“Yeah, I heard about it, Jos. Ashley’s Mom called and asked me if I’d let you.”
“So?” Will you let me, Mom?”
“Ah-ah, nope,” I braved an answer. I knew she would growl at me.
Jocelyn pouted. Sulked. Glared at me. “Why, what’s wrong with Spring Break Axe Mur...” she didn’t continue.
“You tell me, Jos.” My thirty- year-old wisdom in mothering Jocelyn hadn’t gone a long way since I was seventeen when I had her. But it was worth the try.
“Oh, Mom!” Jocelyn let out her usual tantrum. “I’m fourteen; I know what’s good and bad for me.”
“I suppose Tiffani, Ashley and all at the youth group who’ll be watching it believe the same thing?”
“ Don’t care what they believe.”
“I care, Jos.” I let out a sigh, hoping she’d understand. “I do care whom you associate with.”
“It’s only a movie, Mom”. Jocelyn slouched on the couch beside me. “They say, it’s kinda’ cool if I’d go and see it.”
“Wait here.” I tapped on her knee and prepared to dart into the kitchen.
“Mom, I gotta’ go! They’re waiting for me at Ash’s.” She’d whined and shuffled her feet under the coffee table.
“I’ll be there in a minute! I’ll just bring this choc mud cake I baked a while ago. Thought you might like to eat it with me.”
I craned my neck by the kitchen doorway. Jocelyn cupped her chin. Her pretty face drooped into despondent look of imagined imprisonment. She eyed the wall clock, which ticked away a chance at breaking loose from my clutches—her mother--if she dared.
“Here, your favourite,” I sliced a fourth piece. “Watch that special ingredient I put there.”
Her doomed pretty face changed. An I- wonder- what- Mom’s- up- to face lightened up a bit.
“Isn’t this your usual mud cake, Mom?”
“I put in some potting mix, and Collie’s poo to add darker shade. I ran out of choc’lit”
“Oh, Mom, d’yo expect me to eat this?”
“It’s only potting mix, and poo added to the nice cake. What’s wrong with it?”
“Yuck!”
“Spring Break Axe ... Murderer,” I braced myself for the real thing to say . Even though she’d be upset with me, I cringed my face and went on, “tell me what’s it like to sit there in the movies and taste and see all that rubbish?
Silence.
"I’m sorry, Jos. I’m not sold to this kind’o’ thing Friday nights at the movies with your friends at youth group.”
Her head hung, “I...I’ll call Ash, and tell her I’m not coming,” resolved Jocelyn.
“Thanks. I'm proud o'ya', Jos.”
“Oh, thanks, Mom.”
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
In The Hands of God, There's no Mistaking
Magnificent red gum framed the French doors which divided the indoors from without. In the south was the hall of books, the Library. The eastern doors closed in the parlour.
We had not sought refuge in those rooms that day in the warm spring Sunday of 1805.
Bermuda grass landscaped the courtyard. English-box and pansies hedged along the steps. Lavender, daffodils, and hyacinths scented the noonday air. At the rotunda, tulips of crimson and gold lined the stretch down the carriage port.
Leisurely lounging in the spacious granite-tiled patio; a lookout over the purplish hills in the west--consisted of our Sunday pleasure after church. Papa declared the familiar command that marked his handsome face, as he often addressed his daughters, my sisters.
"My daughters, it’s my best interest to see to it that each of you marries a man of not-the- common-sort.”
I caught Papa’s sober face on the matter. He creased his thick brown brows. Strength of will mandated the thin lips with superiority of wealth and fortune in his tone. He was earnest, but I mulled over about what he said. The man before me was a professing Christian, serving mammon.
"Not the common sort," he meant a handsome face, and possessed handsome pockets, with plenty more reserves. Hardly, true love existed--with the exemption to his rule of love in his marriage with Mother, who bore him four daughters, and me. Had he forgotten the day’s sermon?
‘Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness’
At thirty, I reserved my love. What about Nel? What would Papa make of her? I saw her gentle eyes in my mind from the horizon. Wisdom suppressed my lips as I caught my mother’s smiling gaze at me.
Mother knew. I had been keeping friendship with Nel, since the last autumn. Not merely close to a year that Papa would even consider marriage as he rested himself assured. Papa made certain that beauty and wealth suited his daughters and wife best. And at thirty, I gained Papa’s faith in me for a wife from our corporate business society.
Regina spoke, “Oh Papa, you’ve banked on earthly crowns, you’ve so well provided for us. You’ve made certain that we’re never in want. My sisters and I appreciate you.”
Biting her lips, fearing to be disrespectful, Reg found her words, "But Papa... a man thinks in his own heart, but the Lord directs his steps.”
“Dear Papa, would you consider the Giver of all? That what we now enjoy are... only a great part of His Hand which He handed to your care?" said nineteen-year-old Anne.
"Regina, my dear third-born-daughter,” Mr. Clair laughed. “What makes you so suddenly a sweet epitome of wisdom and knowledge? Why, you're not as half my age to be speaking such. At seventeen, and talking as such will not make you find a good husband—who will brave courtship with you-- for fear of converting him to your idealism of religion."
"Oh, Papa, pardon me and my manners. Self-conceit is the very nature of sin, and nothing else." Regina’s resolve to believe in the Redeemer brought tears of deep sorrow for her precious father who hung on to dear life.
"Come now, child. People from the Anabaptist church called in some time ago and spoke to your mother and me of these things. Fret not, little ones."
Mother’s careful lot to love and obey evinced in her gracious spirit. She had been careful never to oppose Papa. She often said to us, “The Creator of the universe cared for the sparrows; and He clothed the lilies of the field. The great king Solomon, even in all his splendor, was not arrayed like one of these.”
---
Unmingled with world’s wealth, Nel never questioned her state as a farmer’s daughter. At twenty-three, she still heard her mother nurture her children at her knees on the thoughts of God. Nel found rest in the Saviour’s mercies through her parents’ teaching.
There was no mistaking about my love. I had sought her father’s approval to marry his daughter. I waited until he let me seek Nel's hand to marry me.
The following Spring, I confided, “Will you be my wife?"
“I love you, Nel. I never doubted, not even for a second of breath in me that you are God's will for me.”
Our love engraved in the Rock of Ages.
The Hand of the Heavenly Father etched my name in Nel's heart. There was no mistaking!
We had not sought refuge in those rooms that day in the warm spring Sunday of 1805.
Bermuda grass landscaped the courtyard. English-box and pansies hedged along the steps. Lavender, daffodils, and hyacinths scented the noonday air. At the rotunda, tulips of crimson and gold lined the stretch down the carriage port.
Leisurely lounging in the spacious granite-tiled patio; a lookout over the purplish hills in the west--consisted of our Sunday pleasure after church. Papa declared the familiar command that marked his handsome face, as he often addressed his daughters, my sisters.
"My daughters, it’s my best interest to see to it that each of you marries a man of not-the- common-sort.”
I caught Papa’s sober face on the matter. He creased his thick brown brows. Strength of will mandated the thin lips with superiority of wealth and fortune in his tone. He was earnest, but I mulled over about what he said. The man before me was a professing Christian, serving mammon.
"Not the common sort," he meant a handsome face, and possessed handsome pockets, with plenty more reserves. Hardly, true love existed--with the exemption to his rule of love in his marriage with Mother, who bore him four daughters, and me. Had he forgotten the day’s sermon?
‘Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness’
At thirty, I reserved my love. What about Nel? What would Papa make of her? I saw her gentle eyes in my mind from the horizon. Wisdom suppressed my lips as I caught my mother’s smiling gaze at me.
Mother knew. I had been keeping friendship with Nel, since the last autumn. Not merely close to a year that Papa would even consider marriage as he rested himself assured. Papa made certain that beauty and wealth suited his daughters and wife best. And at thirty, I gained Papa’s faith in me for a wife from our corporate business society.
Regina spoke, “Oh Papa, you’ve banked on earthly crowns, you’ve so well provided for us. You’ve made certain that we’re never in want. My sisters and I appreciate you.”
Biting her lips, fearing to be disrespectful, Reg found her words, "But Papa... a man thinks in his own heart, but the Lord directs his steps.”
“Dear Papa, would you consider the Giver of all? That what we now enjoy are... only a great part of His Hand which He handed to your care?" said nineteen-year-old Anne.
"Regina, my dear third-born-daughter,” Mr. Clair laughed. “What makes you so suddenly a sweet epitome of wisdom and knowledge? Why, you're not as half my age to be speaking such. At seventeen, and talking as such will not make you find a good husband—who will brave courtship with you-- for fear of converting him to your idealism of religion."
"Oh, Papa, pardon me and my manners. Self-conceit is the very nature of sin, and nothing else." Regina’s resolve to believe in the Redeemer brought tears of deep sorrow for her precious father who hung on to dear life.
"Come now, child. People from the Anabaptist church called in some time ago and spoke to your mother and me of these things. Fret not, little ones."
Mother’s careful lot to love and obey evinced in her gracious spirit. She had been careful never to oppose Papa. She often said to us, “The Creator of the universe cared for the sparrows; and He clothed the lilies of the field. The great king Solomon, even in all his splendor, was not arrayed like one of these.”
---
Unmingled with world’s wealth, Nel never questioned her state as a farmer’s daughter. At twenty-three, she still heard her mother nurture her children at her knees on the thoughts of God. Nel found rest in the Saviour’s mercies through her parents’ teaching.
There was no mistaking about my love. I had sought her father’s approval to marry his daughter. I waited until he let me seek Nel's hand to marry me.
The following Spring, I confided, “Will you be my wife?"
“I love you, Nel. I never doubted, not even for a second of breath in me that you are God's will for me.”
Our love engraved in the Rock of Ages.
The Hand of the Heavenly Father etched my name in Nel's heart. There was no mistaking!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)