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Loving Hands: “A Tribute to Moms”

150 150 Debi Moses
Hands of Love

Hand of Love

And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.” Mark 10:16

“Well, bless your heart,” is a Southern saying for sure, and one that has graced my ears throughout the years. After skinning my knee while chasing my brothers, I would run into the house with tears running down my cheeks, and mom would always say, “Well, bless your heart,” as she gave me a hug, followed by a trip to the medicine cabinet to get the Mercurochrome to clean my “devastating” injury before placating me with a Barbie Band-Aid. That red magic potion would burn like the devil, but she gingerly blew on my knee to help take the sting away. She would lovingly pat my little stubby hand, and I truly believe her touch did the healing. Mom’s youthful hands gradually became spotted with age and eventually disfigured with arthritis as the years went by, but the love she gave with her priceless touch never diminished.

It wasn’t until I slowed down long enough to examine my new blue nail polish that it came to me, “I’ve got my mother’s hands!” The vivid memories came flooding in, and I thought to myself, “This is one sign of maturity that I truly don’t mind.” I realize the appearance of my hands is not a flaw at all — it’s a gift!

When I look at my hands, not only do I see Mom’s hands, her smile travels across my mind. I hear her exuberant claps as she proudly applauds following my lack-luster recitals. I see her holding her trembling hands high up in the air, wearing her crooked cowboy hat, as she played banker and handed over all of the bank’s money to her grandsons, wearing their bandana masks, before they rode away on their stick horses. I see her sitting in her chair, lovingly stitching with her hands each square of material, as she made the many quilts we have cuddled in throughout the generations. Even today, I can still feel the warmth of her hands leaving her body as I held on to them tightly, selfishly not wanting to let her walk away into the arms of Jesus. I was truly blessed by her hands, her touch, and her love.

Now I get to share the blessings of mom’s hands with my grandchildren. Taking walks holding on to their soft little hands, folding my hands into “prayer hands” as a little one says the family prayer, and even taking a squirmy fish off of a hook is the best way I know to pass on the love. At the end of the day I get my reward when bath time comes, and I get splashed with bubbles from little ones as they play with trucks, sheep, cows, and whatever else may find its way into the tub. Being baptized and blessed by a grandchild’s love is the very best.

Jesus took the little children in His arms and touched them and blessed them. Little children, mature adults and even those pesky teenagers need a loving touch. The joy of a mother is taking our children into our arms, reaching out when they need a hand to hold, or clapping to encourage even the worst performance. That is our joy. If you’re not with your mother today, remember her touch, breathe in those treasured memories that will make your heart sing and feel the many blessings that Jesus gives each of us. If you are with your mother, walk over to her and just sit closely and hold her hand. Blessing her with your touch is the best gift of all as you celebrate her day.

Pray with Me:

Dear Father of Loving Hands,

You reach out to us and hold us so many times as we walk our days. Thank you for giving us the women in our lives who molded us by their touch.

Reaching out to You

Points to Ponder:

Mothers come in all shapes and sizes and come and go in our lives, and I was blessed to have three wonderful mothers whose hands touched my heart and soul. My mom, Lanore Austin, who gave me life, my precious mother-in-law, Mary Frances Moses, whose hands taught me how to needlepoint and make a great chocolate pie, and my other mother, Billie Johnson, who came into my life in the form of a friend, and created joy wherever she went.

  1. Who are the mothers in your life?
  2. If you can’t name one, is there someone in your life who needs a child?
  3. What’s your favorite memory of your mom? Share it with someone and continue her story.

I’ve Been Framed

150 150 Debi Moses

“…steadfast love surrounds the one who trusts in the Lord.” Psalm 32:10

I’ve been framed, and thank goodness Some One bailed me out!

As you walk around our warm, cozy home and glance at the cheerful golden painted walls, you can truly see the story of our lives.  Snippets of fleeting moments in time during our lifelong journey have been forever captured and memorialized in frames.   Through the years there has been no rhyme or reason as to the next amazing tidbit of life that deserved a piece of non-glare glass with an inviting frame surrounding it and keeping it safe.  Autographed baseball cards, brightly colored scribble-art from a preschooler’s class, a treasured letter written by my mom, and even an invitation to our wedding have all donned our walls at different times.  I’ve hung Christmas cards, crosses, pages from an old Bible, and at one time my prize wall adorned framed post cards from our travels.  Now my most prized gallery holds our sons’ wedding pictures, with a spotlight on the new king of the family, our precious  grandson.

The passage of time can easily be seen as the boys grew into men.  Years are registered by my trendy hairstyles, but Mike always looks the same.  I don’t understand men and their ability to have the same hair no matter what their age.  They may have more or less, but in reality it’s the same.

What is my obsession with glass and wood?  Perhaps it’s a feeling of stability from the wood, clarity from the glass, and a steadfast love that resonates through me as I gaze at the treasured centers of the frames.  As I look with clarity into the joys of days gone by, I fully realize that while the pictures contain treasured memories, they no longer define me.  From the day I was born, my life’s experiences, my joys and sorrows were events that framed my life, but those events didn’t define who I am.  When the day is done, only one thing can be found in the center of this human frame, and that is my relationship with the Holy One.  His steady hand has always guided me, and His steadfast love has always been in the midst of my being.  He is the center of all things, and I trust my Father to define me.

My faithful Some One is continually bailing me out of the jail of life when I forget to look beyond the familiar edges of old frames and move forward to walk the path He has planned for me.  I am becoming a true follower of Jesus, one who only asks, “May I sit with You and feel Your steadfast, never changing love?”

George Eliot said, “It’s never too late to become what you might have become.”

Hey, does anyone have a frame?  I have something new to hang on my wall!

Points to Ponder:

1. What is in the center of your frame?

2. Do you feel God’s steadfast love? When?

3. Are you who you want to be? Are you who God has planned for you to be?

 

Pray with me:

Dear Some One,

You come to me and help me to feel that you are the core of my being. Help me to soak up  Your steadfast love as You surrounds me as I walk each day with you.

Caught in the middle

 

 

 

Lightening Bugs

150 150 Debi Moses

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith, and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.“  Ephesians 2:8

Through His grace God captures and claims us as His own just like kids do with lightening bugs, butterflies, or even grass snakes.  I have vivid memories of the boys in our backyard during the summer as they captured lightening bugs in a mason jar and claimed them as their very own.  They asked the daunting question, “How does this bug have a light on its tail?”  We quickly discovered that if you catch enough of the awe- inspiring insects and put them in a jar, the boys had their own personal flashlight as they ran around the yard on those summer nights.  Yet we were dismayed to learn that the longer they were in the jar, their magic began to fade as the lack of oxygen affected their sparkle.  Those wonderful little mysteries of life would gradually sink to the bottom of the jar, and the once joyful flashlight became a tomb for the unsuspecting little lightening bugs.  Then one night the “old wise one” whom we called “Dad” came along and showed us how to poke holes in the jar lid, which allowed the lightening bugs to breathe once again.  They no longer beat themselves against the sides trying to escape but paused, taking in the merciful air that sustained them, kept them alive and rejuvenated the flashlight.  After all the excitement was over, the boys moved on to the next source of mayhem, like a water balloon fight.  That is when Grace, in the form of a mom, quietly stepped in to take the lid off the jar, and the innocent bugs flew away into the peaceful summer night.

Unlike the lightening bugs that must fly around and light up the summer night sky to catch our eye, we don’t need to perform marvelous wonders in order to receive God’s love or attention. Grace is unsought, undeserved, and unconditional love from God.  Our precious Father pursues us like we do the lightening bugs, always providing us with the much-needed oxygen.  However, rather than capturing us in a jar, he awaits our surrender and then gives us abundant blessings.  As we live in God’s merciful grace, He forgives us our sins and accepts us. Paul tells us in Ephesians 2:8 to accept the gift and share it with others.  Show them mercy and let them see God’s grace.  Yet, sometimes the jar of life steals my sparkle, and I begin to act like the lightening bugs and beat my wings against the jar, as I try to force my way out and earn my freedom into the fresh air. My fervent prayer is that whenever I see and feel God’s grace around me, that I remember Paul’s teachings and the parable of the lightening bugs. The light they share with us coming from their unexplainable tails is like a warm glow, shining in a room where everyone forgot it was dark.  That is the grace of God and I want to share it with others.
It’s not lightening bug season yet, but the memory of those summer nights is always with me.  Along with it comes tremendous joy reminding me of God gives freely His unquenchable love and the gift of His grace. I feel like swishing my tail and shining my precious One’s light for all to see! Want to join me?

 

Points to Ponder:

  1. Do you feel God’s grace? When?
  2. Do you see God’s grace? Where?
  3. Are you the source of God’s grace to others? Why or why not?

 

Pray with me:

Dear Holy Light,

You share with me Your grace throughout my day in so many ways. Help me to see Your beacon of light and share it with all I meet.

Swishing my tail for You

I Miss Prairie Dog Town

150 150 Debi Moses

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.”  I Corinthians 9:24

“I miss Prairie Dog TownM & M.” This random thought came to me as I walked through Lubbock International Airport  and there before me was an advertisement for Prairie Dog Town. I truly doubt if there are many among you who have actually visited Prairie Dog Town and experienced the thrill of watching  a suburban full of boys stand in awe as they watch rodents pop their heads out of a dirt hole. And while I’m in this nostalgic mood, I also miss sitting on bleachers in smelly gyms and in the rain at the ballpark.  I miss folding baseball uniforms and sewing on Cub Scout badges, and this time of year I miss watching little boys run wildly around the yard hunting for the prize Easter egg. It’s interesting how words like “Prairie Dog Town” or holidays like Easter can rekindle memories.

Do you think Jesus missed anything as He hung on the cross? Perhaps helping Joseph in his carpenter shop, sharing meals with the disciples, healing the blind man, or even raising Lazarus from the dead? On that day, our Savior had his eye on the prize, life with His Father, and our salvation. I pray this Easter and all the days that follow I can keep my eye on the prize of sitting with Jesus and our Father.

May you feel God’s presence this holiest of weeks,

debi