"A lying tongue hates those it hurts, and a flattering mouth works ruin." Proverbs 26:28
Well, I certainly don't hate you, I love you. And I don't want to just flatter, I want to speak from what I've learned no matter how hard it is for me to do so, so here goes. . .
My mom stayed at home with my sister and me. We were not "rich" (by First World standards), but we always had what we needed. I remember my mom, opening her Bible, reading us the "Proverb of the day" (as she would call it) every morning before we left for school. I can't tell you how much my mom did for my spiritual life. My mom prayed for me and with me. She made us memorize Bible verses throughout our childhood. Every afternoon, she would be back in the studio, painting. We would go and sit on the couch and tell her about our day. Growing up, she encouraged us to "turn the other cheek," "walk the second mile," and all those other things we didn't want to do!
Before I left Aquinas, one of the Sisters said to me, in regards to our decision,
"You are the only person in the world who can be a mom to your children."
"Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house; your children like olive shoots around your table." Psalm 128:3
I knew that this is where God wanted me. I knew it. And let me say, this post is not about throwing a punch in the mommy wars. Not at all. I have to let you all know my belief in what I was doing. Because, as the posts go by you might be wondering, "What on earth was she thinking?" "Is she crazy?"
But, you see, God had me exactly where He wanted me, once again.
And as I was standing on the edge of the ocean, with a great storm about to approach, I was glad that I had tucked into my heart, the things my mom had sewn. From the sacrifices she had made.
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face trials and many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." James 1:2-3
I didn't know the depth of the trial or the faith that was required as I started to feel the wind on my face, and as I began to see the water start to stir.
This is my story. . .