The Quiet House
On our last field trip to Salem I overheard a young “mother of many” sighing. With managing her tribe, homeschooling, housekeeping, afternoon sports and all, she lived in constant activity. Of course she wondered how life would be when the children were grown and she’d have hours of quiet to herself. You know, the kind of quiet where you aren’t concerned about what they’re up to since they’re so quiet!
I just smiled. “It’s pretty nice.”
I don’t hear my foster daughters’ giggles any more, but the memories are sweet. I don’t wonder if nail polish was just spilled on the carpet or if the youngest made it to the toilet in time (and remembered to close the door).
The laundry gets all the way done, folded, and put away now. And meals are what Jerry and I like. I can call my mother and arrange to spend the afternoon shopping for my niece’s bridal shower gift with her – and spend as much time as we need. I can linger with my arms around my Dad and tell him how important he is to me. They get more of my attention now, which they so patiently waited for all these years.
Thank God for the changing seasons! When I was younger than 50, I enjoyed His blessing on my endeavors. When I am older than 50, I enjoy His blessing on my new endeavors. I still lean hard on His arm when I am weak or disappointed. I continue to look for His direction when I’m bewildered. He is still my closest friend in the night. He alone comprehends my joy when I look into my grown son’s eyes. These things will not change, but He is faithful to bring me through changes.
Switching gears here, I need to mention Chris in Mauritania. He was killed this weak by Al-Qaeda, shot down in the street by extremists who exalted that they’d taken care of an infidel for Allah. He leaves behind his wife and 4 children.
My son and his wife knew them in the late 1990s, and I saw on Facebook yesterday that there are many people praying for Chris’ family as they return to the states.
To share the news of God’s love with others is worth the risk. I am so glad that there are people like Chris who took that risk for me.
Hold them, Jesus.
+++++++++++++++++++++
I just smiled. “It’s pretty nice.”
I don’t hear my foster daughters’ giggles any more, but the memories are sweet. I don’t wonder if nail polish was just spilled on the carpet or if the youngest made it to the toilet in time (and remembered to close the door).
The laundry gets all the way done, folded, and put away now. And meals are what Jerry and I like. I can call my mother and arrange to spend the afternoon shopping for my niece’s bridal shower gift with her – and spend as much time as we need. I can linger with my arms around my Dad and tell him how important he is to me. They get more of my attention now, which they so patiently waited for all these years.
Thank God for the changing seasons! When I was younger than 50, I enjoyed His blessing on my endeavors. When I am older than 50, I enjoy His blessing on my new endeavors. I still lean hard on His arm when I am weak or disappointed. I continue to look for His direction when I’m bewildered. He is still my closest friend in the night. He alone comprehends my joy when I look into my grown son’s eyes. These things will not change, but He is faithful to bring me through changes.
Switching gears here, I need to mention Chris in Mauritania. He was killed this weak by Al-Qaeda, shot down in the street by extremists who exalted that they’d taken care of an infidel for Allah. He leaves behind his wife and 4 children.
My son and his wife knew them in the late 1990s, and I saw on Facebook yesterday that there are many people praying for Chris’ family as they return to the states.
To share the news of God’s love with others is worth the risk. I am so glad that there are people like Chris who took that risk for me.
Hold them, Jesus.
+++++++++++++++++++++
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