My husband and I had been happily (most of the time) married for five years
but we hadn't been blessed with a baby. I decided to do some serious praying
and promised God that if he would give us a child I would be a perfect
mother, love it with all my heart and raise it with his word as my guide.
God answered my prayers and blessed us with a son. The next year God blessed
us with another son. The following year, he blessed us with yet another son.
The year after that we were blessed with a daughter. My husband thought
we'd been blessed right into poverty. We now had four children, and the
oldest was only four years old. I learned never to ask God for anything
unless I meant it. As a minister once told me, "If you pray for rain, make
sure you carry an umbrella."
I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the children each day as they
lay in their cribs. I was off to a good start. God had entrusted me with
four children and I didn't want to disappoint him.
I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen eggs on the
kitchen floor searching for baby chicks.
I tried to be understanding when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in
the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours to catch all
twenty-three frogs.
When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket
to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the humor rather than the
mess.
In spite of changing over twenty-five thousand diapers, never eating a hot
meal and never sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time, I still
thank God daily for my children.
While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect mother (I didn't even come
close), I did keep my promise to raise them in the Word of God. I knew I
was missing the mark just a little when I told my daughter we were going to
church to worship God, and she wanted to bring a bar of soap along to "wash
up" Jesus, too.
Something was lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us
everlasting life, and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his
"last wife."
My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant. My daughter
was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds and my youngest son was a
wise man. This was their moment to shine. My five-year-old shepherd had
practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes." But he
was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes." My
four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not wrinkled clothes silly. That's dirty,
rotten clothes." A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd,
which was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.
I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing
Baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, "Mama-mama." Mary grabbed
the doll, wrapped it back up and held it tightly as the wise men arrived.
My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at
the manger and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing
gifts of gold, common sense and fur." The congregation dissolved into
laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation.
I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one," Pastor Brian
laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. "For the rest of my life, I'll never
hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense and fur."
"My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing," I said as I
dug through my purse for an aspirin.
--author unknown.
A Fun, Faith 'n Funny Bone Feature 
