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GOLD, COMMON SENSE AND FUR
My husband and I had been
happily (most of the time) married for five years, but hadn't been blessed
with a baby. I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that if He
would give us a child, I would be a perfect mother, love it with all my heart
and raise it with His word as my guide. God answered my prayers and blessed us
with a son. The next year God blessed us with another son. The following year,
He blessed us with yet another son. The year after that we were blessed with a
daughter.
My husband thought we'd been blessed right into
poverty. We now had four children, and the oldest was only four years old. I
learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant it. As a minister once
told me, "If you pray for rain, make sure you carry an
umbrella."
I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the
children each day as they lay in their cribs. I was off to a good start. God
had entrusted me with four children and I didn't want to disappoint
Him.
I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen
eggs on the kitchen floor searching for baby chicks. I tried to be
understanding when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in the spare
bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours to catch all twenty-three
frogs.
When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and
rolled up in a blanket to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the
humor rather than the mess.
In spite of changing over twenty-five
thousand diapers, never eating a hot meal and never sleeping for more than
thirty minutes at a time, I still thank God daily for my
children.
While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect
mother. I didn't even come close. I did keep my promise to raise them in the
Word of God.
I knew I was missing the mark just a little when I
told my daughter we were going to church to worship God, and she wanted to
bring a bar of soap along to "wash up" Jesus, too.
Something was
lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us everlasting life,
and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his "last
wife."
My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas
pageant. My
daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were
shepherds and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine.
My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped
in swaddling clothes." But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in
wrinkled clothes."
My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not
'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes." A wrestling match
broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent
her halo and lost her left wing.
I slouched a little lower in my
seat when Mary dropped the doll representing Baby Jesus, and it bounced down
the aisle crying, "Mama, Mama." Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up and
held it tightly as the wise men arrived. My other son stepped forward wearing
a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger and announced, "We are the
three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense and
fur."
The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant
got a standing ovation. "I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as
this one," Pastor Brian laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. "For the rest of
my life, I'll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common
sense and fur."
"My children are my pride and my joy and my
greatest blessing," I said as I dug through my purse for an
aspirin.
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