in the hard places,
and in the common places."
These are the words that I had spoken to a group of ladies
the day before.
The day before ... my common place.
Two of my daughters (with a combined total of five children) had spent the night with us,
and we were up early to ensure that all nine
of us would have a chance to get ready
in the bathrooms before church.
I was one excited mama because both of my girls would be leading worship for our church family that morning.
It was going to be a great day in the Lord!
I just knew it!
Praise tunes played on the radio while I applied the finishing touches to my hairdo. I turned the volume down when I realized that moans of despair were coming from downstairs.
It was the voice of my youngest daughter.
It sounded serious
It was the voice of my youngest daughter.
It sounded serious
– and very unlike her!
Much to my chagrin, when I arrived in the kitchen,
I saw my husband cooking breakfast ...
with spatula in hand.
He was staring in wide-eyed wonder at our
frenzied daughter ...
frenzied daughter ...
along with our 16-month-old grandson
who stood innocently batting his eyes
at his mother.
who stood innocently batting his eyes
Gabriel had, unbeknownst to her (or anyone else for that matter) helped himself into my spice drawer.
Had it been only spices, it would not have been a problem.
But, no! In his curious investigation, this little boy had discovered...
MY FOOD COLORING KIT
...much to his delight
... and to his mother's horror!
He had smeared cobalt blue all over his face,
... and to his mother's horror!
He had smeared cobalt blue all over his face,
(bringing out the sapphire tones
of his iris).
My eyes trailed from his face to his hands,
which looked like perfect indigo gloves!
"My! What a creative grandson I have!” thought I.
(Do you really believe this?)
My countenance changed, however, as I turned my attention to his mother.
My countenance changed, however, as I turned my attention to his mother.
She was not happy.
Her beautiful dress
(the only dress she had packed)
now sported several handprints, which were not a part of the original pattern.
She and I ran upstairs where she quickly disrobed and I went to work on getting out the food coloring.
(the only dress she had packed)
now sported several handprints, which were not a part of the original pattern.
She and I ran upstairs where she quickly disrobed and I went to work on getting out the food coloring.
Mission accomplished!
Porous fabric!
What a blessing!
All that was left to do was to dry the fabric with the hair blower which I had used moments before the catastrophe had struck!
Now, with happy and relieved daughter, I could get on with my morning preparation! Back upstairs I went.
But what should I hear next?
Another cry coming from downstairs ...
Another cry coming from downstairs ...
but this was the voice of a different daughter!
“What now?”
Tearing around the corner into our dining room,
I approached the crime scene!
Donning my imaginary Superman cape again,
I rushed to the rescue.
Tearing around the corner into our dining room,
I approached the crime scene!
It did not look good.
There sat eight-year-old Jordan in his brand new ...
white dress shirt!
Except now it wasn’t just white.
He had inadvertently
decorated the left elbow section of his shirt
with red ketchup.
RED KETCHUP!
We all know that red ketchup does not come out of brand new white dress shirts!
My heart went out to my daughter.
Desperate to alleviate her stress, I swiftly tugged the shirt over Jordan's head ...
and sped up the stairs to go to work on it.
With a little soap and good old-fashioned elbow grease ...
Walah! – the stain came out!
“Switch ... Whirrrr!” went the hair blower one more time!
Ahh! As good as new … and another happy and relieved daughter!
It was a crazy morning,
It was a crazy morning,
that morning at my house.
My husband and I don’t have nearly that much excitement
on a typical Sunday morning
Being a grandma takes me back to yesteryear when I had
five little ones at home.
Little ones who were making their own messes
... and the shrieks were coming from MY mouth...
in the hard places where life happens...
in the low places where springs flow.
in the emptiness of our nest!
Being a grandma is fun!
I like playing Superman!
Being a grandma takes me back to yesteryear when I had
five little ones at home.
Little ones who were making their own messes
on a Sunday morning,
... and the shrieks were coming from MY mouth...
in the hard places where life happens...
in the low places where springs flow.
In the place called "Common.”
