Monday, September 19, 2011

A Mom's Version of I Corinthians 13

"Grace and mercy is not your friend today!"

Those are the words I shouted this morning as the hustle and bustle started. Then I remembered that in everything I do, even in being a mother, I have to do it in love.
"And now these three remain; faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13:13 
If I live in a house of spotless beauty with everything in its place, 
but have not love, I am a housekeeper, not a homemaker. 

If I have time for waxing, polishing, and decorative achievements, 
but have not love, my children learn cleanliness, not godliness. 

If I scream at my children for every infraction, 
and fault them for every mess they make, 
but have not love, my children become people-pleasers, not obedient children.

Love leaves the dust in search of a child's laugh. 
Love smiles at the tiny fingerprints on a newly cleaned window. 
Love wipes away the tears before it wipes up the spilled milk. 
Love picks up the child before it picks up the toys. 

Love accepts the fact that I am the ever-present "mommy", 
the taxi-driver to every childhood event, 
the counselor when my children fail or are hurt. 

Love crawls with the baby, walks with the toddler, and runs with the child, 
then stands aside to let the youth walk into adulthood. 

Before I became a mother I took glory in my house of perfection. 
Now I glory in God's perfection of my children. 

All the projections I had for my house and my children have faded away into insignificance, 
And what remain are the memories of my kids. 

Now there abides in my home scratches on most of the furniture, 
dishes with missing place settings, and bedroom walls full of stickers, 
posters and markings, 
But the greatest of all is the Love 
that permeates my relationships with my children.

-By: Jim Fowler

Thursday, September 8, 2011

The Hand that Rocks the Cradle

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow—
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky—
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

By: William Ross Wallace

 William Ross Wallace, the author of this poem, was born in 1819. He passed away in 1881.

I have always wondered where that saying, "the hand that rocks the candle is the hand that rules the world" came from. Now I know.