One Day's Worth of Love

"Be kindly affectioned one to another
with brotherly love;
in honour preferring one another." Romans 12:10 (KJV)

Two year old Claire and five year old Noah have had their share of spats lately. I am amazed at how competitive they are, especially considering their age and gender differences. What starts as taunting can soon erupt into all-out war.

Their mom and dad have very specific consequences for unkind behavior:

Hitting or pushing = time out, facing the wall
Taking toys away = loss of the privilege of playing with that toy
Teasing or aggravating = separation from each other (-interesting that this works!)
Using unkind words = say something kind/loving

Saturday evening I helped with crafts at a family Valentine party held at our church. The children made valentines for a family member or friend, then enclosed a customized “coupon” as a gift. I explained all of this to Noah, who had just finished making a valentine for Mom and Dad. He then sat pondering what to write on his coupon. Finally, he wrote, “I will love Claire for…”

“Oh, that’s a good one, Noah. Are you going to love her for one whole week?”

“A year!” he exclaimed, but quickly changed his mind, “…or maybe a day.”

Along with the other adults in the craft room I tried to stifle my snickers.

In the end his coupon read, “I will love Claire for 1 day.”

I admire Noah’s childish honesty, knowing that even one day is no small commitment. Sure, a day doesn’t sound like much when compared to the week I suggested, or to Noah’s grand aspirations of a year, but I’m guessing that keeping that promise for an entire day will be mighty tough!

“Be kindly affectioned to one another with brotherly love; in honor preferring one another.” This is no mushy Valentine sentiment, but a command concerning our brothers and sisters in Christ. In fact, John 13:35 says that this is how others will know that we are Christians -by the love we show toward one another.

If I am honest I must admit, like Noah, that I struggle in this area. I am not always as patient or tenderhearted with my brothers and sisters in Christ as I should be. I sometimes insist on my own way, and I don’t always share. I can say hurtful things, sometimes in the form of gossip...and the list goes on.


I think I will borrow Noah’s idea and write my Father a Valentine coupon:

VALENTINE COUPON To: My Father God
Redeemable For: loving my brothers and sisters for 1 day
Note #1: Coupon may be redeemed as often as needed
Note #2: I can't do this without your help!
Signed: Your child, Sharlyn

Yvonne is hosting Monday Manna today at My Back Door.

As I wrote this poem I considered how remarkable it actually is that most of the world pauses to honor Christ one day each year. Granted, many wouldn't admit that this is what they are doing, but truly, in celebrating His birth, and keeping "the spirit of Christmas" alive, they are honoring, or at least acknowledging Jesus. It is still a far cry from what God expects of us, but it is a tiny, imperfect foretaste of the day when "...every knee shall bow ...and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord..." (Phil. 2:10-11)

Joy to the World, the Lord is come! Merry Christmas, my friends!

For Just One Day
By Sharlyn Guthrie

For just one day
we will not go
into the city
or the town.
I’m thinking, though,
we’ll light a fire
to sit around
with those we know
and love who will be home
…for just one day.

For just one day
we’ll tolerate
unbridled joy,
excessive noise,
squeals from children
gleefully
unwrapping toys
with laser sounds
and high pitched squawks
…for just one day.

For just one day
we’ll disregard
high calories
and extra fat,
plus sugared things
we ought to shun.
Tomorrow we’ll go back to that,
but we’ll have candy,
pie, and fudge
…for just one day

For just one day
we’ll set aside
our differences,
our selfish pride.
We’ll do our best
to keep the peace
and not take sides.
We know we must
because it’s right
…for just one day



For just one day
we’ll light the wicks
of candles we
have never lit;
use fine china,
crystal too;
in merriment
wipe dust from games
we rarely play
…for just one day.

For just one day
the world will slow—
perhaps not kneel,
but genuflect;
pay homage to
our God and King,
show some respect.
This side of Heaven
it’s what we get
…for just one day

Christmas Candy Capers

Today I am sharing another true story, this time from (ahem!) just a few years back. Catrina of A Work in Progress is the hostess of Fiction Friday this week, so be sure to pay her a visit.



Christmas Candy Capers
by Sharlyn Guthrie

Soon after school began the fall of my junior year, my chemistry teacher phoned me at home. “I know you like cats,” she began, “so I wondered if you would be up to a special challenge. My cat had kittens and she has a runt that needs more care than I can give. Are you interested?”

Of course I was interested! However, since my mother would need to help out with the care during the day, and would eventually take full responsibility for the cat when I went off to college, I had to consult her. Much to my surprise, she agreed.

The tiny limp bundle looked hopeless. She lay curled in the corner of a shoebox bed, unable to even lift her tiny head. We placed a crook-necked lamp above her to keep her warm and began hourly feedings with an eyedropper.

After several days our frail feline emitted a soft sound whenever we approached. Since her cry sounded a bit like bagpipes, we named her Musette. Soon she was standing, and a larger box was needed to contain her. We added a litter box, which she took to immediately.

After a couple of weeks I started carrying Musette on my shoulder. She was still tiny and maintained her parrot-like balance perfectly as I went about my everyday tasks. As time went on she learned to climb up my clothing in order to reach my shoulder. Fortunately, she remained a perpetual kitten size-wise, but her affinity for climbing knew no limits. She also climbed the couch, the curtains, and the hall tree. We found her in the basement rafters, on top of the refrigerator, and curled inside a hat on the closet shelf.

Christmas time came and Mother decorated the house as usual. In fact, even more than usual, since she planned to do some entertaining before the entire family came home for the holidays. In the center of the dining room table she placed a handmade centerpiece of wrapped hard candies, strictly forbidding my father and I to eat even one piece of candy until the centerpiece had served its decorative purpose.

A tall, narrow Christmas tree was erected in the living room, strung with colored lights and silver tinsel. The tree was purposely chosen for its full, close branches, and a quilt was wrapped around its base to prevent a certain kitten from climbing its trunk. Musette batted at the low strands of tinsel and catnapped on the quilt, but surprisingly left the tree alone.

It was my father who astounded me. Despite Mother’s stern warnings, pieces of candy began disappearing one-by-one from the centerpiece. When Mother chided us as she filled in the holes, my father feigned innocence. I hadn’t touched a single piece, so he was obviously the guilty one!

One late December day I returned home from school to a houseful of women -the members of my mother’s Bible study group. While I unloaded my books in my upstairs bedroom, Musette scampered up my pants leg and onto my shoulder where she remained until I descended the stairs a few minutes later.

I was halfway down the stairs when Musette took a flying leap toward the Christmas tree. Her scrawny legs scrambled and clawed, eventually snagging the lights, which wrapped around and held her dangling upside down between the tree and the wall. Her bagpipe cry wasn’t soft, but piercing just then. Worried that Musette was being electrocuted, my mother quickly unplugged the lights, which sent the kitten swinging. A desperate attempt to escape brought the tree crashing onto the floor, and the kitten dashing for safety.

My poor mother was mortified as her friends began scrambling after the scattered ornaments.

“What’s this?” one woman asked as she knelt at the base of the tree. “Do you normally hide candy under here?” Mother and I rushed to her side and there, under the quilt, was a pile of hard candies, still in wrappers. The mystery of the disappearing candy began unraveling as the identity of the candy thief became apparent, and across the room I glimpsed the twitching of a thin gray tail sticking out from underneath the drapes.

Mama Knows Beans

Mama Knows Beans
by Sharlyn Guthrie

Judith peered out her kitchen window as she finished washing the last canning jar. Molly was walking slowly up the lane, lost in thought, it seemed. Judith picked up her dishpan and nudged the screen door open with her hip. Walking to the edge of the wide porch, she heaved the dishwater out into the yard. Then she placed it near the door and set out to greet Molly.

“Good morning sweetheart!” Mother wrapped daughter in a warm embrace. Although Molly only lived a mile away, Judith and Henry had been allowing the newlyweds plenty of time to themselves. “I’m so glad you could come and help with the beans today. Can I get you some water?”

“No, Mama. I’m just fine. From the looks of it, we better get started. I’ve never seen so many green beans!”

“I planted a new variety. They’re extra long ones. I thought we’d sit out here on the side porch where it’s breezier. I’m forever grateful to Henry for building this porch.” Judith set one heaping bushel basket between the two ladder-back chairs she had arranged. Each chair held a small pan for depositing the stems they would remove from the beans. A large tub sat ready to collect the bite-sized bean pieces. “These beans are so long, they’ll need two to three snaps each, I’m afraid.”

The women settled in and each grabbed a large handful of beans.

Snap, snap, snap…

“If I figured it right, you and Galen will have been married three months tomorrow.”

Snap, snap, snap…

“You’re right, Mama.”

Snap, snap, snap…

Judith arched one eyebrow and took in Molly’s crestfallen countenance.

“Are you okay, Molly? Is Galen treating you right?”

Snap, snap, snap…

“Mama, did things change after you and Daddy were married? I mean…it’s not like Galen is cruel or anything, he just doesn’t hold my hand and look me in the eyes the way he used to. I tie a fresh ribbon in my hair before he comes in, and he doesn’t even notice.” Molly sniffed and stopped long enough to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Oh Mama, I clean the house and cook a delicious meal and Galen walks right in with his muddy boots on. During dinner he goes on about the weather, the crops, and getting the barn built before winter. He never asks about my day. By the time I’ve done the dishes and mopped the floor again, I’m exhausted. And Galen…”

Judith watched as color spread across her daughters cheeks. “Let me guess. Galen’s ready for romance, and you’re so upset with him you don’t even want to share his bed.”

“How did you know, Mama?”

“Don’t forget I was once a new bride, too.”

“Daddy treated you that way? I had no idea. How did you put up with him?”

“I stopped trying to fix him, and tried to fix myself instead.”

“But Mama, I’m doing everything for him. I’m trying so hard to be a good wife.”

Snap, snap, snap…

“Have you told him all those things you told me?”

“Of course. I tell him every day.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“But Daddy said we mustn’t keep any secrets.”

“Learning to hold your tongue isn’t the same thing as keeping secrets. I would almost guarantee he heard you the first time you told him.”

Snap, snap, snap…

“Molly, when was the last time you told Galen how much you appreciate the hard work he does every day? The Bible says for a woman to see to it that she honors her husband. I think that God, our creator, knew we would find it easier to nag and complain, so he made a point of telling us to honor instead. Try it tonight, Molly.”

“Okay, Mama.”

Snap, snap, snap…




******
“My, you look beautiful this morning, Molly. You’ll have to sidestep the wood Henry carried up for our canning. Are you ready for more hard work?”

“Sure, Mama…you were right, you know.”

“Right? Right about what, darling?”

“I did what you said. I told Galen how proud I am of him.”

“And?”

“Let’s just say he noticed my hair ribbon.” Molly blushed. “He helped with the dishes, too. Mama, how did you get so smart?”

Judith laughed. “It’s not my wisdom, dear. It’s God’s. Some people think it’s outdated, but God’s wisdom never grows old…unlike these beans. We really need to get to work.”

“Yes, Mama. Tell me, though. Did Daddy snore and steal the covers, too?”





Laury is hosting Fiction Friday today at her blog, His Mercies Are New. I hope you take time to visit and link to the other stories posted today.

Life Is Not Always A Bleach

It was just an ordinary Sunday afternoon phone call to my son, who happened to be in his second month of college five hundred miles away. Okay, I’ll admit it. I hadn’t heard from him for two weeks, and the mother in me had begun to conjure up all kinds of disturbing scenarios: he had sunk into a deep depression, and dropped out of school; his dorm was under the siege of terrorists; he had joined a cult, and was roaming the country in his bathrobe. I desperately needed to hear Justin’s voice. However, I tried to sound casual when he answered.

“So, what have you been up to?”

“Not much. I’ve been playing some flag football lately. That reminds me, Mom. Whatever you do, tell my brothers about bleach!”

What an odd request! The fact that his two statements might actually be linked, however, seemed stranger yet. “Sure. I’ll tell them.” I couldn’t help but grin into the phone, imagining how unenthused his brothers would be to learn the finer points of bleach usage. “Is there anything in particular you want them to know about it?”

“I ruined my favorite jeans; that’s all. I didn’t know bleach could do that.”

I knew which jeans he was talking about. I had fudged on the family clothing budget to buy them. Now I envisioned them splotched with white. “You know, some people pay big bucks for jeans with rips or bleach spots. Or, if you don’t like the spots, maybe you can just bleach them some more, until they are a lighter shade of denim.”

“Mom, you don’t get it. I don’t even have the jeans anymore.”

I seemed to have touched a nerve somehow, but I was incredulous. “You threw them away just because you got bleach on them? Those were expensive jeans!”

Exasperation resounded in the heavy sigh emanating from three states away. “Okay. Here’s what happened. I played flag football in my new jeans. It was stupid. I know that now. But it wasn’t as stupid as using bleach to try to get the grass stains out.”

“Ooooh…I’m starting to get the picture. Go on. Did you accidentally splash them when you poured the bleach into the washing machine?”

“I asked a girl in the laundry room how to bleach something, and she said to soak it. So, I poured a bottle of bleach into an ice cream bucket, and then I put my jeans in to soak while I went to the library to study for a while.”

“You’re telling me you poured the whole bottle of bleach in the bucket? How much water did you put in?”

“No water. She just said to soak it in bleach, not water.”
I stifled a snicker. “So what did the jeans look like when you came back from studying?”

“They looked pretty light, but I figured I could deal with that. So I just dumped them in the washer and put my quarters in.”

“You didn’t take them out of the bleach?”

“Nope.”

“And you didn’t put any other clothes in with the jeans?”

“Nope.”

“Well, at least we can be thankful for that!”

“No doubt.”

“I guess they were just too messed up then, and you had to throw them away.”

“You could say that. When the cycle ended and I opened up the washer, my favorite jeans were in tiny little pieces.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. I’m not kidding you. The biggest piece I found was the zipper. Just tell my brothers about bleach.” Justin emphasized each word of his final sentence.

My overactive imagination had eased by the time Justin and I finished our conversation, but the moment I hung up the phone I burst into uncontrolled laughter. I could relax. My son was actually learning some practical lessons. Of all the disturbing scenarios I had envisioned, his laundry error was pretty tame -the net loss being an overpriced pair of jeans, and perhaps a little dignity.

Justin’s brothers were informed and entertained by the tale of disintegrating blue jeans. I’m fairly certain they won’t repeat the same mistake; although I did hear them whispering something about the sweaters Aunt Sally gave them for Christmas. Just in case, I’m hiding the bleach.











This story was written for the topic, "oops." It is actually a true story from several years ago, and one of my favorite stories to retell. I posted this story today for Fiction Friday, hosted today by Shelley Ledfors @ The Veil Thins.

Wake Up, Jimmy

by Sharlyn Guthrie

“Wake up, Jimmy.” Lisa approached the bed and gently shook his shoulder. “Time to rise and shine,” she sang.

“I’m sleeping in today.”

“It’s Sunday, Silly! We have to get ready for church.”

“I’m not going today. Josh and Steve aren’t going. They get to go hunting instead.”

“Yeah? Well it’s their loss. Sundays are for worship and fellowship, not hunting.”

“Fellowship?” Jimmy sat up, rubbing his droopy eyes. “Did you say fellowship? I don’t have any real friends at church.”

“Of course you do, Jimmy. Everyone adores you. Where do you get these ridiculous ideas?”

“Think about it. It’s church. They’re obligated to act nice, but who really cares about me? If I didn’t show up no one would even notice.”

Lisa shook her head. It was no use arguing. A heavenly aroma drifted in from the hallway. “I’ve got to take the muffins out of the oven. They’re chocolate chip…your favorite.” Nearing the door she paused, then turned, reaching inside the closet. She pulled out a crisp blue shirt hung over khaki dress slacks. Jimmy sat motionless as she hung them on the closet door handle, then shot him a look that said, “No more discussion.”

Poking her head in the girls’ room, she saw that they were already primping before their mirror. “The muffins are done,” she announced.

Rachel and Shelby were right on her heels as she reached the kitchen. They chattered noisily as they munched their muffins and gulped their milk. As they finished and scampered off to brush their teeth, Jimmy shuffled into the room. “Morning,” he mumbled under his breath.

Without looking up Lisa quipped, “I thought you weren’t going to church today.”

“I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Lisa set the plate of muffins in front of Jimmy, placed her hand over his, and prayed. “Father in Heaven, thank You for this glorious day –this day that You have made. Set our minds on You and prepare our hearts for worship. Forgive our apathy and our selfishness. Bless now this food to its intended use, and our bodies to Your service. Amen.”

Jimmy peeled away a muffin paper, avoiding Lisa’s smile, that was no doubt as convicting as her prayer. The space between them hung as silent as the curtains at the kitchen window. Lisa was relieved to see that he was wearing the shirt and pants she had chosen for him. Who knows what he might have chosen to wear?! At least she had managed to avoid additional tension over clothing. Jimmy hadn’t always felt this way about going to church, but Lisa knew that she had said enough, maybe even too much. From her background in Psychology she knew all about phases and life stages. She would just have to commit Jimmy’s moodiness to the Lord and wait.

The family gathered near the door, Bibles in hand. Lisa gave the girls a once-over. She tucked Rachel’s curls behind her headband and re-tied Shelby’s bow, making the loops even. She adjusted Jimmy’s shirt collar and combed his hair with her fingers, finally brushing the back of her hand along the side of his face. His eyes met hers for a brief moment.

Lisa selected an up-beat praise and worship CD for the family to listen to as she drove them to church. She prayed silently as the girls belted out the words to the songs from the back seat.

Music continued as the service began. The worship team skillfully wove scripture and prayer throughout their musical offerings, turning the congregation’s focus outward and upward to God.

After several announcements, a moving piece by the choir, and an update on church finances, it was almost time for the pastor to present his message. Lisa prayed fervently as Deacon Findley nodded in their direction and then motioned with his hand. “Pastor Jim, I’ll turn it over to you.” She watched as Jimmy stood and strode to the podium.

“Shall we pray?” he asked. Then he began, “Father in Heaven, thank You for this glorious day –this day that You have made. Set our minds on You and prepare our hearts for worship. Forgive our apathy and our selfishness…” Suddenly he opened his eyes and winked at Lisa, who sat gaping at him from the front row.

Pursing her lips, Lisa rolled her eyes at her husband.





"Wake Up, Jimmy" is a humorous fiction piece I chose for today's Fiction Friday. Julie is hosting today's Fiction Friday at Surrendered Scribe today, so please stop by her blog for links to more great fiction.