Life by Grace Alone

I am 68. I have 4 grown children and 8 grandchildren. Too often the younger generation acts like I can not relate to the struggles of moms of young children. Many years have gone by but many memories of those years have not faded. Recently I was going through my files in order to condense my collection. I came across an undated piece I had written reflecting on this time period Half my life I am drowning in a flood of partially eaten apples, usually unmatched socks stuffed between sofa cushions or peeking out under chairs and single pieces of toys waiting to cause pain as someone steps on them. The reunion of all these toy pieces back in their original groups seems like a dimly remembered dream. Little helpers stick dirty fingers in my futile attempts to accomplish something. anything. When dishes are finally clean and rooms are straightened, ("When is company coming , Mom?) clutter and confusion spring up like persistent weeds. How do I push back the flood? How do I help...

My husband Steve graduated from seminary in 1976. A short time later we traveled across country to what we thought would be an internship for Steve with one of the older pastors in the denomination. When we arrived the gentleman was thrilled, shook Steve's hand and drove back to his retirement home one hour away. Steve did get to see him and I'm sure he learned from him but it was not an internship. For Steve it was like graduating from an elementary swim class and then diving off the high dive. One of the first things asked of me was did I play the piano. Fortunately I had to say no. This was my first encounter with the stereotype of the preacher's wife. When we moved to our second church I was told soon after my arrival that I had to lead a study for senior women. I protested citing my lack of experience and my youth as reasons why I was not the appropriate choice. I wasted my breath and then I resigned myself to my new role. Let's see' the stereotype of the p...