Delirious with Fever

--an incident when I was in 4th-5th grade:

I'd been outside playing, & stopped to come inside and lie down on the bed, so my head must've really hurt, 'cuz that never happened before. When my Dad first came into the room, I'd been pressing the pillow to my face-head and moaned it hurt--I think I was given medicine then. By the time he came in the next time, my fever had shot up, and I was delirious, groaning, tears streaming down my face, banging my head up & down on the pillow. Daddy took my hand, sat down by the bed, and said, "SHHH. Stop that." Out of habit to obey, I remember I stopped crying and banging my head on the pillow. "Close your eyes. Now go to sleep." Again, out of habit, I closed my eyes, fell asleep. I don't know how long it took. I just know Daddy sat there and held my hand until I did. And when I woke, the fever was gone so completely, I was outside running around playing again.

"For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, fear not; I will help thee." (Isa. 41:13)

As part of the program for Daddy's Birthday Banquet years ago, we all sang "Happy Birthday" to ourselves, to each other, Daddy saying we all should be GLAD we were born. We have a loving Heavenly Father Who not only "borned" us but longs to give us abundant life, Who wants to see us happy, Who lays on blessings thick for our enjoyment (being Christian hedonists), Who "holds our hand"and stays by our side when we are helpless and hurting. What a God!

Eyes in the Back of Their Heads

Do mothers really have eyes in the back of their heads? I used to wonder, really wonder. Why couldn't we ever outsmart Mommy?

During kindergarten we had a friend who liked to come over to our house and play. Mommy allowed and even welcomed this, but it was a rule that she had to go home first and tell her mother where she was, of course. We children couldn't see the sense of that; why bother, we thought. But it seemed our playmate's words "I've gone home already" never fooled Mommy; somehow she always knew if she was lying about it.

Aha! We figured it out. It was 'cuz our friend would leave her schoolbag at home if she told her mother where she would be playing but would bring it over with her if she came straight from school. The BAG was giving it away! So the next time she came over, she left her bag outside, against the wall of the house. And that worked, for awhile. Until that is, Mommy had to take out the trash or bring in the laundry....

We had to come straight home from school. No trips to the candy store, no rides on buses with friends, no unsupervised activity until we had come home first. Woe be to us if Mommy or Daddy found out we had done otherwise! It didn't occur to us that they were concerned for our safety. One thing was clear: they were trying to drill into us obedience and honesty.

Curdled Milk

Eat everything that's put before you, was my mother's teaching, and she stuck to it firmly. Perhaps it had something to do with growing up in a large family during the last few years of the Depression, when limp noodles were the norm and white rice was a delicacy. At any rate, we were never excused from the table until we had eaten up whatever was on our plates.

We--as children always do--invented all sorts of ways to get away from that rule. Sometimes we asked to use the restroom and flushed the offending foodstuff down the commode. At other times, I finished eating first and crawled under the table to receive spoonfuls of vegetables from my siblings (I had the least amount of dislikes, it seems) who pretended to eat up their meal. Mommy was aware--as mothers always are--of what we were doing, I think, but she never let on that she knew.

One afternoon, as I once more crawled under the table to receive handouts from my sisters, I noticed...a cup...with a whitish-yellowish pudding-like substance in it...with a rather foul odor. I realized then it was a cup full of spoiled milk; I'd left it there after my last under-the-table escapade, and Mommy, disavowing any knowledge of my actions, had left it there (even while she wiped up the floor around it) to curdle! What could I do but take the mugful of putrid stuff to the sink and admit my crime? Children may be mischievous, yes, but Mothers can be "consternating," too!

Mothering Experience

"What's it like to be a parent?" I once asked Mommy. She didn't reply right away.

"It's...it's a GOOD EXPERIENCE;" she finally answered, "it's an experience I hope my children will be able to have someday." And she smiled.

Back. I really thought it would be only a few months, but the post on the "Sugarcane Castles" blog tells why it took a year. So much happened--good stuff to share too--I'm sure God will bring to mind whatever He wants communicated here.