us to the comfort found in the salvation of Jesus Christ. We do not grieve as those who have no hope. Our hope is in Jesus and we are to comfort one another with these words.

Sometime in September …

Jameson and I pulled into a parking space on Bay Street. For such a long time I had said I was going to get the jeweler to restring my pearls. And finally I had remembered to bring them. I put a dime in the meter and . . .

Walking into the Old Bay Marketplace, Jameson and I shared a coke and discussed jewelry. He didn’t know much about pearls but now he wanted to know everything.

After we dropped off the pearls and made our way back to the van, I noticed I still had 20 minutes left on the parking meter. Making a quick decision, Jameson and I headed into one of Bay Street’s gift shops.

We ooh-ed and ah-ed over all the cute stuff as we looked at little turtles, novelty socks, old-fashioned toys, stationary and doorstops. Jameson asked if I would purchase one of the little animals he had spotted and would I please help him decide which one? I took a quick inventory of my “cash money” situation; I didn’t want to write a check for $1.75 and besides I didn’t even know if they took checks. Yes! A five-dollar bill for a little momento of our excursion.

Before I paid for the turtle; however, I told Jameson I wanted to look at the back of the store. I still had about 10 minutes before the meter would expire. We made our way through the shop with Jameson holding his turtle, when suddenly I felt transported into another time. There across from me in this back room of the little gift shop was an old treadle sewing machine ~ one like my Grandma’s.

As I gazed at the machine and then around this little area, I saw that I was surrounded by cloth, lace, and crocheted things. Emotion gripped me. Funny how it hits you . . . in the middle of anywhere . . . when you’re not even thinking about sorrow or grief; in fact, you’re doing quite well. But when you least expect it, emotion reaches into your being, clutches your heart, forces its way up to your face and then drags teardrops from your eyes. Your wound, you thought, was healed. But here it is, open again. Sigh. It hurts and you really don’t want to cry. Not in this store.

And you wonder, "Does God have purpose in our emotions?" I know He says that He desires a broken and contrite heart; He loves to comfort the afflicted. God is attracted to our weakness and He wants to meet us in our sorrow to cause us to look to and learn from Him and then choose to trust Him . . . even while we cry. It's called faith.

I felt God’s gentle stirring through the pain of my heart and then I began to weep softly and quietly as my mind formed a picture of my grandma’s busy hands, working at her sewing machine and seeming to say to me as she did whenever she found me crying, “Come here and let me wipe your eyes with my handkerchief.”

I did go there, as my mind instructed. I walked over to the sewing machine in this little shop. And there, lying on the top of the workspace before my waterlogged eyes was a little lace handkerchief. My heart smiled through its open wound.

“You know, Mama’s hands were always busy,” my aunt had told me.

Yes, Grandma’s hands were busy. Busy loving me and everyone else God brought her way. My grandma had this way of making you feel that you were the special one -- because, in her eyes, you were. No matter your manners, your insensitivity to her schedule, whether you thanked her or not for all the things she did for you, no matter how long since she last saw you. She always seemed as if she had been waiting on her backporch just for you.


So, in September, it was only natural that I would think of her when I walked into a room that captured her essence. Seeing all the lacy blankets and crocheted gifts made me so aware of the eternal impact she made in my life. I couldn’t escape it and I knew God wanted me to be flooded with a keen sense of fresh grief. Just as He was when He wept for Lazarus, when He suffered on the cross, when He longed for the salvation of Jerusalem, when He was in anguish over my sin. The Scripture teaches that He Himself was a “man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief . . . Surely our griefs He Himself bore, And our sorrows He carried.” (Isaiah 53:3-4) He can and does sympathize with us.

Lace and crochet. These were a part of who Grandma was. Oh she didn’t keep the beautiful things she made -- she gave them away. To all of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren and anyone else God brought her way. I can’t even fathom the hours she put into making blankets, Christmas lace heirlooms, and pound cakes. Busy hands.

And as I continued to look around the back room of this little shop, I was not only reminded of my grief but also that a heart spent getting to know God will express itself in giving to others. Whether in handmade treasures, in time, in preparing and teaching the truth of God’s Word, in “feeding the 5000,” washing the feet of the saints, encouraging others, or giving a drink of water in His name. Somehow while my parking meter was running out of time, I was running into an encounter with God while shopping on Bay Street. He met with me personally.

Jameson and I headed home.

When I drove into my driveway, I sat in my van for a long time. Jameson didn’t say anything as he sat with me. In fact, I didn’t even realize he was still there. I stared at the marsh and the water and then -- without warning -- the floodgates opened and the dam broke. I cried rivers of water . . . salty tears . . . enough to cause the tide to overflow its banks.

I sobbed from my innermost being. If anyone had seen me, it might have appeared like I would never recover. But I must say that I did not grieve as one who has no hope. That afternoon on Bay Street was a reminder to me that a heart spent getting to know God will overflow into the lives of others. Jesus said “He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being shall flow rivers of living water.’” It was clear that my grandma believed in Him. Her life was an overflow of her relationship with Christ. So it was natural that the sorrow in my heart would overflow in rivers of water escaping from my eyes. The tears were cleansing my soul.

And when I seemed to be overtaken with grief on that September afternoon, God reminded me too, how a heart that loves deeply will hurt deeply. Paul described it as “sorrow upon sorrow.” He told the Philippians that his friend and fellow worker Epaphroditus “was sick to the point of death, but God had mercy on him, and not on him only but also on me, lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow.” God is moved through our distress and He is the One who either ministers to us personally or He sends someone with tangible “flesh and blood” to help us bear our burdens. And in so doing, we “fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2) The tender memory of my grandma awakened a further passion within me to make my life count for Him. Our sorrow needs to propel us toward the Savior, not away from Him.

Oh how much I’ve learned and have yet to learn from my grandma’s life. She gives me hope! But more than the hope her life gives to me, it is because of her Savior that I can really have hope. Oh how I want God to use me to make a significant eternal impact in the lives of my family and everyone else God brings my way.

My grandmother wasn’t perfect. She was the first to say so. And I don’t want to portray her as anything but an ordinary woman who walked with God in the everydayness of life. That was the essence of who she was -- she made God bigger by her life.

Since she has gone home, I miss being able to audibly hear her voice, but her legacy to me is seen in the tangible things she made with her hands. And although I can’t hear her anymore . . . when I wrap myself up in the blanket she made for me . . . I feel the love and the legacy of her busy hands.

And you know what? On that September afternoon when I was unaware of Jameson’s presence in the van, I suddenly felt a hand touch my arm.

Carl had obviously left one of his handkerchiefs that he uses to wipe his brow on Sundays on one of the seats. Jameson had seen me crying, no doubt he felt compassion for me so he picked up the handkerchief and in a 5-year-old way, thrust it before my eyes. Then he said, “Are you sad? Here, do you want me to wipe your eyes?”

It was as if I sensed the Lord Jesus seeing me, having compassion on me and saying to me just as He did to the widow of Nain, “Do not weep.” I went on in the strength of God’s care the rest of the afternoon.

Once, when my children were young, I experienced a long, discouraging day. I guess I had stretched myself a little too far in the preceding weeks and I was feeling the effects.
 
First, I had been bothered by some things over which I had no control and was misunderstood. Then, I had surgery on my arm which threw me for a loop because it was much more painful than I had anticipated.
 
Then, more discouraging news. I was down and it showed. Then two of my children got into an argument and so it seemed to be the perfect time to deal with that. Bad timing for them. So, as can be so typical for mothers, my children’s spat became larger in my eyes simply because I was stressed about things that had nothing to do with them.
 
Well, tension filled the air as I ranted. Then as quickly as my little tornado blew through the room, I walked away leaving confused children who weren’t sure what to do next.
 
It was evening. Time for the children to get in bed. Before I could do that however, I had to go get my two oldest boys from the farm where they had been cutting grass. I drove in silence feeling rather alone and miserable. As I pulled up, Jordan looked in the window and asked, “Mom, what’s wrong? You seem upset.”
 
Those words stung. I offered no answer. Somehow the fury in my tornado died with Jordan’s question. I slithered down in my seat like a worm trying to hide in the dirt. We drove home in almost the same silence as I had driven in earlier. I didn’t say much because I couldn’t be trusted. But I thought. For some reason the words of the old hymn “At the Cross” came to my mind.
 
Alas, and did my Savior bleed? And did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that sacred head For such a worm as I?

Was it for crimes that I have done, He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown! And love beyond degree!

Well might the sun in darkness hide, And shut his glories in,
When Christ, the mighty Maker, died For man the creature’s sin.

But drops of grief can ne’er repay The debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away, ‘Tis all that I can do!

At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away,
It was there by faith I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day!
 
Isaac Watts must have felt the weight of his sin to be able to write such a hymn. To think that my Savior was quite aware of all my “tornadoes” when He died upon the cross is truly amazing to me. Mr. Watts is right, my feeling terribly guilty can never repay the debt I owe -- my debt was paid by Christ at the cross. And just as I received the free gift of salvation, I must receive His gentle rebuke, confess my own sin, and restore the relationships I had broken.
 
I didn’t respond so quickly. I wanted to feel sorry for myself a little longer I guess. When we got home, the children were quick to do everything I said. I had no trouble with disobedience.
 
Time passed. I did the mom stuff. But I had no joy and I was not “happy all the day.”
 
The lights were out in the children’s rooms. I walked down the hall and then peeked in GraceAnna’s room.
 
Normally, she would have said something to me -- but not tonight. I guess if I had been a young girl of eleven who had just been treated unfairly, I wouldn’t have said anything either.
 
As I stood in the doorway of her room, I wanted to go in and hug her but I felt so unworthy. How could she want to receive a hug from a mom who had treated her so unjustly?
 
“Well might the sun in darkness hide, And shut his glories in, When Christ, the mighty Maker, died For man the creature’s sin.”
 
The words of Isaac Watts echoed in my mind.
 
She spoke. “Mom, would you come kiss me goodnight?’’
 
Now why in the world would she want a kiss from me? I didn’t deserve it. I hadn’t even asked for her forgiveness. But she forgave without a request.
 
After that I walked to Grant’s room. Even before I got there, he said, “Mom? Is that you? Will you come in here with me?”
 
Wow. I said, “Sure, I’ll be there in a minute.” I knew I had to apologize to everyone first.  And then I went to tell my son a story before he fell asleep.  I’ve never regretted it.
 
As I confessed my sin to each of my children, I thought of how undeserving I was for their gentle and gracious spirits.
 
But even more than that I thought about how undeserving I am to find grace and mercy at the cross. Why would He devote that sacred head for such a worm as I?
 
But He did. My Savior bled and died for this worm. He died, not so that I could wallow in self-pity, but so I could receive His forgiveness and then move on.
 
All these years I’ve mothered, I have so wished to be the perfect mom. I have so wished I could make every right decision and so wished I would never ever blow it. Perfection. Seems like such a noble goal.
 
But I am still learning that Jesus is the only perfect One. He is the only One Who will never ever blow it, Who always makes right decisions. And He is the Only One Who can enable me to live in such a way to please Him. I could have called out to Him when I was stressed. I could have received His help when I was burdened. I could have rested in His grace when I was misunderstood. I could have allowed Him to defend me when I was misunderstood. I could have trusted Him to help me deal fairly with my children. But I didn’t choose His way of escape, I didn’t choose to please Him.
 
And you know what? He would have helped me had I run to Him when I really needed Him. But He was still ready to help me after I chose my own way. And when the guilt of my sin was crushing me because of my own doing - He was the One right there rolling away the burden of my heart. He’s just that good.
 
The next day, GraceAnna, Jameson, and I enjoyed lunch together at Subway. As we were sitting in one of the yellow booths, with the sun shining brightly through the window, I said to GraceAnna, “I don’t want to be a mean mama like I was yesterday. I’m asking the Lord to help me. Will you pray for me?”
 
She agreed to pray but then she gave me a deliberate focused gaze, as if to make sure I really understood her point. “Mom, do you really believe that just because of one time I would think you’re a mean mom?”
 
One time. She said one time. I knew there had been lots of times but she said “one time.” Her words seem to slap me in the face. I am a sinner. I know that I am not and neither will I ever be perfect. No matter how hard I try, I will mess up but . . . how much will I mess up? What will be the pattern of my life? What direction am I heading? Am I learning from my sins and moving forward? Am I messing up more and more or less and less? Did I want to continue having outbursts or did I want God to purge this sin from me?
 
No, I didn’t want the pattern of my life to be one of outbursts. I had prayed for this. I had asked God to help me. And I thought about how distraught I was over this particular sin with my children. God was showing me how good it is to be grieved over sin because that’s how a saved and growing Christian feels when he sins.
 
It’s proof positive that God is working and perfecting and molding and shaping.
 
And that girl - GraceAnna - through her simple observation so encouraged me! Now, if only those people in Subway knew the joy of such a slap in the face made by young fresh-cheeked girl with a dorito in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
 
OK, I really did feel like dancing in the middle of the Subway line.
 
But I didn’t.
 
So many years later, I still think about the lessons of my outburst. I’m not perfect, I’ve had some more, but God in His grace is still working on me.
 

A number of years ago, at the close of a long day, I drove up to our little neighborhood post office to get the mail. It was dark, I had a rare headache, and I was alone. After I pulled the letters from our box, I got back in the car but before driving the quarter mile to our house, I decided to go ahead and open one of the letters. The words from a missionary friend captured my heart:

"How different is God's view of pain from ours. My instinct is to avoid or grumble underneath it. His is to embrace it for what it will produce in us. When I was in the first stages of labor with my son, a woman we had briefly met through our organization came to see me in the hospital. She shared Hebrews 12:2, and said that just as Jesus endured the cross for the joy of the salvation of His people, she wanted to encourage me to receive the pain for the life that would be entering the world. I thanked her politely, but I confess, I thought she was a little presumptuous. She had never been pregnant. What did she know about having a baby?! Well, in the middle of a long labor, as I felt myself tense up with the onslaught of a contraction, the Lord used this woman's words "receive the pain" to call me to relax into the contractions rather than brace against them.

 'Receive the pain' has often been my mantra for choosing to press through life's unpredictable and painful circumstances these past fifteen years. And just as my son was the wonderful result of that brief time of pain, I am trusting that God will not allow this and future pain to be without purpose and result, as my hope grows in resting on His character and not my circumstances."

I sat in my car while unexpected tears quietly dropped from my eyes splattering on her letter. She had written James 1:2-4 from the Phillips translation in her letter:

"When all kinds of trials and temptations crowd into your lives, my brothers, do not resent them as intruders, but welcome them as friends. Realize that they come to test your faith and to produce in you a quality of endurance. But let that process go on and you will find that you have become men of character, full of maturity, with no weak spots."

God's word and her application of His words penetrated my heart. See, at that time in my life, I realized that I had been carrying around some pain for quite some time - praying, yes, but more than praying or trusting, I had been bracing against it.

I don't like feeling pain. But at times there have been circumstances sorrow in my life that have brought great pain, heartache, and asking God to show His face through them - stresses He brought to me and still, I struggled with it.   I struggled so many times by asking God for wisdom and grace, what to do and say, how to feel, how to guard my own heart, seeking Him about what He wanted to teach me through the trials, what not to do and say.

And just as recently, on that particular morning during my quiet time, I had asked God for some very specific words of encouragement. While waiting for His encouragement and longing for it, I still carried my burden all day. I fasted. I prayed.

Then as quietly as the evening came, God sent His message to me through a missionary friend on the other side of the world. God revealed to me in just a few seconds that I needed to receive the pain of life.  I was reminded that all of the pain of this life is temporary. And I can smile with assurance through, yes, even the greatest wailing in the deepest part of my soul, knowing God is at work.  

I learned that evening that I needed to relax in Who God is and to stop bracing against what God was doing.

Even now,  I sometimes forget that God is working in ways that I cannot see. His work, His surgery, often hurts. I sometimes forget that He cares more than I do. I sometimes forget that He wants to use my pain, not as some intruder, but as a welcomed friend who will help me grow to maturity.

It is my prayer that I will always receive the pain and allow God to accomplish what concerns me.

I don't know but when I got to my home, I felt lighter, my headache was gone, and my attention was turned away from myself to my missionary friend. I had allowed the friend of pain into my life.  So I prayed for my missionary friend and asked God to send her some very specific words of encouragement, as He had done, through her, to me.


 

My daughter-in-law asked me if I would be willing to encourage the moms in her homeschool group.  She told me it would be casual and I only needed to share for about 10-15 minutes.
 
I was honored.  I wrote down a few thoughts so I could remember and what you are about to read is what I shared with them plus a little more.
 
I applauded them.  I told them they  are doing something great though it doesn’t seem so great in the mundane, routine, noisy, and cluttered days. In the everydayness.  But I assured them, what they are doing is a great thing.

It takes young men and women of courage and discipline to raise children for the glory of God.  God asks us to do it and for many, this includes the task of educating our children at home.  
 
He promises to help us. We cannot do it on our own.
 
All of us are probably very familiar with Psalm 127:3 which states “Behold, children are a gift of the Lord.”
 
This is so true.  Yet this phrase is found in the larger context of the chapter.

Unless the Lord builds the house,
They labor in vain who build it;
Unless the Lord guards the city,
The watchman keeps awake in vain.
It is vain for you to rise up early,
To retire late,
To eat the bread of painful labors;
For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.
Behold, children are a gift of the Lord,
The fruit of the womb is a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,
So are the children of one’s youth.
How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them;
They will not be ashamed
When they speak with their enemies in the gate.
 
I love this passage.  When I was expecting our first child, I did a watercolor drawing of Pooh Bear holding balloons – with the familiar part, “Behold Children are a gift of the Lord.”
 
But here’s the thing – Unless God builds our houses, we labor in vain.
 
I told them - Though I don't know you, I pray for you.  Stay the course. You are equipped. You are capable. You will be tired and overwhelmed at times but He is with you and if you will trust and obey - your joy will be full even in those times when you are tempted to think you are a failure and you just can't do it anymore.  And believe me, that is a good place to be if, when you are there,  you will look up and fix your eyes on the One Who wants to strongly support you.
 
As I asked the Lord what to share with them in those few moments we had together, my thoughts gathered around two areas.
 
First,  I shared briefly my journey to home educate my children. Now that I'm on the back side, I see even more clearly how God never left  me - He always guided and He was my help.
 
I first heard of home education back in 1982 when my oldest child was a few months old. I was listening to James Dobson and he had a guest on his program who was discussing this alternative. I was interested but I remember thinking - "that's for specially-equipped people. I'm not one of those."
 
However, I remember wanting to read the book his guest had written but as those things go ... I never did. And besides, I thought of school as "so far away."
 
Three children later, my oldest was ready for kindergarten. We enrolled him in the local Christian school deciding we would make any sacrifice necessary to pay for it. He did wonderfully academically-speaking but there were a few issues that concerned me.  
 
Over the summer, and after we had enrolled him for 1st grade, I walked into our church's library and there on the table was the book I had heard about when he was a baby. I remembered it and so I checked it out. As I read it over the summer, I sensed that I needed to homeschool. I asked my husband about it and also asked him to read sections of the book - which he did - and together, we made the decision to home educate.
 
I was now pregnant with our 4th child who would be born right at the beginning - late August - of our first school year.
 
I didn't really know how to introduce our choice to family and friends - it was not the norm by any stretch of the imagination. This was 1988.
 
I followed the curriculum plan of the Moore Foundation and thus our journey began. I loved it. I loved being with my children. I loved conversations with them. I loved teaching them.
 
But at some point in those early years, I began to feel very overwhelmed with the responsibility of it all. I heard from naysayers - people bringing up concerns that I hadn't even thought about.  So for whatever reason, or for perhaps many reasons,  I was feeling the weight of it all.  I began thinking - "What if I mess them up? What if I miss things? What if they need more?  What if they hate me for doing this?  What if, what if, what if …."

And so the second area my thoughts gathered around was the passage of Scripture that God used at that time in my life to encourage me.  And I can’t even begin to share how this passage has been a constant in my life for over 30 years now.
 
It’s Solomon’s prayer which is found in 1 Kings 3.
 
 In verse 5 God says this to Solomon:  “Ask what you wish Me to give you.”

And to this day, I am still overwhelmed by Solomon’s prayer.  First, he talks about the goodness of God, both to him and his father,  as he says, “You have shown great lovingkindness to Your servant David my father, according as he walked before You in truth and righteousness and uprightness of heart toward You; and You have reserved for him this great lovingkindness, that You have given him a son to sit on his throne, as it is this day.”

Then he makes his request, Now, O Lord My God, You have made Your servant king in place of my father David, yet I am but a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in. Your servant is in the midst of Your people which You have chosen, a great people who are too many to be numbered or counted. So give Your servant an understanding heart to judge Your people to discern between good and evil. For who is able to judge this great people of Yours?

I remember thinking, way back then, when I had my four little children (my fifth, at this point, was just a thought in the heart of God) – "Who am I to educate them?  How can I do this?  I am in the middle of these children whom You have chosen to give me and I believe You’ve called me to this task – but their needs are so great.  I live in a nation that thinks formal schooling is the best option … Oh God, I need Your help.  I, like Solomon, need an understanding heart … I, too, feel like a little child … I sometimes don’t know what to do next …”

God’s answer to Solomon is so encouraging …
It was pleasing in the sight of the Lord that Solomon had asked this thing.  God said to him, ‘Because you have asked this thing and have not asked for yourself long life, nor have asked riches for yourself, nor have you asked for the life of your enemies, but have asked for yourself discernment to understand justice, behold, I have done according to your words. Behold, I have given you a wise and discerning heart, so that there has been no one like you before you, nor shall one like you arise after you.   I have also given you what you have not asked, both riches and honor, so that there will not be any among the kings like you all your days.  If you walk in My ways, keeping My statutes and commandments, as your father David walked, then I will prolong your days.

You know, Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived.  God gave great wisdom to him and God was pleased with his humility at this point in his life.  And because of the humblest of prayers from the humblest of hearts – yet I am but a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in …. So give Your servant an understanding heart to judge Your people to discern between good and evil. For who is able to judge this great people of Yours?, God gave not only wisdom to him, but oh so much more!

The people belonged to God.  God had chosen Solomon to lead.  Solomon was overwhelmed with this responsibility and he called out to the One Who had chosen him.  He knew he couldn’t do it alone – or AT ALL …  remember he said this to the Lord, Your servant is in the midst of Your people which You have chosen, a great people who are too many to be numbered or counted.
 
God reminded me through this passage that though the task is overwhelming – God chooses.  He chooses us to be mothers and He chooses the children He gives.   And He also reminded me how much I need to pray like Solomon.

God was so pleased with his prayer – He gave him so much more – things he didn’t even request!   Sometimes when I look at my grown children today, my heart is overwhelmed with how God has worked.  He is so faithful.

Reminds me of Ephesians 3:20-21 Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think ,according to the power that works within us,  to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen.
 
And you know what else? God constantly reminds me that there is absolutely no room for pride as we mother our children, as we home educate them, as we do what God asks us to do.  The older I grow, the more I realize this.  It’s all God.

All of us are like children – we don’t know anything – but God knows everything.  All throughout Scripture God shows us through narratives and He tells us point blank that He resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.  Scripture shows us that God is attracted to weakness – He comes near to  those who cry out to Him for His help.

I need to have a constant heart like Solomon – realizing that I am but a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in ….
 
And think about it, Jesus is the One Who tells us that to enter the kingdom of heaven, we must become like children.  Childlike in our faith – dependent on the One Who saves us.  We can’t save ourselves.  We can’t even help.
 
And likewise, with all God asks us to do, we must be like children.  Dependent on the One Who can help us.
 
Jehoshaphat, when facing the enemy in 2 Chronicles 20, expressed this same kind of heart when he prayed, O our God, will You not judge them? For we are powerless before this great multitude who are coming against us; nor do we know what to do, but our eyes are on You.
 
God, pleased with this kind of prayer, answered, Do not fear or be dismayed because of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours but God’s.
 
I am just a child. I am often fearful, dismayed.  I don't really know what I'm doing. I don't know how to go out or come in. I'm in the midst of all these children - I need God’s wisdom. I need Him.

Again, there is absolutely no room for pride.  The moment pride enters -  “I got this.  I know what I’m doing.  My way is the best way,” we set ourselves up to fail.
 
I want God to have it. He knows what He’s doing.  His way is the best way.


 So as you've taken on this task of home educating your children, what is your heart like?  On Whom are you depending?  Yourself?   Your education?  Your great organizing skills?  Your great plan?  Your wisdom?

Or are you depending upon God?  Are you asking for His help?  Do you realize that unless He builds your house, you labor in vain?

You know, there was one thing I didn’t share with the moms on that morning when I offered some encouragement.  I didn’t tell them the following story from the early days of my mothering.
 
It was spring of 1984. We were at Duke University and in those busy years of discipling and training students, becoming a mother and being involved in our church, I didn’t know then how God would use the event of one night to shape me and prepare me for the years ahead.
                     
Carl was away from our home in Durham, North Carolina.  I was a young mom with 2 small babies.  My older was 2 and my second was a few months old.  Carl had traveled to Texas to help write Bible study materials for Cru.
           
On the second night of Carl’s trip I remember putting both my boys in bed with me.  I don’t really know why.  It just seemed more comforting to have us close together when Carl was away.
 
      Sleep felt good.
 
      Later, I found myself coughing yet I felt as if I couldn’t move.  I thought I smelled smoke but I was so sleepy,  it didn’t seem real.  I fought the urge to get up.
 
I continued to cough and the urge to get up became alarming.   Suddenly I sat up in bed. Why was it so foggy? It was dark; yet there was a flicker of light coming from the kitchen which cast an eerie shadow.
 
I jumped up as I realized the house was filled with smoke.  I ran to the kitchen and saw a smoldering towel on the stove.  In my haste, I grabbed the towel and threw it in the sink not realizing with that one act, I was creating a bigger fire.  Flames burst upward toward the kitchen cabinets from the fragments of the towel.  I threw the towel in the sink and turned around to see fiery shreds of it left on the burner.  I don’t remember how I put the two fires out but somehow I  found the baking soda and dumped it everywhere.   I turned on the water in the sink.  The fires were now out but the smoke thickened.  I ran to open up windows and doors and then stopped - what was I thinking?  I needed to get my boys out of there.   It was 3:30 in the morning.  Somehow I carried them both out into the night air.  Then I sat on the deck steps and cried.
 
      A breeze was blowing.  My children slept in my arms.  I kissed them both as tears rolled down my cheeks. I looked to the heavens.  The sky was as clear as I had ever seen it.  The stars were as many and as bright as I could ever remember.  And in that night air, God brought two passages of Scripture to my mind:
 
 Psalm 127:
Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it:  Unless the Lord guards the city, The watchman keeps awake in vain.  It is vain for you to rise up early, To retire late, To eat the bread of painful labors; For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.  Behold, children are a gift of the Lord;  the fruit of the womb is a reward.  Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one’s youth.  How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them; They shall not be ashamed, When they speak with their enemies in the gate.
 
 
and Psalm 139,
 
O Lord, You have searched me and known me.  You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thoughts from afar.  You scrutinize my path and my lying down, And are intimately acquainted with all my ways.  Even before there is a word on my tongue, Behold, O Lord, You know it all.  You have enclosed me behind and before, And laid Your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;  Where can I go from Your Spirit?  Or where can I flee from Your presence?  If I ascend to heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.  If I take the wings of the dawn, If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, Even there Your hand will lead me, And Your right hand will lay hold of me.   If I say, "Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,  And the light around me will be night," Even the darkness is not dark to You,  And the night is as bright as the day.  Darkness and light are alike to You .  . . . And in Your book they were all written, The days that were ordained for me,  When as yet there was not one of them.  How precious are Your thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them!  If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand.  When I awake, I am still with You.
 
 
      God impressed a great truth to me that night.   He is the source of all I need as a mother.  He is the One on Whom I need to depend to build my house.  As I gazed into the heavens, I really sensed His presence.  I knew He was the One Who had awakened me.   And there as I  felt the breeze, I asked the Lord to show me His ways,  I asked for the good way, and I asked Him for His grace to walk in it.  I loved the Lord before that night but then I loved Him even more.  I knew what Jesus taught in the gospel of John, “If you love me, you will obey me.”  That night was the beginning of my knowing God’s presence in my life in a whole new way.
 
We need Him.  We need His wisdom.  We are but children.  We don’t know how to go out or come in.
 
But He does.

You never know when it will be the last time.  Things that have been a part of your life for as long as you can remember will end.  At some point, you will have your last experience, your last bite, your last laugh, your last visit, your last tear, your last breath.

It's been almost a year since my daddy was welcomed into heaven.  I'm coming up on the anniversary of my last two visits with him in this life. The first of the last was at the beginning of September.  He was so energetic.  It was such a fun, good time.  I didn't know it was to be the last time I visited him in the home where I grew up.  I didn't know that and I didn’t know it would be the last time I would hear his voice.  

The last of the last was just barely over two weeks later and it was just sad.  He was already in the hospital by the time I got there.  God gave sweet time to all of us who loved him.  Mama, my sister, and brothers were close and overwhelmed with the sorrow we shared. Yet ...

Losing my daddy in this life has exposed sad parts of my soul that I didn’t know existed.  Death in this life is so final.  Having him here is all I have ever known.
 
So yes, it's been almost a year since my last two visits with him on this earth.  But we will visit again.
 
I've thought about many things as I've walked this grief road.  My mind has relived childhood memories.  I have felt  hollowness.  Yet  God has made my heart happy as He has allowed me to visit often with Mama and recall visits with Daddy.
 
When Carl and I and our little family moved from Texas to South Carolina 25 years ago, I had no idea the blessing it would be to live just two hours from my parents.
 
I could drive up and see them and be back in the same day. I made that drive often as my children were growing up – some times more than other times.  Sometimes I did it on a whim, sometimes on a plan.  I don’t regret one single trip.
 
And because they lived so close to the Interstate, I could drop in unannounced like when I was on my way to other places or on my way back from other places.  Just stop in. Just knock. Surprise!
 
There was a time I took my youngest son and one of his friends to see them. My dad joked around with them. My mom made fried potato skins and they both told them all about their old school days.
 
And when my youngest boys were still at home, the three of us made many trips to see my parents. We'd spend a night .... or two  .... or three.  Both my younger boys developed a closeness with my parents during those years.
 
I don't regret. One. Single. Minute.

And here’s the thing.   Holidays and family gatherings  are terrific!  It’s so great to be with siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews. I loved (and still do love) those times.
 
But ..... I really, really loved the times when it was just mama and daddy and me. And I really, really loved the times when it was mama, daddy, me, and sometimes one or two or sometimes all five of my children.

In the last three years when my daddy "got down" more consistently – I was there more consistently. I drove up sometimes for a day, sometimes to spend a night or two.   I made a conscious effort to go at least twice a month - sometimes more and every once in a while, less.  I don’t regret one single trip.

My only sister and I would let each other know too ... if we were going.  We'd try to meet there and visit.

On those times when it was just me, I had time to listen to Daddy.  Just sit with him and listen.
 
Unhurried. Sitting on his bed with him - looking at old westerns, discussing politics, actors he liked, watching infomercials. Talking about the Lord.

There were times we said nothing. There were times he talked about what I was like as a child and what I was like in high school. He reminded me how stubborn I was.  Sometimes both he and I would whisper an apology or two about things over the years.

Me? My disobedience. My ungratefulness.

Him? He told me he “reckoned he had teased me too much through the years about my Yankee husband.” I still remember his face and his words when he said with a grin, "I guess I just need to quit that.”
 
I told him how most of the time it was quite funny  . . . oh my, how I'd love to hear him tease me about my Yankee husband right now.

I often told Daddy how grateful I was that he was my dad. Did I ever tell him when I was growing up?    I just took for granted that he provided for me, that he made me sit in that swivel rocker when I was being a brat, that he protected me, that he was there.

So in these last three years, I made up for lost time. I told him how grateful I was that he led me to Jesus Christ. I told him how much I loved my happy childhood.

Good times.
 
One of my visits, well, I just didn’t want to forget it.
 
I wrote it down as soon as I got home.  This is what I wrote (I may have gotten a few details wrong but Mama can let me know) :
 
There we were - sitting in the room next to my 80-year-old Daddy and I asked him about the early years.  Not the early years in general. And not his childhood or teen years.  I asked him about his early married years – those years of his becoming a husband, becoming a dad, and what happened in his life for him to become so intentional about his faith.
 
He began to tell me. And as he struggled with some of the minute details of dates and places, we called Mama into the room.  Together, they told me their story.