My mothers hands

 I remember when I was a little child and looking down at my chubby little hands all soft and dimply, and seeing them held in, what I now realise where slightly more worn hands of my mother. I remember wishing I could grow up and have hands just like her, I thought as most children do that my mother was the most beautiful woman in the entire world right down to her fingertips. Now as an adult I look down at my own hands and recognise the same prominent veins that the doctors just love come IV time, and the same worn lines along my fingers. I don’t have her perfect non acrylic nails, and her hands are much smaller now then my own, but still the similarities are what make me smile, especially as I hold the chubby fingers of my own children and watch those hands little hands seemingly grow before my very eyes. I know now it really wasn’t her hands or her tiny waist, or her cheek bones which made my mother beautiful and gives her the same glow today in my eyes that she held when I was once a child. The things that make her beautiful are the memories of the all the baking and cooking done by those hands for little to no thanks, or the innumerable amount of times she cleaned up messes I left behind long after I had forgotten them, and the endless instances her gentle hands became firm not out of anger (though that sometimes too) but out of necessity, knowing that punishment is a just as an important form of love for children as cuddling if you wish to raise them into responsible adults. These same hands that wiped away the tears that ran down my cheeks caused from scrapped knees to broken hearts. And most importantly those those amazing hands that clasped together in countless prayers upon worn out knees spoken to the Saviour for my sake. These are the things that make my mother beautiful these are the things I now strive for in my own life. These are the words I hope my own children may say of me one day. I was blessed to have a mother who loved me not just the best way she knew how, but the trusting that the Lord of her heart and, the maker of the stars, the planets, and her precious children, could show her a much better way to love then her own. Thank you mom and all the other mothers out there who know the best way to raise your children, is on bended knee to God.

Prayer? What for?

God Created the universe, from the behemoths of the sea, to the tiny unborn  child within a mothers womb, he made your hair and knows each one, he made the sun the moon and the stars. He is the creator of the galaxies.
You, made pancakes without burning them once.
God knows and has determined the migration patterns of all creatures, from butterfly's to sea turtles, that they may move instinctively to support the continuum of life on this planet. he designed the intricacies of the human mind, and put together your form in perfect order that you may walk, talk, and think, without having to remember to breath.
You, once put a bookshelf together without reading the instructions (to be fair it was a Ikea bookshelf so thumbs up).
From Gods imagination came the oddities and complexity's of love, his mind sprung forth the zebra and the the giraffe, and that weird mole on your shoulder.From nothing he created everything.He set in motion the perfect plan to offer us salvation.
Your still trying to come up with a better way to dunk your Oreo.
In other words God is resoundingly more intelligent, inventive, and imaginative then we could ever hope in our wildest dreams to be, so why do we go helter skelter into all the decisions in our lives instead of getting down on our knees and waiting for perfection to guide us? Why do we tell that wayward relative all the things we think they should do, and offer all our unsolicited advice, instead  of bowing our heads and asking the creator of all hearts to change and guide theirs? What if we woke up tomorrow and took 5 minutes to talk with and praise God and then took 5 minutes to be quiet and listen to God? I think if we gave the one who created the world in 6 days 10 minutes he could change our world and I think that handing over 10 minutes would turn into 20 then 1 hour, then who knows maybe we would be able to listen to and be in communication with God all day, as we go about or lives. And I believe only he could imagine the possibilities of that.

Public notice: Common sense has gone missing

Common sense went missing today. He is well known for his long and harrowing battle against ignorance, which seems to be everywhere now.
Parliament was, and still is, unaware of his departure. Many of it members have yet to meet anything resmbling common sense. The universities, and feminist circles it once helped create, say they have not spoken to common sense in years.
As we seek out our  lost comrade we dwell upon it illustrious and thriving career, the fight for equality, and democracy, and also remember his valiant, though unsuccessful effort to infiltrate the NDP.
Yes common sense is gone, though its absense has been grossly un-noticed by the media, as Lindsy Lohan is posing nude for playboy, and the new Twilight is soon to be released. He will be sought after by his siblings common courtesy, and common decency (who are currently fighting thier own battle against the nursing home crisis) , also his long time friends and colleagues  charity, and compassion. Common senses dearest friend Justice (who is blind) is hoping to help in the seach efforts though he is busy putting out the ever increasing fires of his evil twin Injustice, who is wreaking havoc through-out the world.
Some claim to have seen common sense, though the claimes are being largly ingnored.
Many still cling to the hope that common sense will once again return to Canada though currently no one is holding their breath.

It's not the hardest job in the world

As I sit at my computer, writing on my blog, my kids play together in the living room. I will admit that they will probably make a mess that I will have to help them clean up later, but all and all it is pretty common throughout the day for me to have time to myself. Skip over to my husband, he is a welder who is on his feet all day and more often then not well into the evening, breathing in toxic fumes that will probably, give him cancer later in life. He sets his nose to the grindstone does his job with few complaints, because that is what he is expected to do, to provide for his wife and children. I get "I love you mommy", sweet faces that feel remorse when they have done wrong, and tiny balls of love to cuddle, to my hearts content. While my man trudges through a sea of foul language, blame games, and unreliable coworkers. Now I am not saying that Motherhood is not difficult, when done well it will be painful, as is anything worth the effort. I am not saying that if you at at a really stressful point in your parenting journey, you should just fake your way through it till your only hurting yourself and those around you, But this idea and trend in the world were we as women complain, and whine, like the annoying drip, drip of a leaky faucet is maddening. Sure its tough but come on, when that terrible two year old starts turning over a new leaf, and finally behaving like a normal human being, is there anything more rewarding. how about when they start saying please and thank you without prompting, or when your daughter looks at you and says "Mommy when I grow up I want to be like you", and your four year old son wants to marry you (anything after ten on this one though, you have some issues to need to address). I mean all my husband gets from his job is money. I get so much more. Yes some days are crazy and filled with one thing after another, but I would venture to say that most of the time for most mothers, there are tiny priceless gifts, given from precious little hands, mouths and minds, that are scattered throughout the day. So next time you think of demanding more and more and appreciation as a mother and tread down that wide and seemingly wonderful path of self pity, remember that, that mess you are cleaning up for the tenth time today was made by a child healthy enough to have the energy to to do so, that the kid who sits at the table and picks slowly and grudgingly at his food,is also a child you do not have to watch go without when all you can offer them is empty hands filled with love, as so many mothers around the world are forced to do.Finally the next time you start telling you spouse how difficult and miserable your life is, think twice and maybe thank him for how hard he works to provide for you so you can do, what is without a doubt, the most rewarding job in the world.

Once upon a time....

I remember a time in the first blush of youthful love, when the world was seen by me though rose coloured glasses of infatuation. How easily my mind looks upon my girlish self, describing to my friends how, my beloved and I conjoin so perfectly, how our natures are but one in the same, and how grateful I am that we complete each other so beautifully. I talk of how we share a fidelity in all things how our thoughts so complimentary, our common ground being of course endless.Sitting here pondering the words and beliefs of my youth, I can not help from thinking that I was above all things a idiot....
I can truthfully say I have a very healthy happy marriage to a man that I appreciate much more now then I could have ever appreciated through those so called rose coloured glasses, (also sometimes referred to as blinders) seeing as the boy I saw was merely my own work of hopeful fiction. Somehow I made myself believe, despite all my protestations to the contrary, that all the little annoyances of our dating relationship, would be smoothed away like wrinkles upon a bed spread, by time and my own gentle loving hand.
The problem here was that first and foremost my hand was neither gentle or loving, but more clumsy, and irritating, and before I knew it the bedspread was a crumpled stained smelly mess, filled with dirty dishes, never put away, wet towels upon the floor, and one sided conversations as I peppered him with questions when he got home from work only to be responded to with grunts and occasional one word answers, and I only seemed to be tearing away at in anger. I recall devising all sorts of  plans and schemes to change my spouse, and if I felt I was at the end of my creative resources, there was always a friend or two to place another plot within my mind. 
He would, or wouldn't do something that would cause me to be upset. I would in turn make a cutting remark, or try one of my many ploys, often to his amazement that there was anything wrong in the first place. He would then leave, and somehow in doing so only proved me in my own mind right. Eventually our marriage became more about revenge then actual love.
How did this all change you may ask? well...I had already cut off my nose to spite my face and was working on gouging out my eyes, when I read a book that basically told me to cut out my tounge instead (metaphorically of course), work on myself and actually try to understand my husband and stop trying to make him a woman, but instead appreciate him as a man. I read this advice and did something I rarely do I followed it and actually tried to change me instead of him. By taking my focuse off my his flaws I began to have eyes to see my poor bewildered husband, I started to relise why he pulled away, from what must have seemed to him a wife with a constant axe to grind and the sharp words to prove it. I was able to see that for years I tore away at this dear mans masculinity, ever willing to show him his faults, while being perfectly unaware of my own. 
Beyond becomeing aware of my own personal planks in the eye, I was rewarded for my efforts. When I stopped talking he finally was able to speak.I no longer asked him a thousand questions when he walked in the door, and lo and behold when coversation was not forced upon him he started to want to tell me about his day, and more then that I became to him what I once had been a safe comfortable supportive wife. And our home became happy.
Is my husband perfect well... no of couse not no one is, and do I get frustrated sometimes and forget my own higher ideals, well of course. But all and all I would say our marraige is on steady upward climb higher towards the pefect unity, which will only come on that day when the trump sounds and we are made perfect, by he who always was.

Sweet Repose

Late at night while the darkness falls upon our sleeping home like a newly overturned blanket cool and calming upon my skin. The heat of the day is gently pushed away, as  I walk about my house enjoying the quiet. Only the softest whisper of peaceful slumber, sways though the empty hallways, as though the walls have forgotten the shrikes of laughter, cries of childish anger, and sobbes of injustice, of the faces pressed against its corners.The floors remember not the sound of little feet shuffeling, pattering, and stomping, atop its flat hard surface. I as well set aside the sounds of the day, the stress and frustration  slipping off my shoulders, falling down among the unremembered reasons of my childrens arguments. How could I remain untouched by the angelic forms now silent in sweet repose? I can not, I place my hand upon thier warm heads,even now feeling thier innocet trust coursing through the tips of my fingers, strait into my heart. I speak a murmered prayer of thanks giving, and ask God in his wisdom to somehow make Craig and I worthy to giude thier tender minds ever towards him. 

Please and Thank-you?

We have all heard it "What did you get me?", "I want that", "Wheres our treat?". It should grate upon our nerves but more often then not we simply give into these demands and reward the attitude of entitlement that seems to prevail among our children.
 So I now pose this question. Do we give into the demands of our children to justify our own failure to be grateful? Let me clarify right now I am not hear to preach, I am here to confess.
For the last several months I have been taking care of a sweet, kind, lovely, little girl, three days a week. When she first came to us, she was very well mannered, and polite, but recently it has come to my notice that she has started to be more demanding, and unappreciative, at first I was surprised, knowing that the family she comes from would not allow that in their own home, and therefore was firm in demanding please and thank-yous. In doing this I began to relies that my own children were extremely lacking in minding their P's and Q's and it came to my mind that the reason this well mannered child I watch was becoming ungrateful, was perhaps due to my lack of consistency towards my offspring. Baring this in mind, I started watching myself and began understanding the ways in which I perpetuate ill manners in my kids. I began to listen for these words of gratitude, and was surprised at the many times I had to push them to remember to be polite. But beyond this I have discovered that an attitude of thankfulness is also wanting in myself.
Where does this all lead? Well to be quite frank, I don't really know yet. Right now I am in hopes that just being aware of the situation will help me to parent more responsibly but, how do I teach my little blessings that things, and stuff will not make them happy when, I myself am constantly wanting more? How do I give them gifts and have them conclued it is out of my love for them, not because they are necessarily entitled to said gift when I stuggle with giving thanks to God for all the much greater gifts he has bestowed on me? What will my children think of my loftly beliefs, when placed along side the hypocrisy of my heart, and inconsistency of my witness? I gather these are fairly deep thoughts for a wednesday afternoon, but I suppose that for right now the answer lay  in seeking after the the solution, and the resolution to do better is enough if followed by action.