Devotional Stories for Mothers
Rhonda Brunea
We lived far below the poverty level, and yet my kids and I luxuriated in the richness of the countryside where we lived. Millions of tiny peepers gave free concerts outside our windows. Beavers added to the rustic music, slapping flat tails against the swampy lake as they worked. Golden eagles and great blue herons soared above. My daughter Sarah coaxed a white swan to eat from her hand that spring.
In spite of my bad marriage, there was much to be thankful for. Riches crammed every lovely nook of our home place. Goldenrod spilled sunshine around like showers of golden treasure. Bejeweled spider webs hovered between blades of grass, heavy with morning dew. Fireflies painted tantalizing patterns against the black velvet darkness, drifting low to the earth to tempt barefooted children with mason jars.
When my husband abandoned us, we were forced to leave our home and rent an apartment in a nearby small town. My grief was unbearable. Not only had I lost the simple dream of raising my children in peace and beauty, but I knew I could never become the father they needed. Since I had to go back to work to support us, I couldn't even be the mother I wanted to be. I thought their childhood was ruined.
I wallowed in self-pity for a while, but one day God showed me a better way. While I couldn't give my kids a good earthly father, I saw that God had promised to be the Father of fatherless children. I asked Him that day to give my children everything that I could not and all that their father would not. I believe the beginning of God's answer to this prayer was "the golden summer," as my kids later named it.
To my children, the summer we moved was one long, happy picnic. For the first time in their lives, they had other kids to play with. Organizing a troop of a dozen or so, they fought "apple wars," a game they invented that involved pelting each other with hard green apples from the overgrown tree in the backyard. This had the added benefit of leaving impressive bruises to show off afterward.
Impromptu wrestling matches flared up in the grass in which my daughter often triumphed over the boys. After a brief summer flood, a neighborhood water-football game sprang up in our yard. One steamy afternoon, a friend's father taught Luke the covert art of hand-fishing in the creek. Evenings were spent practicing marksmanship on our neighbor's unfortunate barn, decorating it with fluorescent pink paintball splats.
The bookmobile trundled into town every other Saturday carrying friendly traveling librarians who offered delicious books to be devoured on rainy days. Secrets were whispered as young companions stargazed from the shelter of the tree house. The Fourth of July arrived, and we trooped toward the park, hauling blankets for spreading on the grass. The fireworks were especially fine that year, improved further by the rare treats of cotton candy and freshly pulled taffy.
These are the things my children remember about "the golden summer," not the things they lost. In their minds, its greatness will never be equaled.
Sometimes, I forget that God answers prayers in His own creative way, and rarely in a manner that I expect. My children played carefree that summer, forgetting the unpleasant parts of life with their earthly father. They were safe and cared for then, as they are now. A mother needn't worry when God puts His hand to the task of fathering.
(601 words)