The only thing that has happened to sin is that people now, rather than affirming it by affirming it, prefer to affirm it by denying it… When they call me a sinner because I ought to know better than to affirm sin, they are themselves affirming sin. Though sinning itself is bad enough, denying sin is an additional sin, so that those who deny sin are actually double sinners.
John Gerstner

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Mother's Day Greetings 2003

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#1 · May 11, 2003, 12:01 pm

Posted by: homenews <homenews@...>

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HOPE CHEST HOME SCHOOL NEWS
MOTHER'S DAY GREETINGS 2003
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Dear Hope Chest friends,
 
Happy Mother's Day!  I thought you might like to read a few little gems I've come across over the years.
 
My husband Thad walked his youngest sister, Sarah, down the aisle as she married Callum Strayer last night.  I can just imagine him walking our own six daughters down the aisle (one at a time, of course!) in years to come.   Our oldest, Mary, was a very lovely junior bridesmaid.  It's been nearly sixteen years of motherhood already, and many more years to come until baby Ben leaves the nest!  I really can't think of anything I'd rather do in life!
 
My new motto is, "My mission on earth is to prepare myself and others for eternity in heaven."  I'm so glad that home schooling allows me to invest so profoundly in the lives of my own children to prepare them, not only for the rest of this lifetime, but for forever in God's presence.  My heart for the Hope Chest is to equip you to do the same.
 
Blessings,
Virginia Knowles
 
P.S. I'm going to go see the movie Time Changer at the Orlando Christian Film Festival soon.  This movie and several others are  free admission at the Regal Cinemas in Winter Park Village until Wednesday.  For more information, click here:
 
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E-Card to You from Me!
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G.K. Chesterton on Mothers
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“To be Queen Elizabeth within a definite area, deciding sales, banquets, labours and holidays; to be Whiteley within a certain area, providing toys, boots, sheets, cakes and books; to be Aristotle within a certain area, teaching morals, manners, theology, and hygiene; I can understand how this might exhaust the mind, but I cannot imagine how it could narrow it. How can it be a large career to tell other people’s children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one’s own children about the universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone? No; a woman’s function is laborious, but because it is gigantic, not because it is minute. I will pity Mrs. Jones for the hugeness of her task; I will never pity her for its smallness.” ~~ G.K. Chesterton
 
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“Motherhood”
by Jeanne Merrihew Lofgren
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My aunt sent this newspaper clipping to me several years ago, and it has always been a humorous encouragement.  I presume that it was written in the 1950s, and I sure would love to meet the lady who wrote it!
 
MOTHERHOOD, by Jeanne Merrihew Lofgren
 
“A Mother is a maker, a mender, a moderator, and a teacher.
 
She makes boxer pants and chocolate pudding, law and sometimes
order, castles, threats, promises and rabbit suits.  She makes horses’
heads from paper bags, little suits from big ones, new dresses from
old ones, sunsuits from kitchen curtains, small balloons from popped
ones, stew from nothing whatever.  She makes peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches, more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and peace when possible.
 
A Mother is a maker and a mender.
 
A Mother mends broken dishes and broken hearts, trouser knees, hurt
noses and hurt feelings, trouser knees, torn jackets and torn fingers, and trouser knees.  She mends old sheets, old rosebushes, old baby dolls and brand new trouser knees.
 
A Mother is a maker, a mender and a moderator.
 
She is a moderator in times of war --- civil war, verbal war, insurrection, minor skirmishes, attacks from the enemy; in times of strife, in times of injustice, in times of temper, in times of hairpulling.
 
A Mother is a maker, a mender, a moderator and teacher.
 
She teaches how to button buttons and how to say a prayer.  She
teaches how to hold a knife and fork, how to hang up clothes so they
sometimes stay hung, how to sit still in church.  She can teach a love of books and of music --- she can even turn child hearts to God. But almost never can she teach how to close a door without a bang or how to come in without bringing in mud.
 
A Mother can count.  She counts calories and blessings, pennies and
children’s heads in the car.  But she never counts sheep!
 
A Mother is immune to surprise --- whether it is a glass of water in her
desk drawer, a cat sleeping on fresh sheets in the linen cupboard,
worms in trouser pockets, good report cards, bad report cards, split
foreheads, split infinitives.  Nothing ever really surprises her.
 
But sometimes a Mother reaches despair.  The dryer won’t dry when all the clothes are washed and wet.  The baby bites the cat’s tail and is scratched for it.  Three-year-old dumps the tinker toys by the front door when you expect the minister to call.  The baby screams for attention - soothing medications must be halted while Mother sprints to a relentless doorbell.  There stand two neighborhood children to report, “Your baby is crying.”  Six-year-old after forty-five minutes cannot spell “what”. 
Eight-year-old dashes in to say he forgot, but it is his turn to take
cookies to his meeting today.  Fingerprints all over the house loom
suddenly vivid.  The ragged edge of the rug seems suddenly dreadful.
Three-year-old won’t go outside.  The cat won’t come in.  The gelatin
won’t jell.  The sun won’t shine.  The stew sticks and the pudding boils
over while the phone rings on and on and on.  And with it and above it
and through it all comes, “Mommy, come and see --- Mommy, come and see”, incessently, monotonously, unendingly from three-year-old.
 
Mother leans chin on broomhandle and mutters, “Next time I’ll raise
chickens, Lord.  Children are just too much.”
 
Then ten-year-old crashes in --- rough and ready, all boy --- to confide,
“Mommy, at Cub Scout meeting we had to list the five things most
precious to us, and I did:  One, God; two, love; three, America; four,
babies; and five, sunsets.”
 
Suddenly the baby’s eyes seem very blue, six-year-old recites from
memory the entire 23rd Psalm, which is better than spelling “what”,
fingerprints retreat again.  Daddy walks in.  Really life could not be
richer.  It is a glory never to be bartered.
 
Dear Lord, keep the chickens.  I’ll carry on for now.  And thank you
--- from the bottom of my heart.”
 
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