Books > Hugs for Mom > Excerpts

Chapter One

Nurturing Hearts

Cultivate faith, goodness, knowledge, self-control, perseverance, godliness, brotherly kindness, and love in your children. For if they are growing in these qualities, they won’t be ineffective or unproductive, and they will never stumble.

Love,

Your Living God

2 Peter 1:5–11, Jeremiah 10:10

Inspirational Message

You may not realize it, but you are a gifted gardener. Thoughyou may be incapable of keeping a simple houseplant alive, youare an accomplished gardener nonetheless. The soil you work in isnot of this world. No! It is the soil of the human heart.

Your children are your fertile field, and in their hearts youhave tenderly planted your seeds of love, joy, peace, patience,kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

At times, you have courageously protected your precious fieldfrom destructive and uninvited strangers. When spiritual orphysical disease threatened, you worked with bleeding hands tofree the roots of life from contaminants. You have nursed thewounds left by the violent storms of life. You have struggledthrough seasons of drought; you have celebrated at the sight ofunhampered growth. You have weeded, watered, plowed, and prayed.

In turn, you should know that your labor of love has not goneunnoticed. You are deeply loved and appreciated – not onlyby hearts you have tended and cared for, but by the God who madeyou the mother (and expert gardener) you are.

God bless you, Mom.

There never was a woman like her. She was gentle as a dove andbrave as a lioness . . .

The memory of my mother and her teachings were, after all, theonly capital I had to start life with, and on that capital I havemade my way.

—Andrew Jackson

Mother’s Cherry Tree

My mother loved all growing things. We had apple trees, peartrees, a grape arbor, a rose arbor, tulips, lilacs, irises, andan annual garden. The Merdocks, who lived directly west of us,had a large cherry orchard. Although they gave us all thecherries we wanted, my mother was determined to have her owncherry tree. Accordingly, one fall we planted (I say"we" because I dug the hole) a three-foot sapling.Mother fertilized, watered, watched over, pampered, and strokedthat tree until it was a wonder it didn’t die from too muchattention. It was amazing how it grew, and in its second springit actually blossomed and bore cherries – not enough to makea pie – but my mother was so proud of the accomplishmentthat she nearly burst. She even carried some of those cherries inher purse to show her friends.

We always shopped at the A & P grocery store in Royal Oak.Fortunately for me, just down the street was Frentz & SonsHardware. While my mother shopped, I wandered up and down theaisles of Frentz & Sons. It was a fascinating place. Greatbins of nails, rows of hinges, racks of shovels, balls of twine,smells of feed, seed, and leather goods, and a hundred otheritems all combined to make it a whole world in itself.Inevitably, I was led to the fishing equipment, then the gunrack, and finally to the knife display case. It was a woodencabinet with a glass door. I stood for long minutes gazing inwonder that there could be so many fine things to be had.

At the bottom of the knife case there was one item inparticular that attracted me. It was a belt hatchet – justthe right size for me. It had a leather case that could bestrapped right onto your belt for carrying purposes. I began topester my mother about it. One day she actually went in to lookat it, and I knew that my pleading was getting somewhere. It wasa long process, but eventually she bought it for me.

I remember going around the yard whacking on things. It wasexceedingly sharp. I whacked on old two-by-fours, I whacked on anold crate that had been sitting behind the chicken coop –but it was all very dissatisfying. I wanted something moresubstantial to cut. All of the trees on our place were far toolarge for me to tackle with my hatchet – all except one– the cherry tree. As preposterous as this seems, the ideawas probably enhanced by my school teacher telling us aboutGeorge Washington cutting down the cherry tree. Since George wasquite a hero, the idea of cutting down our cherry tree was aneasy step.

I guess that actually walking up and cutting it down all atonce was a little too much for me, so I decided to trim it alittle first. The result was that I left not a single limbintact. Our cherry tree was reduced to a forlorn looking,tapering rod protruding from the ground. Around its base lay apile of limbs with the leaves looking limp and sickly.

When I stepped back to survey my work, my conscience began speaking to me. You know, consciences are often the most useless things. When I needed it was before I started, but it was completely silent - didn't help me a lick. It never said, "John, you'd best think about this," or "Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Now, when it was too late to be of any use whatsoever, here it came - full blast. "Now look what you've done," it cried. Pictures of my mother fertilizing and watering, her proud tones as she displayed those first cherries to all of her friends - all flooded my memory and made me feel terrible

But what good did it do to feel terrible after the fact?

I put my hatchet in its case and wandered slowly into thekitchen. I had studied some on how best to approach thissituation and had decided that it would be to my best advantageto open the subject before it was discovered.

"I know a little boy who cut down a cherry tree," Ipiped in my most cheerful, winning voice.

My mother, busily occupied, replied, "Oh, I bet I knowwho it was. It was George Washington." She said it so niceand sweet that I was reassured and plunged ahead.

"No, it wasn’t. It was John Smith."

Right off, there was a noticeable change in both thetemperature and the atmospheric pressure in the kitchen. Mymother turned on me quickly, and her voice didn’t have anysweetness in it – or light either, for that matter.

"Did you cut down my cherry tree?" She grabbed me bymy left ear (she was right handed so her grip was better on thatside), and we marched out to the scene of the crime – withher nearly lifting me off the ground, using my left ear forleverage.

I would have gone anyway.

When she saw the tree, she started to cry; and since sheneeded both hands to dry her eyes, she turned loose of my ear– which was a great relief. It was a sad-looking sight– standing there like a little flagpole – but I thoughtthings might go a little easier for me since she was so sad andall. They didn’t. She whipped me with every last limb I hadchopped off that tree – whipped me till the limb was justshreds of bark left in her hand. I was afraid she was going tostart on the pear tree limbs, but she finally gave out. You know,a person is mortally strong when they’re aroused like that,and they also have an amazing endurance. It cheered me some tothink that she was using the limbs on me instead of the hatchet.

You know, my mother went right back to work on that cherrytree. She kept right on watering and fertilizing and caring forit. Anyone else would have given up. She willed that tree tolive, and it did. It grew and became a fine tree with only a fewscars on its trunk – to remind me of my folly.

Isn’t it amazing how things will grow if they get theright kind of attention? I strongly suspect that there’s alot of folks around right now who were at one time near to death– like mother’s cherry tree – because somethoughtless rascal started cutting on them, but now they’rehealthy and growing because somebody kept watering andfertilizing and loving them – and they lived.

In fact, I strongly suspect that’s what happened to me.Today, I am healthy and strong, with only a few scars to remindme of my folly and some folks’ attempts to trim me. And Istand here knowing Christ, because both he and my motherwouldn’t quit on me.

She willed me to live.

And I live as a result of her love and determination.