God Knows Our Foolishness

Thursday, Aug. 15, 2013

O, God thou knowest my foolishness; and my sin is not hid from thee. Let not them that wait on thee, O Lord God of host, be ashamed for my sake: let not those that seek thee be confounded for my sake, O God of Israel. Psalm 69:5 & 6.

Thursday is my day to bake. I have baked bread and given the profits to missions since we moved from the mission field in Mexico. I go to bed the night before planning my baking day schedule. And, sorry to say, I often get up ready to get into the dough. I say a hasty prayer.  I read a verse or two in the Bible but I don’t take time to meditate on it.

A couple weeks ago, in prayer meeting, Marie Benson exhorted us to take time for meditation on God’s Word. That if we  gobbled it down it will not do us much good, just as gobbling down our food does not do our body as much good as when we relax and eat slowly. I promised myself that I’d do better. I called her the following day and thanked her. “It was just what I needed to hear.” I told her. Since that time, I have taken more time reflecting on God’s words.

As I was getting ready for bed, Wednesday night, I was planning Thursday’s schedule. I would need to finish baking early enough to tidy up the house, bath and be at the airport by 8:00 p.m. We were to pick-up Maria, our granddaughter at the OKC airport. Maria, along with others, was returning from a month long trip to Kenya, Africa. There they helped with a construction project for the Huruma Orphanage Centre.  (Her picture laying bricks is on my first post.)

I promised myself this Thursday would be different. I got up early so I’d have time to do things right, read my Bible and reflect on its meaning.  However, something distracted me and before I knew it, I was mixing whole wheat bread. By 10:00 o’clock, I have four loaves of banana nut bread baked and eight loaves of whole wheat bread ready for the oven. That was wonderful but soon the day turned chaotic. The cinnamon roll dough was too moist and hard to keep in round shapes, I forgot to put almonds on the Sabbath bread, and some of the cookies burned. I struggled through the rest of the day. By 1:30, I was exhausted, when usually I can keep working into late hours. However, God who is always merciful, sent volunteer help. The baking was finished and kitchen clean by 3:30 p.m.

After the helpers were gone, I picked up my Bible to read, and guess what, I fell asleep. When I awoke it was time to make supper. Since my husband, James is not well; I knew it was now my obligation to prepare a meal, so I did. When the meal was finished, it was time to get ready and go pick-up Maria at the airport.

I f I’d had a smart phone, I might have gobbled down a bit of God’s Word while riding to the airport, in that way eased my conscience a little. As it was, I had to admit that I had broken my promise to God..

After returning from the airport,  I opened my Bible to-- you guess it, Psalm 69:5 O God thou knowest my foolishness, and my sin is not hid from thee. My prayer that evening, was, “Lord forgive me for making the foolish mistake of putting my other things before you. I am thankful you are merciful, loving and forgiving. Please, don’t let what I do hinder those around me, for I know others are watching my life. Help me be a better example. I don’t want others to be discouraged in You.”

   

A Surprise Birthday

Wednesday, March 6, 1962, two weeks after we moved to Baja California, Mexico

“Mommy,” said Bobby, as he was dressing for bed. “I’ll be six years old tomorrow. Are things ready for my party?”

All through the day I had been wondering how I would explain to Bobby that there was absolutely no money for a cake or present for his birthday.  “Honey, I am very sorry but we have not been able to get you a present---

“What? Don’t stores in Mexico have toys and things?”

“Oh, Yes. Of course there are plenty of things to buy but- but – we have no money right now.” He looked so sad. I clenched my jaws to keep from crying.

“Is my birthday going to be worst than this last Christmas? Why can’t things be like they used to be when we had fun birthdays, picnics at Stony Creek Park and Christmas with everybody? I don’t like moving, away from everyone, Rada, Cecil, Rudy, and---.” He began sobbing.

I sat down on the bunk bed beside him. I put my arms around him, and he laid his head on my lap. I also remembered those good times in Orland, California.  Because we did not live near either mine or James parents, we had for the past five years celebrated Thanksgiving with three childless couples and (sometimes their lonely friends) from the church we attended. Two couples, Bro and Sis. Rudd, also Rada and Cecil counted themselves as grandparents to our children. Rudy was the brother of Mary Ellen, who had lived with us since Tim’s birth. Rudy stay at our house a lot to play with Bobby.

Whenever possible we spent Christmas with either my parents or James’s dad. Sometimes we enjoyed both at the same time. This last Christmas we were all alone in a small cabin on the church campground in Pacoima, CA. There were a few small presents but not the usual kind, nor the royal family feasting, playing games and so forth.

Finally, Bobby stopped sobbing and looked up. “You will make me a cake won’t you? And I can invite Lallo and Juan to eat with me?”

I prayed to myself- Oh, Lord, how can I tell him, that I have no sugar, eggs or butter to make a cake? We all slept in the same room because it was warmer. I got up and finished making our bed, which was a mattress on the floor between the two bunk beds that were pushed tightly against opposite walls. Tricia and Rosi were asleep in one and Tim lay asleep at the other end of the one on which Bobby sat.  God I know all things are possible. You supplied for Tim to have a beautiful birthday just three weeks ago and you can do the same for Bob.

“Why don’t you answer me?” Bob questioned. He dangled his feet picking up one side of the cover on our pallet. “You are going to make me a cake, aren’t you?”

I hurled our pillows to the other end of the pallet, and sat down beside Bobby.  “I’m sorry Bob, but I have no sugar, butter nor eggs with which to make a cake. Lay down and I will tell you a story.”

“I don’t want to hear a story.” He pushed me away.

I slipped out into the kitchen and put on my pajamas, then sat down cross-legged on my mattress. I couldn’t talk for crying, so we sat in silence. The rain was falling in torrents outside. Cold wind blew into the little room through cracks around the door and windows. The fire in the round heating stove in the corner of the room had die down in order to save the scant wood supply. “Come on, get under the cover,” I pleaded.

He did, then looked up at me and asked. “Are you sure God sent us here?” 

“I think He did. Your dad fasted and prayed three days before he decided this was the place God wanted us. Things can’t always be as we would like. We have food to eat and this place out of the cold rain. God will supply for us. Remember God sent a raven each day with food for Elijah. But Elijah had to suffer, too. The King’s men were hunting Elijah to kill him, that’s why he was hiding in the mountains. Elijah too, may have wished for different food than what the raven brought. We too may not always like what God does but remember He will take care of us.”

Bobby wiped his eyes and said softly, “Okay.” Bobby wanted to please Jesus and said often that he wanted to be a worker like Timothy in the Bible. In fact, he had asked that his little brother be called Timothy after the Bible character.

“Try to go to sleep now,” I whispered and kissed him. “I hear the car so Daddy is here.”

“Sorry I am so late but it took a long time to get the neighbor’s car out of the ditch. This clay ground is like slime and yet it sticks like glue. It’s like the soil in Southern MO.” He slipped off his muddy shoes and clothes near the back door. Got into his pajamas and came into the room. “What? Isn’t Bobby asleep? Looks like he’s been crying?”

“Well, we are feeling pretty sad because there is not money for his birthday.”

“Why, when is his birthday?”

“It’s tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes, I know. Well, things could be worse. I was just visiting with Tomas’ sister, Marie. Her baby was crying because she was hungry and she had no milk.”

“You didn’t give her the cans of milk in the car?”

“I gave her one can.”

“Rosi drinks one can every day. What will she do after tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was all we had. I couldn’t carry away milk and leave a baby crying of hunger.”

Poor James did all he could to comfort us but it all seen in vain. We had forgotten that Jesus said, “Take no thought for tomorrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.”

I covered my head so Bobby couldn’t see me crying. I could hear him sobbing until he went to sleep. James wrapped himself in a quilt and sat down on the pallet at my feet and began reading the Bible. I never moved but I could hear him reading. “Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble.” (Ps.41:1) “Therefore take no thought, saying, what shall we eat? Or what shall we drink? Or wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) For your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Take therefore no thought for the norrow; for the norrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Matthew 6:34.

He prayed a while quietly them got under the covers. Soon he was snoring heavily.

I pretended to be asleep. Secretly I was wishing I could trust God like he did. I wondered if he thought cans of milk would come falling out of the sky like the manna in the wilderness? His growing up years living with a minister father who sometimes traveled as an evangelist had given him first hand experiences seeing God meet needs. I supposed it was like foundation stones in a building. He had told me about his sister, Esther fifth birthday.

She wanted a doll buggy. One of those strong iron ones like was made in the thirties. There was no money for such a luxury and their mother had explained this to Esther so she wouldn’t be too disappointed. On March 3, the day before her birthday their mother Ella Mae took Esther to visit Sis. McMain. Esther was playing with her doll while the women visited and prayed together. Before leaving, Sister McMain asked, “Do you have a buggy for your doll?”

“Yes,” Esther answered.

While going home on the city bus, Mother scolded Esther for telling a lie. “But I’ve been praying for one and Jesus is sending it,” Ester answered.

The following morning, when James and His brother David were returning from delivering the morning newspaper to their customers they saw a doll buggy in the alley behind their house. James hurried into the house wrapped Esther in a blanket and carried her to the alley. “There is my doll buggy,” she squealed.  Mother was sure some little girl had accidently left it there. She sent the boys over the neighborhood. They asked at every home about the doll buggy. No one claimed it. Truly, God had sent the buggy. Could it be possible that at this late hour God would arrange things so Bobby would have a happy birthday?

I had grown up on a farm in Oregon. Our presents were bought with hard earned money. In the summer and fall we stored away enough food to last until the coming harvest. I was very uncomfortable having only enough food for a few weeks, much less for only one day. I turned from side to side until I finally fell into a restless sleep.

Sometime later, we awoke to loud knocking on the front door. “Jaime! Jaime!” Someone was shouting.

“Quien es?” (Who is it?) James muttered half asleep.

“Yo soy Jose. (I am Jose) Aqui esta Smeet. Smeet.” The voice answered.

“It must be Bro. Smith,” I said.

“Ah, you’re dreaming,” James answered.

But he realized it was true when he heard the familiar voice of Harland Smith. He jumped up and jerked open the door and shouted, “Get in here out of that rain.”

 “It is pretty wet out here and the door doesn’t have a porch,” Bro Smith said as the two men stepped in. Then in his usual polite way he added. “I hated to come in on you so late, but I started as soon as I got off work. It rained so hard all the way so I couldn’t drive very fast. How is everyone?”

“We are alright. But how did you find us?”   

“I really didn’t know where to start, no address, no phone. When we came through last weekend, I asked but no one knew of a new American family in town. However, all day while at work I kept thinking I must come and find you. The longer I worked the more I was convinced that I must come tonight. I prayed all the way for God to help me. Back up the road a little ways, I saw a man bent over as if struggling to stay afoot in this awful storm. I stopped and offered him a ride. We talked just a little and then I realized he was the man you brought to Pomona to get your things. He lived next door. Of course he guided me right here.”

“Thanks Jose,” James said shaking his hand. Jose said good night and left.

“It was a real miracle that the timing was just right for you to meet Jose,” James said.

“Yes, God does all things right. We just have to listen and follow him.” He said, as he handed James some letters. “There are more boxes in the pick-up. I’ll get them out in the morning.”

The minute I heard Bro. Smith’s voice I knew God had not forsaken us. He had sent help. If there are living angels, Harland Smith was one. His face had a radiance, which gave the impression of being divine. In his presence, burdens vanished; fear and discouragement lost their control. There was an influence going out from him that penetrated into the hearts of others, giving them a new determination to go for God, no matter the cost. I had many times felt heavenly power when he prayed. “But why had I been so discouraged a few hours ago,” I thought. “Oh, God, please forgive me!”

Before the children awoke, the men had unloaded the boxes. There were two packages for Bobby, one from Rada, another from Mary Ellen. Another box was full of groceries. It contained cans of evaporated milk for Rosi, a box of cake mix, eggs, and confection sugar for frosting.

I lay the cheerfully wrapped presents on the bed beside Bobby. Then I bent over, kissed him and said. “Wake-up, Bobby. It’s your birthday! Go invite Lalo and Juan to share your cake.”

Our First Day Living in Mexico

I slammed on the brakes and bit my lip to suppress a scream. A black station wagon dashed in front of me, slowed almost to a stop and made a left turn. Monetarily I lost sight of the brown Chevy panel truck that my husband, James was driving. He was guiding me through this maize of narrow pothole filled streets. I had heard people joke about Tijuana drivers but I never dreamed it could be this bad.  It was my first time driving in this Mexican city just south of San Diego, California. Besides being my first, I was maneuvering through rush hour traffic with only one free hand.  Our ten-month-old daughter, Rosi was asleep on my left shoulder. If I stopped to lay her down, I’d lose my guide.

It was near six o’clock Friday evening, February 23, 1962. Heavy dark rain-clouds cause darkness to set in early. The lights of the city were now behind us so all I could see was my guide’s taillights. Often they disappeared around hairpin curves or dipped into sharp inclines. Nevertheless, the darkness was a blessing with a gray face.

We were not just going on a mission vacation and would soon be back to our usual life. We were leaving behind the familiar comforts of America and planning to live in Mexico for years to come. To make matters worse we had only $10.00 and not a promise of another penny. Perhaps Rosi’s crying was because she had sensed the tension in my emotions as we crossed the international border.

It must have been about 8:00 o’clock when James pulled off the highway beside a tiny deserted house surrounded by knee-high weeds. He came back to my car and said, “Well this is the place. Let’s just sleep in the cars till morning.”

“Okay, just tell me where the bathroom is? We gotta go.”

“Hu, hu, its right there, that little shanty. Here’s the flash light.”

I shivered. Partly from the cold, partly from what I might find in that creaky out-house. I thought we had come to the end of the earth. There was not a light anywhere. Surely if there were houses around we could see at least a candle lit. Not one. I put Rosi in the back seat near her brother Tim who had turned two just one week ago. Tricia and I went to the outhouse. With the flashlight, I surveyed its interior. There were spider webs in the corners full of dead flies, so I knew some fat spiders was lurking somewhere in the darkness. But the spiders were not as bad as the stench. Tricia our little princess covered her nose and cried. I hugged her, my tears dropping on her blond hair.

In the car I held her tight as we listen to the rain beat on the metal roof of our brown 56 Chevy station wagon. A thousands thoughts raced through my mind.

What had we got ourselves into? Were we completely crazy? How could I convince James to go back? I had promised James I’d be a missionary with him eight years ago. We were standing on a pier in Redondo Beach, Cal., when he had asked, “Will you marry me and go with me across the ocean?” The evening was so romantic, the hum of the waves on the rocks and the moon shining on the water. It sounded so exciting.”Yes,” I answered.

 I envisioned James and I boarding a ship with our family and near friends standing on the dock giving us a big send off. People in the church would be standing behind us with their blessing and financial support. We would have money for travel expenses, a decent place to live and other basic needs. So we married a year later on December 26, 1954 at my home church in Jefferson, Oregon. Eight years later with four children, we were going on the mission field.

Where was the big send off, I had imagined? Where was the mission station prepared to receive us? We had already promised our only money, ($10.00) to rent the tiny house James had located.

Before we could go, James had to serve the country. At that time, all men over 18 had to serve two years in the military unless they objected for conscience sake. If accepted they were classified as “Conscientious Objector” and  were put to work at something to help our country in place of being placed in the military. Only a few who applied received it. James had lived a Christian life through school and on his job at the Chevy dealership so he was accepted and allowed to work at any nonprofit organization. Through the help of another conscientious objector he found a job with the Goodwill Industries in Santa Anna, CA. He drove a truck that picked up donations from June 1955 through June 1957. Bob our oldest son was born while we lived in Santa Anna.

He finished this work requirement and we moved back to Orland, CA. where we had lived the first six months after our marriage. While living in Santa Anna, a banker (who knew the family had disintegrated because of the mother’s death in a car accident) notified James that his father’s old home was in foreclosure. The new owners had defaulted on the mortgage. We had a small savings so paid off the loan and moved into this house.  We sold the little house on Chapman St. and bought a larger one on a half acre lot to fulfill my dream of an orchard, and gardens. We soon remolded adding a new kitchen, bath, living and dining area which almost doubled the size of the house. We needed the space for Tricia, Tim and Rosi were born in those five years.

 Soon after Rosi was born, Bobby came down with the mumps. Two weeks later James had them. While flat on his back with mumps God began talking to him about his calling to the mission fields. Everyone in the church encouraged us to go.

During the following four months, I fought many spiritual battles. I walked the floor trying to die to my dreams; the future of my children (education, etc), a comfortable home, orchard, and vegetable garden. I rubbed my hands over the smooth kidney shaped eating bar that surrounded a cooking unit. I kissed the stools where our children sat to eat. I patted my sewing nook and said, “I hope the next person enjoys you as much as I have.” It seemed like pulling my teeth to leave this lovely new home. By God’s grace, I made it though. We rented our home for the mortgage payment and started for Mexico.

We were confused about where to go for some advised going to El Alamo and others thought we should move to Santa Catherina. Both these mission station had a small well-furnished house. Finally, after two month staying in the church campground cabin and in homes of friends, James began fasting. He went to the mountain to hear from God. Three days later when he came back he said, “God said ‘Go to Rosarita’.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Rosarita.”

Geneva Hite, the friend in whose home we were staying, spoke up. “We have been praying that God would send someone there, because the Esquire family had just moved there and they need someone to disciple them. Here I’ll show you where it is.” She got her map and unfolded it on the table. “There it is,” she said, “right on the ocean. The government has just built a hydro-electric plant out at the edge of town and many people are moving in.” She was so excited I just had to believe that God had really spoken.

 We waited another week or so hoping some offerings would come in for our relocation. But none did. Bill and Geneva Hite made regular trips out into the desert of Baja California with Harlan Smith. James went with them a couple times and they left him off in Rosarita to find a house for us. Nothing turned up except a possibility of a little shanty for $10.00, located three miles north of town.

We were restless by now. Living with four children ages five and under in another’s home isn’t exactly a piece of cake. Children are naturally prone to accidents and curious. It kept me busy from morning til night just keeping then out of things or cleaning up after spills. One morning we had about all we could take, it was time to act, so when the children found money in a thrown away sofa out back of the Hite’s home we took that as a sign that God would supply our needs. With this money, we put gas in the two vehicles and started out. How different all this was to what I had envisioned that night on the pier when I promise James I’d be a missionary.

I grew up on a farm in the Willamette Valley, near Salem OR. Dad never tried “to keep up with the Jones” but our 9 by 10 pantry was stocked with food each summer. There were shelves from floor to ceiling filled with jars of home preserved fruits, vegetables, jams, jellies, pickles and meats. What a contrast to the life of faith we were undertaking. Pure, true, adventure it was! It was like trying to climb Mt. Everest without previous training - - at least for me. James had had a little experience living by faith. His dad was a minister and sometimes they lived purely on offerings. Yes, this was real adventure! Not exactly what I wanted, however that’s why I married James.  I saw it as an opportunity to work for the Lord,  to use my energy for souls. I dream was to go into new territories and raise up believers. Although I wished to work for the Lord, I was feeling like running away.

 Instead of floating on a ship, I was cramped up in a car, trying to sleep in a rainstorm. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I dozed off.

The sound of men talking awoke me. Opening my eyes I saw two Mexicans talking to James, Bobby stood beside him shivering in the cold wind. The house was a shack.  How glad I was that we arrived in the night. At least I had a little rest before laying eyes on my future ‘dwelling’.

James came over to the car. “I’ll go pay the rent and see if I can get a key for this place.”

Thankfully, the three younger children were still asleep so I laid my head back and began praying. “Oh Lord, please increase my faith. We have only a few days food supply.” Suddenly I remembered reading the biography of Dwight L. Moody. His father had died shortly before his mother gave birth to twins. She was unable to work so the children had to hire out for their room and board. Dwight and his brother cared for a man’s cows all winter in exchange for a place to sleep and only mush to eat. I got the point. “Yes Lord, we have enough corn meal for a couple weeks. What will we do after that?” My mind began thinking of other miraculous thing I had read. God could do anything. There were plenty of fish in the ocean, wild animals in the hills not far away. Oh Yes, ‘ the cattle on a thousand hill are his.’ I’m sure You will give us one whenever our family needs it won’t you God?”

I looked up into the blue sky. Yes, I was serving an awesome God who had control of everything. I got out of the car and stretched. Looking about me I saw a field of golden California poppies bobbing their heads as if welcoming me. And there were Texas blue bells, and sun flowers, and several other flowers that I couldn’t name. I could hardly believe the beauty before my eyes. I turned to look in front of the little house. There across the field, the blue waters of the Pacific stretch out as far as the eyes could see. And on either side of our “would be home” were several houses each facing the narrow highway. At least I would have neighbors. This wasn’t the end of the world after all.

When James returned he said, “I have good news. The owner said we could just live here and fix up the house for him. He will buy all the materials.”

We went inside and to our surprise, there was a good propane cook stove. “A stove!” I shouted, ‘That’s all we need. We have a table, our beds and everything else we need.” In shamed, I covered my face and cried. God had supplied all we needed.

“Say, I’ve got a propane tank you can use,” said Jose, our new neighbor. “The contract on the tank is dos centos pesos ($20.00) but this way you will only pay for the propane which is about $4.50.”

We hadn’t eaten a decent meal since yesterday morning so while they went for the propane, I started hunting through boxes for pans and dishes. That is when I realized I hadn’t washed my hands and had been to the bath room twice. Wipes were not for sale in those years. And there was no water. Yucky was hardly the word to describe how I felt.

The kids were awake now and Tim and Tricia needed to use the toilet. The smell of the “out-house” was horrendous. I gagged while I held each child over the hold. For a moment, I was wanting to forget adventure and to fly back to the states to a clean bath room that flushed and had a lavatory and bar of soap.

When I came out of the toilet, I heard a strange loud noise. Looking around I saw a boy rolling a fifty-gallon barrel toward me. “Para Agua,” the boy said, pointing to me.  I pointed to myself. He shook his head, “Yes”. I understood. The barrel was for me. I remembered in childhood my mother kept a barrel like that under the eaves at the corner of the house. In it she caught the rain that fell from the roof. She said rainwater was soft and better for our skin and hair. When a child I used to wonder, how could water be anything but soft? It always felt soft to me.

“Look! Look!” I called to the children. “A skinny man driving a bony horse pulling a cart is coming down the road.”  The boy ran out and spoke to him. Then the man pulled right up to our back door where the boy had placed the barrel. He climbed into his cart, poured a bucket of water in my new barrel and rinsed it. Then he poured bucketful after bucketful of water into my barrel. When our barrel was full, the boy gave the man some money. Now we had water!

Then what to my wondering eyes should appear? Two women were coming toward me; one had a broom, the other a mop, two large boys with hoes over their shoulders and machetes in their hands and three teen-age girls carrying rags. Grass and weeds were two feet tall everywhere except around the neighbors houses and drive ways. The women explained in sign language they wanted to help. The boys began slicing away the grass nearest to the house. The girls and women went inside. They swept down the cobwebs and dust, which had collected on the rough board walls. They washed the windows, the stove and mopped the floors of the three small rooms. We looked like an anthill preparing for winter.

The men helped James unload the boxes, our one chest of drawers and set up the  bunk beds. They screwed the iron legs on the home made table we had brought. When the work was finished our wonderful new neighbors bid us good-evening and left. Only the children stayed. They took Tricia out into the field and brought back a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers which we placed on the table..

That night when we said our evening prayers, the fears of the night before seem far away. 

A Mother’s Watchful Eyes

“The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself will bring his mother to shame.”
Proverbs 29:15.

y mother’s watchful eye kept me safe in my childhood, when I was playing hide-in-seek with neighbor children. I dashed Minto an abandon “out house” to hide; before I got the door closed a teenage boy jumped in beside me and locked the door. He proceeded quickly to get me to undress. I refused. He wasn’t taking “no” for an answer. Right when I felt most helpless my brother Jim banged on the door and shouted loudly “Open-up.” My mother watching from our house a good distance away had seen what happened. She called my brother from his hiding place to come and rescue me. A similar incident happened when I was either ten or eleven years old. Again, those watchful eyes saved me, from permanent physical and emotional damage.

How grateful I am for those watchful eyes. These experiences along with many others built faith and trust into my life. I knew someone loved me enough to be watching me. I learned I could trust that person. I knew I was special to them. That helped me to feel secure, to feel loved.

As we grew older and were away from home, my mother often reminded us that she could not always know what we were doing, but God’s eyes were watching and we’d have to suffer the penalty for misbehavior. It was easy for me to believe that God was watching. I grew up thinking my mother had eyes in the back of her head as well as in the front. It seemed she always knew what I was doing. No matter how secretly I acted, I got caught. It was natural for me to believe I would reap the consequences of my behavior (both good and bad). Under my mother’s watchful eyes, I had been experiencing it for as long as I could remember.

This careful watching also caused me to be cautious about my behavior. “You can’t do wrong and get by no matter how hard you may try. Nothing hidden can be everything He does see. You can’t do wrong and get by.” The words of this song rang true in my heart. Why did I feel the truth in that song? Mother’s eyes had often caught me when I misbehaved.

What a difference in other children’s lives. Many do not believe that anyone knows what they do. They seldom have had to “face-up” to wrongs they have committed, so they also have little fear of the consequences. I often ponder the void that must be in the hearts of children whose mother’s do not watch them carefully or who are not with them during their waking hours.

Some mothers who are with their children seem not to observe what the children are doing. Others ignore their children’s actions so they will not have to deal with them. I will confess, it is easier, at the moment, to ignore unacceptable behavior. I’ll admit to having yielded to such temptations, and have reaped the result of this lethargy. Reaping is embarrassing and often painful.

Is it easy for a mother to keep an eye on a family of children? No, a thousand times no. However, if mothers could look down the road into their children’s lives and see the pain they could save themselves and their children by watching over and training them in their formative years perhaps it would help.

Was it easy for my mother to keep an eye on me? Certainly not! I was a hyperactive child, full of energy, running here and there from early morning until night. They tell me that as soon as I could walk, I was climbing. One day Mother heard me calling, “Lookey at me horsey.” She went outside, and found me straddling the smoke house roof. It’s still a puzzle how I got on that roof.

Some old wise sayings helped me through those years when I struggled to be diligent about keeping a watchful eye on my children. One was, “Nip it in the bud.” The bud is just a little knot on a branch. However, it has the ability to become an enormous branch from which sprout many limbs. Buds show there is potential power, power to bring forth flowers, leaves, or branches on a tree. To keep a tree from having low branches we pluck off the buds and no branches will grow in that place. If we pinch off flower buds, no flowers will appear. Children are developing habits as they grow. If we encourage good behavior, good habits will grow like flowers to brighten the child’s life. When the possibility for a bad habit first shows life, a parent should pluck off the bud by not allowing the behavior to continue. That will stop the development of that habit.

Take stealing for example: a stealing habit is preventable if young children are disciplined for stealing from siblings right in the home. Nip any habit, (disrespect, talking back, wastefulness, anger, laziness etc.) in bud form before it grows strong enough to control your child. In years to come you will be thankful, and you won’t find yourself standing in a courtroom wringing your hands as you helplessly watch your child being escorted away to prison. Pr. 16:32 “He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.”

 “A stitch in time saves nine,” is another old saying that helped me. Mothers mended their family’s clothing back in the olden days, before it was fashionable to wear ragged clothes with unsightly holes. Sewing up a small tear was easy and took only a few minutes. If the rip was left untended, it would soon be large. Repairing it would take nine stitches to one compared to the small tear. Children’s behavior is somewhat the same. Those little acts of stamping feet, arching the back, slapping, taking a siblings toy, or speaking a defiant “no” can be corrected without severe discipline, however if left unattended, a habit will develop that could take much time and effort to break.

Another wise saying is, “As the twig is bent.” This is relating to forming good character in children. A tree will seldom grow straight without protection. In forests, the surrounding trees protect the young ones from strong wind. In fields and yards, men drive stakes in the ground and connect the young tree (the twig) to these stakes so the young twig will grow straight. Since good character cannot be developed by being tied to a straight stake. The parents’ constant vigilance (watchful eyes) is needed to protect the child from evil influences that could develop into a depraved character.

Mother and fathers must also perceive that evil influences come from within as well as from without. Every child is born with a self-preservation personality. The more this personality develops, the more self-willed the child will become.  Selfishness causes problems of many sorts, two are unhappiness, and rejection by others.  A parent can help their child enormously by teaching them how to deal with these inter desires.

In years gone by, children and young adults arose and offered their seats to elderly persons, gentlemen and boys gave their sitting places to females. Today selfish children will ask an adult for their chair. Teaching a child to offer their seat to another person is one simple way to help develop a respectful, unselfish character, neither does it damage the child by giving him the feeling that he is not as important as the other person. Instead, it will cause the child to feel better about himself. (The praise and admiration he will receive from others serves to develop a better self-image.)  Teaching respect for others, is teaching principles of God. “Before honor comes humility.” “Do unto others as you would that they do unto you.” “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”

At what age should we start nipping the bud of unacceptable behavior? While the baby is still in your arms is the best time. When he or she arches his back in rebellion; that is the time to begin correcting this developing habit of “having things my way.”  When the baby in your arms screams at you when he doesn’t get what he wants, that is not the time to guess what he wants and try something until you satisfy him. It is your opportunity to “nip in the bud” a habit that could destroy your child’s character. You must be careful to use these opportunities. If you don’t correct this habit, some day his or her blood curdling screams will be heard across the super market. That will be embarrassing. On the other hand, it could be disasters when he or she is making important decisions for life and your advice is not accepted. Parents should realize that what seems like “innocent” habits can develop into monsters. When this happens, the child cannot be the person he or she wants to become, because some habit was allowed to grow until it is controlling him.

Bad controlling habits remind me of the Kuszu vine that was introduced into the U.S. around 1875. In cold northern climates, it can be contained in favorable growing conditions. However, in the warm Deep South it has covered 7 million acres of land, killing many trees, covering, abandon vehicles, buildings and whatever is in its path. I believe that over 7 million young people are suffering (many in prison) because no one kept a watchful eye on them when they were in their formative years; and therefore they developed self-destructive habits.

We thank God for mothers who will sacrifice their personal goals to attend to the children God has put in their care, also for fathers who support these mothers and provide life’s necessities so that mothers can be with their children. Remember: “The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself brings his mother to shame.”Proverbs 29:15.

Your Mission

If you cannot on the ocean

Sail among the swiftest fleet,

Rocking on the highest billows,

Laughing at the storms you meet,

You can stand among the sailors,

Anchored yet within the bay---

You can lend a hand to help them,

As they launch their boats away.

If you are too weak to journey

Up the mountain, steep, and high,

You can stand within the valley

While the multitude go by,

You can chant in happy measure

As they slowly pass along…

Though they may forget the singer,

They will not forget the song.

If you have not gold and silver

Ever ready to command,

If you cannot toward the needy

Reach an ever-open hand,

You can visit the afflicted,

O’er the erring you can weep…

You can be a true disciple

Sitting at the Savior’s feet.

If you cannot in the conflict

Prove yourself a soldier true,

If where the fire and smoke are the thickest

There’s no work for you to do,

When the battlefield is silent,

You can go with a careful tread.

You can bear away the wounded,

You can cover up the dead.

Do not then stand idly waiting

For some greater work to do;

Fortune is a lazy goddess,

She will never come to you

Go and toil in any vineyard,

Do not fear to do or dare.

If you want a field of labor

You can find it anywhere.

~Ellen Gates