A Mother’s Love


One of my favorite columns by Erma Bombeck tells of God in the act of creating mothers. She says that on the day God created mothers He had already worked long overtime. And an angel said to Him, “Lord, you sure are spending a lot of time on this one.”

The Lord turned & said, “Have you read the specs on this model? She is supposed to be completely washable, but not plastic. She is to have 180 moving parts, all of them replaceable. She is to have a kiss that will heal everything from a broken leg to a broken heart. She is to have a lap that will disappear whenever she stands up. She is to be able to function on black coffee & leftovers. And she is supposed to have six pairs of hands.”

“Six pairs of hands,” said the angel, “that’s impossible.” “It’s not the six pairs of hands that bother me.” said the Lord, “It’s the three pairs of eyes. She is supposed to have one pair that sees through closed doors so that whenever she says, `What are you kids doing in there?’ she already knows what they’re doing in there.”

“She has another pair in the back of her head to see all the things she is not supposed to see but must see. And then she has one pair right in front that can look at a child that just goofed & communicate love & understanding without saying a word.”

“That’s too much.” said the angel, “You can’t put that much in one model. Why don’t you rest for a while & resume your creating tomorrow?”

“No, I can’t,” said the Lord. “I’m close to creating someone very much like myself. I’ve already come up with a model who can heal herself when she is sick – who can feed a family of six with one pound of hamburger – & who can persuade a nine year old to take a shower.”

Then the angel looked at the model of motherhood a little more closely & said, “She’s too soft.” “Oh, but she is tough,” said the Lord. “You’d be surprised at how much this mother can do.”

“Can she think?” asked the angel. “Not only can she think,” said the Lord, “but she can reason & compromise & persuade.”

Then the angel reached over & touched her cheek. “This one has a leak,” he said. “I told you that you couldn’t put that much in one model.” “That’s not a leak,” said the Lord. “That’s a tear.”

“What’s a tear for?” asked the angel. “Well it’s for joy, for sadness, for sorrow, for disappointment, for pride.” “You’re a genius,” said the angel. And the Lord said, “Oh, but I didn’t put it there.”

Friends, That is motherhood. I Hope you remembered your Mom on her special day.

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Motor Mania


As a Pastor, I spend so much time in my vehicle, if I could write a country song just for Pastor’s, it would be, “Air Bag Angel”. I can’t count how many times my own celestial attendant has kept mine from deploying. Oh, not because of how I drive, but because of the Car-tastrophes that await me daily.

I am cognizant of scripture which tells us that every word that escapes our lips is written in Heaven’s Book of Life. But why must my heavenly aura be taxed by neanderthals behind the wheels of vehicles I meet each time I venture out?

In a span of five miles yesterday, three separate incidents tested my patience quotient. Pulling out of my church, a driver wouldn’t move up so I could make a right hand turn. It didn’t matter there was easily a full car length in front of her. All I needed was for her to move up one tiny foot. When I edged up to her bumper, all she did was look in her rear view mirror and belligerently sat there until the light finally changed.

Just one-quarter mile down the road, a driver whipped out in front of me and I had to slam on my brakes to avoid rear ending them. This was followed by a women who made a wide left to turn right. With her right blinker on, she then turned left. It was at this point that I wanted to pull my hair out. Except at my age coupled with my sparse out-cropping, I couldn’t risk the few strands I did possess.

Bad days behind the wheel are inevitable. A passenger in a taxi tapped the driver on the shoulder to ask him something.

The driver screamed, lost control of the cab, nearly hit a bus, drove up over the curb and stopped just inches from a large plate glass window.

For a few moments everything was silent in the cab, then the driver said, “Please, don’t ever do that again. You scared the daylights out of me.”

The passenger, who was also frightened, apologized and said he didn’t realize that a tap on the shoulder could frighten him so much, to which the driver replied, “I’m sorry, it’s really not your fault at all. Today is my first day driving a cab, I have been driving a hearse for the last 25 years.

As the story goes, I’m confident that each one of my readers could offer their own horror stories of incompetent drivers. It doesn’t have to be the three Q-Tips (what the younger generation calls residents there) driving side by side doing 30 in a 55 either. If you want that test, move to Boca Raton.

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I Need to Laugh


I can’t imagine a day where laughter couldn’t be a part of it. When I struggle with grief, or am overwhelmed with my day, I set aside these emotions to recall that one day of sheer happiness. I’m sure each one of us carries such a day in our hearts.

My memorable day was supposed to be infinitely more special for the couple I was serving. Our friends daughter was getting married and my wife and I were catering her wedding. The wedding was beautiful but the decorations in the reception hall lacked some pizazz. It was their choice, the couple chose to have black balloons in abundance all over the reception hall. Whereas my wedding consisted of festive pink balloons and streamers, this wedding seemed more suited for Morticia and Gomez of the Adam’s Family. Even the wedding gown sported a black shawl accent.

The father of the bride requested my assistance following the reception. He asked if I could take down all the balloons and decorations and dispose of them. Instantly I had plan for these decorations and it would involve our two and five year old son and daughter. Stuffing 50-gallon garbage bags with these “air-looms”, I carted countless bags of balloons home to our dining room where I re-released them. I have never seen a room so full in my life; it was waist deep. When our children arrived home and ran into the room, their squeals of laughter overflowed my heart. They ran, jumped, screamed, and giggled for what seemed like an eternity. Too this day, that overwhelming look of joy and laughter of my daughter has been eclipsed but once; her wedding day.

Savor the moments that leave you wide-eyed and breathless. Cherish the spontaneous laughter. As I age, I recognize these reflections of joy are my bridge. It is irresistible laughter that helps me span my lowest days as I travel towards the better ones.

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Romance After 50


When I get a chance, I love chick flicks. The kind of movies where young love blossoms into something real and meaningful. But now past the age of 50, I seem more like a spectator than a participant in the arena of romance. For me, the idea of romance is like visiting Old Williamsburg, Virginia and watching a colonial actor portray a craft that is no longer in great demand; a cooper, glass blower, wagon maker. We marvel that it can still be done, but the reality is, it will never be done well by me.

Romance after 50 is like dancing with a club foot; everything is awkward. Turn the lights down low, you’ll invariably stub your toe. Wear anything less than goose-down and flannel and you’ll shiver like you’ve crested Mt. Everest.

Planning for romance at my age requires charts and graphs that would make executing D-Day seem like a piece of cake. The room has to be the right temperature, the lights must be set so each person has the appearance of an anonymous informant in a confidential interview; just a shadow. I’ve heard that the perfect body is only a light switch away.

I decided since God was the originator of romance, I’d see what the “Good Book” had to say about the subject. I turned to Song of Solomon. As eye opening as it was, it didn’t help me much. I adore my wife, but I had my doubts about the way Solomon romanced. Telling your love that various parts of her body remind you of leaping young antelopes, I didn’t think that would help my cause. Besides, how much advice should I take from a man who had over 1200 mother-in-laws?

So tonight I was going to use my own skills from life. Skills that were honed over 29 years of marriage. It was going to be memorable, and it was. I would start with a romantic movie, the thermostat would be set on warm ocean breezes, the candles would cast their minimal glow, an extra blanket would lie ready at the foot of the bed just in case it was needed, and the radio was tuned too love songs. I had thought of everything except the execution of the plan. She had already seen the movie, this time the room was too hot not cold enough, I burnt my finger lighting the candles, and instead of a cuddle she wanted a hot oil back massage. Okay so I didn’t have the right oil. I did try to convince her unsuccessfully that Pam vegetable spray does say multi-purpose.

Alas, the planets weren’t aligned for romance tonight. It didn’t matter anyway because two minutes after my sad attempt, the love songs were usurped by a piercing weather emergency bulletin followed by tornado sirens wailing one-hundred yards from our bedroom window. An impending disaster was close at hand. How appropriate, that a tornado siren would be the swan song of my romantic skills.

Okay honey, what’s your plans on the 28th of next month? Next time can we skip the candles if we wear miners helmets?

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