I just realized that while children are dogs - loyal and affectionate - teenagers are cats. It's so easy to be a dog owner. You feed it, train it, boss it around. It puts it's head on your knee and gazes at you as if you were a Rembrandt painting. It bounds indoors with enthusiasm when you call it.
Then around age 13, your adoring little puppy turns into a big old cat. When you tell it to come inside, it looks amazed, as if wondering who died and made you emperor. Instead of dogging your doorsteps, it disappears. You won't see it again until it gets hungry -- then it pauses on its sprint through the kitchen long enough to turn its nose up at whatever you're serving. When you reach out to ruffle its head, in that old affectionate gesture, it twists away from you, then gives you a blank stare, as if trying to remember where it has seen you before.
You, not realizing that the dog is now a cat, think something must be desperately wrong with it. It seems so antisocial, so distant, sort of depressed. It won't go on family outings. Since you're the one who raised it, taught it to fetch and stay and sit on command, you assume that you did something wrong. Flooded with guilt and fear, you redouble your efforts to make your pet behave.
Only now you're dealing with a cat, so everything that worked before now produces the opposite of the desired result. Call it, and it runs away. Tell it to sit, and it jumps on the counter. The more you go toward it, wringing your hands, the more it moves away.
Instead of continuing to act like a dog owner, you can learn to behave like a cat owner. Put a dish of food near the door, and let it come to you. But remember that a cat needs your help and your affection too. Sit still, and it will come, seeking that warm, comforting lap it has not entirely forgotten. Be there to open the door for it. One day your grown-up child will walk into the kitchen, give you a big kiss and say, "You've been on your feet all day. Let me get those dishes for you."
Then you'll realize your cat is a dog again.

Before you were born, I looked at sleep as not a privilege, but a right. I couldn't survive on anything less than nine hours a night. But then you arrived and I quickly found that sleep was not as dear As the precious bundle of you in the night, nursing and snuggling near.
Before you were born, I did not enjoy children's diapers, spit-up and drool. But now you are here and I have discovered a basic motherhood rule. Spit-up is part of my daily wardrobe and I change six diapers a day. For a mother's love is great enough to take the 'gross-ness' away.
Before you were born, I loved the Lord and knew that He loved me. He sent his son for my sins to die at Calvary. But my understanding of God's love has only just begun: For now I know the pain it would cause to give up my only son. (Taken from Hearts a Home, April 1999, p. 13)
Sent to me by Donna 6-17-99

We are sitting at lunch when she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family". "We're taking a survey," she says, half joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?" "It will change your life," I say carefully, keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on the weekend, no more spontaneous vacations..." But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of childbearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable. I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die. I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation. I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think about her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is allright. I want my friend to know that everyday decisions will no longer be easy. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonalds will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs. I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My friend's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic. I wish my friend could sense the bond she'll feel with women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future. I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the bellylaugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts. My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I say finally. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my friend's hand, and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. The blessed gift of God - and that of being a Mother.

A poem by Elizabeth Elliot Leach Can be found at www.gatewaytojoy.org

When a boy or girl thrusts his small hand in yours, it may be smeared with chocolate ice cream, or grimy from petting a dog, and there may be a wart under the right thumb and a bandage around the little finger. But the most important thing about his hands is that they are the hands of the future. These are the hands that someday may old a Bible or a Colt revolver; play the church piano or spin a gambling wheel; gently dress a leper's wound, or tremble wretchedly uncontrolled by an alcoholic mind. Right now, that hand is yours. It asks for help and guidance. It represents a full-fledged personality in miniature to be respected as a separate individual whose day-to-day growth into Christian adulthood is your responsibility.

1. Your feet stick to the kitchen floor.....and you don't care.
2. When the kids are fighting, you threaten to lock them in a room together and not let them out until someone's bleeding.
3. You can't find your cordless phone, so you ask a friend to call you, and you run around the house madly, following the sound until you locate the phone downstairs in the laundry basket.
4. You spend an entire week wearing sweats.
5. Your idea of a good day is making it through without a child leaking bodily fluids on you.
6. Popsicle become a food staple.
7. Your favorite television show is a cartoon.
8. Peanut butter and jelly is eaten at least in one meal a day.
9. You're willing to kiss your child's boo-boo, regardless of what body part it happens to be on.
10. Your baby's pacifier falls on the floor and you give it back to her after you suck the dirt off of it because your too busyto wash it off.
11. Your kids make jokes about farting, burping, pooping, etc., and you think it's funny.
12. You're so desperate for adult conversation that you spill your guts to the telemarketer that calls and HE hangs up on YOU!
13. Spit is your number one cleaning agent.
14. You're up each night until 10 PM vacuuming, dusting, wiping, washing, drying, loading, unloading, shopping, cooking,driving, flushing, ironing, sweeping, picking up, changing sheets, changing diapers, bathing, helping with homework, paying bills, budgeting, clipping coupons, folding clothes, putting to bed, dragging out of bed, brushing, chasing, buckling, feeding(them, Not you), PLUS swinging, playing baseball, bike riding, pushing trucks, cuddling dolls, rollerblading, basketball, football, catch, bubbles, sprinklers, slides, nature walks, coloring, crafts, jumping rope, PLUS raking, trimming, planting, edging, mowing, gardening, painting, and walking the dog.
15. You get up at 5:30 AM and you have no time to eat, sleep, drink or go to the bathroom, and yet...you still managed to gain 10 pounds.
16. In your bathroom there is toothpaste on the light fixtures,water all over the floor, a dog drinking out of the toilet and body hair forming a union to protest unsafe working conditions.
17. You buy cereal with marshmallows in it.
18. The closest you get to gourmet cooking is making rice krispiebars.
Submitted by JM member Athena

"Mary will you work for me?"
Mary was studying her Bible quietly at her desk. A still, small voice began to speak to her. "Mary?"
"Yes, Lord?" Mary had been walking with the Lord and recognized His still, small voice, especially in His Word. "Mary, what if I were to ask you to go to work for me?"
"Oh yes, Lord." Mary answered anxiously. "To France, perhaps?" as she gazed at the globe on her desk, pointing a finger decidedly to Paris.
"What if I were to ask you to go to work for Me in an obscure place?"
"Ah, yes, Lord." Mary sat dreaming while moving her finger down a bit. "Africa. The jungle..." Her mind wandered to the missionary stories she had read, "perhaps where Elisabeth Elliot worked."
"Mary, what if I were to ask you to go to work for me in an even more obscure place?"
"Hmmm.. even more obscure. South America, Lord? or innermost China? or perhaps Indonesia? Is that what you mean, Lord?"
"Mary, what if I were to ask you to go to work for me in a home?"
"Ah, now I understand, Lord. A home for handicapped kids."
"Mary, what if I were to ask you to go to work for me in an obscure home?"
"An obscure home? Perhaps a home for orphaned children in Mexico or South America?"
"Mary, what if I were to ask you to work for me in your own obscure home?"
"Here Lord? Here? All I do here is scrub, vacuum, wipe noses, wash clothes, sing lullabies, pray with toddlers, change diapers, cook meal after meal, sweep and dust, stretch the money, mop and mop; oh, and then over and over the very same thing again, sometimes more in one day than I can count. This can't be the obscure home You mean, Lord!"
"Yes, Mary, this is the home. Will you do it for me? When you do it for the least of these, you do it for Me. Will you do it for Me, Mary?"
"No one is going to notice it, Lord, not even the ones I am doing it for. None of them really even care, Lord. Everything I do, they undo. And then I have to do it all over again. Don't you think Paris is kind of obscure?"
"Mary, I have chosen you especially for this work in this specific place. I have Leaders and Warriors being raised here. Will you wipe these noses for me, Mary? Will you bring your children up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, Mary? Someday I may send them out to places like China, Indonesia, South America, Mexico, and yes, perhaps even Paris. Will you do this work for me, Mary, in this obscure home of yours?" Spinning the globe gently, Mary bowed her head. "Yes, I will, Lord.
Yes, I will."
"I'll do it through you, Mary. Keep coming to me for your strength. It is a very big job raising My Warriors; but I will walk with you through it every step of the way. I will be your Helper, and I will be your Strength.

Why Mothers Cry

"Why are you crying?" he asked his mom. "Because I'm a mother," she told him. "I don't understand," he said. His mom just hugged him and said, "You never will!" Later the little boy asked his father why Mother seemed to cry for no reason. "All mothers cry for no reason," was all his dad could say. The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why mothers cry. So he finally put in a call to God and when God got on the phone the man said, "God, why do mothers cry so easily." God said, "You see son, when I made mothers they had to be special. I made their shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world, yet gentle enough to give comfort. I gave them an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times come from their children. "I gave them a hardiness that allows them to keep going when everyone else gives up, and to take care of their families through sickness and fatigue without complaining. "I gave them the sensitivity to love their children under all circumstances, even when their child has hurt them very badly. This same sensitivity helps them to make a child's boo-boo feel better and helps them share a teenager's anxieties and fears. "I gave them a tear to shed. It's theirs exclusively to use whenever it's needed. It's their only weakness. It's a tear for mankind."
5-6-99

1 Corinthians 13 for Mothers

by Lisa H.
If I keep my house immaculately clean and am envied by all for my interior decorating, but do not show love in my family - I'm just another housewife.
If I'm always producing lovely things--sewing, art;if I always look attractive and speak intelligently,but am not loving to my family - I am nothing.
If I'm busy in community affairs, teach Sunday School, and drive the carpool, but fail to give adequate love to my family - I gain nothing.
Love changes diapers, cleans up messes, and ties shoes--over and over again.
Love is kind, though tired and frazzled.
Love doesn't envy other women--one whose children are "spaced" better, or in school so she has time to pursue her own interests.
Love doesn't try to impress others with my abilities or knowledge as a mother.
Love doesn't scream at the kids.
Love doesn't feel cheated because I didn't get to do what I wanted to do today--sew, read, soak in a hot tub.
Love doesn't lose my temper easily.
Love doesn't assume that my children are being naughty just because the noise level is irritating
Love doesn't rejoice when other people's children misbehave and make mine look good.
Love is genuinely happy when others are honored by their children.

Sent in by Adriana Ramirez 11-9-98

One day a man comes home from work to find total mayhem at home. The kids were outside still in their pajamas playing in the mud and muck. There were empty food boxes and wrappers all around. As he proceeded into the house, he found an even bigger mess. Dishes on the counter, dog food spilled on the floor, a broken glass under the table, and a small pile of sand by the back door. The family room was strewn with toys and various items of clothing, and a lamp had been knocked over. He headed up the stairs, stepping over toys, to look for his wife. He was becoming worried that she may be ill, or that something had happened to her. He found her in the bedroom, still in bed with her pajamas on, reading a book. She looked up at him, smiled, and asked how is day went. He looked at her bewildered and asked "What happened here today?" She again smiled and answered, "You know everyday when you come home from work and ask me what I did today?" "Yes, was his reply." She answered, "Well, today I didn't do it!"

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