One morning, Mom woke in a threatening mood. She was upset with a capital "U," and she started yelling at all of us six kids and even Dad. Somehow she managed

to get us off to school, but Dad just stood around with his coat and hat on hesitating to leave for work.

Mom demanded, "What are you waiting for?"

Dad replied disarmingly, "Well, I’m waiting for you to tell me what is the matter with you."

"Nothing is the matter with me; Now get out of here," Mom retorted.

Dad deliberately removed his coat and hat and sat down on the sofa. His eyes were twinkling, "You don’t expect me to go out on that busy highway in that dangerous traffic as long as you are like this, do you?"

Mom was scornful, "You’ve never had an accident in your life that was your fault. You’ve never even got a ticket. And you aren’t the one who is upset! I am! Now get out of here."

Dad smiled and patted the sofa, ‘Why don’t you just sit down here and tell me what’s wrong?"

Mom screamed, "I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Everything’s wrong. This house is a mess; the dishes are piled high; the floor has an inch of sand on it that you and the kids tracked in; dirty clothes are everywhere and look at my hair and this cruddy outfit that I am wearing! This place with me in it is straight from Tobacco Road. I just feel like running out that door and never coming back!" Mom began to cry.

Dad nodded sympathetically, "Oh, is that all!" he pacified.

Dad stood up, put on his coat and hat, and started for the door.

Mom’s shoulders drooped, "Are you going to help me or not?" she challenged.

Dad turned back, nodding agreeably, "Yes, I’m going to help you." He gave Mom a big kiss and confided, "Why don’t we talk about this more tonight. O. K.?" Then he winked.

Mom couldn’t resist a cynical laugh as she playfully shook her fist at him. "Is that the kind of help you are going to give me?"

When Dad came home that night, he looked around admiringly at the clean house, fresh clothes, sparkling hairdo, supper on the table, and happy kids.

He winked again, "I knew that was all you needed. Just a little incentive to get you going."

How could Mom have possibly thought of romance under the circumstances? How could she live up to HIS expectations without exhausting herself in the effort?

Men! They are all alike!

As a little child, Marilyn was chasing her two brothers and sister through the house and out the front storm door. They made it through, but just as Marilyn reached the door, it slammed shut. Marilyn hit the shattering glass and a large splinter struck her in the right temple.

Her mother responded to Marilyn’s cries by removing the splinter and pressing a Kotex (the only halfway sterile bandage available) to stop the bleeding. The wound required several stitches and when it healed left a bright red scar in the perfect shape of a capital "W."

This accident occurred near the end of the summer and the following fall Marilyn refused to go to school saying, ‘The dirls will yaugh at me!" She was adamant in her declaration and insisted that she could not go to school. Having suffered much from the good-natured teasing by the other children because of speech problems, she obviously could not bear to face the kids with the ugly red scar.

Marilyn’s dad put his arm around her shoulder and said, "Do you know what that "W" stands for?"

She answered, "W----, our last name."

"That’s right," her dad agreed. "That ‘W’ is my brand. You tell the kids, I put my brand on you because you’re my special girl."

Marilyn laughed; her whole attitude completely changed. Suddenly, she was eager to go to school. That evening she came home bursting with pride, "All the dirls said that they wished they had a bwand just wike mine!"

(To my warring children on December 1,1988)

Court is in session. Please be seated. Please hear the evidence as presented

(Background: Rick doesn’t show up for work on Brad’s house as he agreed.

He called and got no answer, but all four witnesses agreed that Rick was dead wrong for not showing up. Brad stewed in anger all day. Rick does show up next day. Brad is still stewing and angry, because he had paid his brother in advance and had serious problems nobody knew.

Rick and his wife, Justine, had spent the day doing visits as part of Justine’s job, also working for Brad. Justine knew that she could not do the visits after my husband and I went to Arizona for two weeks, because she would have to care for the elderly ladies that I cared for in our home--a twenty-four-hour a day job.

Brad had yelled at Justine in the past for not always doing the visits in the homes of his patients that he supplied with oxygen equipment according to the meticulous schedule that he demanded. So, Justine asked Rick to accompany her to make sure that she made no mistakes. Justine also had GED exams to complete before we left.

Since Justine had been sick unto death because of miscarriages and excessive hemorrhaging, she wanted to prove to Brad that she was not "irresponsible" now that she was over her illness. Brad’s exacting standards, necessary in his life-or-death occupation, made him a bit short-tempered, especially where family members were concerned. Brad was always "right" but sometimes he made everyone feel that they were "damned if they do, and damned if they don’t."

As soon as Rick showed up a day later than he had promised, thinking he was helping Brad even more by helping Justine do her job, Brad started yelling. Rick decided to leave, thinking Brad was being unreasonable. The following conversation took place:

Brad: If you leave now, Rick, you are fired! (He could have explained that he would ten times rather have Rick stay and lay concrete block in his basement, even if the visits were never done, but in Brad’s distraught frame of mind, his judgment wasn’t so hunkydory either.)

Also, Justine was determined not to risk being called "irresponsible" again, even if Brad had told her to postpone the visits. The last time Brad called Justine "irresponsible," she had been in the hospital for three months, lost a baby, and nearly bled to death. I told Brad that she was not getting better, and to hire someone else to take her place, and he had argued, "Mom, they need the money!" Always a problem in our family!

At this point, Justine, who had accompanied Rick to lay the blocks in the basement, yelled back at Brad for threatening to fire Rick, "Look, I didn’t want this job in the first place! I just took it as a favor to Merci (Brad’s wife)." Merci wanted Brad to fire a slut he had hired to do accounting, who was obviously smitten with Brad. The "slut" would have to stay on to do the extra work, until Brad found someone else, if Justine quit.

The problem was further complicated by the fact that Brad and Merci had invested a great deal of time, energy, and money tearing out walls, installing all new heating, plumbing, and wiring toward remodeling the large Colonial type house he had picked up at an auction. At this point, Brad decided he had no choice but to prop the whole house up on house jacks and cast iron posts and beams, dig out the basement, and replace the leaky brick walls with a new foundation of concrete blocks and a new concrete floor.

Unfortunately, a tornado-like windstorm had hit their town the night before Rick had promised to help Brad lay the blocks. (We are a family of do-it-yourselfers.)

Anyway, the storm rocked the whole house dangerously back and forth all night, so that the terrified family had spent the night at the next door neighbors, praying that their whole project remained intact, and did not cave in on them. It had to be the worst night of their lives.

Tempers were short from loss of sleep, and no one was even attempting to see anyone else’s point-of view. As I said, the last thing Brad wanted to do was fire Rick, and the last thing Rick needed was to lose his job, because with all the health problems, they did need the money. And the very last thing all of us needed was to lose one another’s support in these times of terrible stress.

Brad retorted to Justine’s remark, "Don’t lie. You took this job for the money and you know that as well as I do." No one could accuse Brad of being slothful in business, as he attached a great deal of importance to earning a living and thought everyone else felt the same way.

Justine: "O. K. Brad. If that’s what you think, get your slut to do the visits."

At this point, both Brad and Merci were furious at Justine for calling Brad’s employee, "your slut" in front of their two young children, thinking the kids would get the wrong idea.

Merci screamed, "If you are going to talk that way in front of our kids, we are not coming home for Christmas (family-planned, just three-odd weeks away)."

Actually, the kids had heard the words "slut" in reference to this employee from their mother’s own lips so often that they probably thought it was her middle name, but neither Merci nor Brad liked Justine’s somewhat hateful implication that Brad was responsive to her blatant advances.

Justine was firm. She thought she had had more than enough. All of them were in the basement, so she stalked toward the makeshift shaky ladder that they were using to reach ground level. She said, "Rick, I am leaving. You can stay if you want to, but I am taking the car." She almost reached the top of the ladder when both she and the ladder fell to the bottom of the basement.

Brad and Rick were so intent on yelling at one another that they did not even notice. Brad was ordering Rick to get out, and Rick was threatening to leave and never come back. And Justine was lying flat on the floor calling, "Someone help me!"

Merci had already ascended the ladder with their two kids that she wanted to shield from all the anger and accusations, but she did hear Justine pitiful cries for help. She did not know who was killing whom, so she ran to the opening without a ladder and peered down. She was horrified, when she realized what had happened, and she called down, "Are you all right, Justine?"

By this time Justine had recovered somewhat. Apparently, she suffered only minor abrasions, and had the wind knocked out of her, momentarily. She picked herself up, dusted herself off, and tried to replace the shaky ladder without help, because the men were still unaware of her plight. This time, Merci helped Justine put the ladder in place, and held it while Justine ascended.

The two young women began to discuss how stupid their husbands--my sons--were for bickering instead of working. Merci explained about their nightmare of the night before as an excuse for Brad’s bad temper, and Justine was very sympathetic, but excused Rick on the grounds that they had not even heard about the storm--forty miles away from where Rick and Justine were living with us.

In any event, Rick finally joined them, saying to Justine, "We are out of here, and I am never going to help Brad again, if he pays me a million dollars."

I was really upset when I heard the news that neither family was planning to come home for Christmas, because I thought they were only hurting the grandkids, who looked forward to the family gathering for weeks, if not all year. I talked to each of them as individuals and heard their stories as related above, but they insisted that they would not change their minds.

I could not believe that a smart lady like me and the most saintly man that I ever met could have spawned such fools-- making bad decisions, using bad judgment, and now blaming one another for it all. I cannot permit you guys to ruin our Christmas.

Before every member of the family reads this letter, considers the evidence, and tries to gain a little perspective concerning this matter.

I cannot believe that Brad and Merci’s kids even know what "slut" means--at least not as adults understand the term (they are ages six and nine), especially since they are not permitted to watch T V. Granted, Justine should not have used the "term" in the way that she did, but Brad should not have accused her of being money-mad, when she probably did take the job to help Merci out. Women do things for different reasons than men do.

Certainly, Brad does give the impression of being critical, judgmental, and demanding, but he never expects more--or as much--from others than he does from himself, and he had been very generous to Rick and Justine, keeping up their health insurance, even when they could not work

Because of Justine’s serious health problems, Brad had advanced Rick’s salary for months ahead, while they had to move around, so that Justine and their unborn babies could receive care in the best neonatology facility available in the state. Three babies had died--one had survived only six hours.

I would like to remind my Christian children that an unforgiving spirit was the only thing that Jesus said would interfere with our forgiveness, which is a much more serious consequence, than anything else that has happened to us before.

Dad and I could sympathize with Justine’s and Rick’s position, because we had taken over the job of filing the Medicare and insurance reports for Brad’s patients, when he dissolved his partnership with an accountant who had let the work pile up for a year. When Brad said that he was going to dissolve the partnership, the accountant, who had not invested one cent in the business, sued Brad for half the worth of the business--over thirty thousand dollars.

Brad had picked up all his files, brought them to us one night, and insisted that if we did not help him, he would lose everything. He had not been able to collect one cent toward thousands of dollars owed him by Medicare and the insurance companies in almost a year. We had to "wing it," because Brad was too busy to help!

I would like to suggest to Brad that competent help--neither any more partnerships nor any more sluts--might save him more money than we could ever help him make.

I hope to see all of you at Christmas. We desperately need to get together and pray for a much more peaceful New Year! May God bless you all. I do not know why, but we love you. Mom.

(Justine explained to Rick about the windstorm as they were leaving town, and Rick had second thoughts about his resolve never to work for Brad again. They turned around and Brad and Rick worked non-stop for umpteen hours, until they laid every last block. No one ever called a W---- lazy! Quick-tempered, maybe, but not lazy!

Why is it that teen-agers are all capable of lifting heavy weights, performing exceptional feats on exercise equipment, and sinking basketballs through hoops from several yards away, but they obviously do not have the strength to carry paper cups, straws, and napkins to the nearest waste can on the corner. And they miss hitting the trashcans just outside their car windows with their fast food papers and scraps.

Another Paradox: Kids hate their parents for two reasons: for being better parents than most, and for being worse parents than most. Unfortunately, not any parents are ever classified as being a happy medium. Dishonoring our parents is the first commandment all of us break--and we all pay a price for the privilege.

One time I dreamed of a young man rushing around trying on costumes. He put on one after another and then asked me, "How’s this?" First, he was a judge with a long powdered wig, whom he mocked by being staid, pompous, and arrogant. He then became a pirate with a long curly black wig and boots, boasting of his grandeur and ill-gained wealth. Next he dressed as a harlot whose behavior I cannot repeat.

He was frantically trying to get a favorable response, but I was unable to say one word. Finally, he fell to his knees, weeping, "I have tried everything to please you, Mom, but you love the other kids more than you love me."

I awakened from that nightmare in tears, and I cried out to the Lord, "Why do our kids think they cannot please me, when I love them so much?"

The Lord answered, "For the same reason they think they cannot please me. They really do not know what we expect of them, and they do not realize that they could easily please us by just being themselves, and doing what they would most enjoy doing--just what I created them to do."

I once asked the Lord, "How can I have joy, when the children we reared blame me for all their misery that resulted from the bad decisions they made of their own free will and contrary to my advice and my example?"

The Lord answered, "Why don’t you just decide to be happy--choose to be happy, anyway--just for their sakes. Happiness is contagious and maybe they will catch what you have--upon being exposed to it.

At a Christmas gathering of our whole family, I overheard our grown children laughing at our oldest son’s lecture to his son. Our daughter was saying, "He sounds just like Mom"--that’s me! I commented, "If I’ve learned anything at all, I have learned that he is wasting his time! It does not work, and I have six kids as evidence to prove it!"

My daughter argued, "Mom, we all have your lectures memorized and play them back like records. Of course, they did some good. Our kids will play our lectures back like records to their kids and on and on.

I am not a cynic, but I still say that lectures are water poured into the sieves that our children use for brains. Very seldom do they effect a change in behavior, when that change is needed most--and certainly not after we turn our backs on them.

Reading the Word of God to them works better, though--if not sooner--then maybe when they are old.

The Lord called me into service to be a witness of the truth that he revealed to me. I couldn’t help but notice that the hypocrites that the Lord accused had killed other messengers who loved and served the Lord, and finally killed Him as well. He also warned that His servants would be persecuted. So, why do I feel so blessed?

NEVER TOO OLD TO FORGIVE

I cannot believe you wrote me such a scurrilous letter just because I remarked to Aunt Marianne that I could not hate my grandmother just because both of you did. (My mother and her sister married brothers, and both had the same mother-in-law.)

I told Marianne and I am telling you, "What right do either of you have to expect us grandchildren to inherit your problems with our grandparents--on both sides.

Our grandmothers were good to us, told us stories, sang songs to us, held us on their laps--which neither you nor Marianne had time to do, since both of you worked.

My grandparents taught us Bible stories and hymns, and that Jesus was our friend, when everyone else would betray and desert us. The grandmother, whom you want me to hate, is the one person who told me how she never could have reared four young children as a widow without the strength of the Lord. She told me to trust Him in all things, and He would never let me down. You know I wouldn’t have made it, if she had not told me her stories.

For Pete’s sake, Mom, Grandma has been dead for years. How can you continue to be so filled with hate and resentment that you would so viciously attack me in that letter? You called me names in that letter, which were not even in my grandmother’s vocabulary. So how do you expect me to react to your vicious attack? If you swear that you cannot forgive her, how can you expect me to forgive you?

I cannot imagine who would relay my remarks to you that I made to Marianne. She told me that she would know better than to repeat to you what I said to her! But I have not stopped crying for days now! Why can’t you believe that I could love both you and my grandmother without being disloyal to either of you?

What I doubt, at this point, is your love for me. You say you do, but "Actions speak louder than words." (Your mother told me that--not dad’s mother!)

Marianne said that she might have told Bobbi (my brother’s wife) what I had said or Eva (their cousin, who lives in the same city as my mother). I called both Bobbi and Eva, and they both deny that they passed the lethal message on to you--that I love my grandmother. They both said that they would know better than to do that, but they both also admitted that they had talked to you on the phone that same day.

What I do know is that your letter, accusing me, and telling me I would go to hell for loving my grandmother was the worst thing you ever said to me in my life, and I cannot begin to understand why. But I would like to remind you of what this all means.

The Word of God makes it very clear that if we do not forgive others, we shall never be forgiven. This point is made in The Sermon on the Mount, and specifically in "The Lord’s Prayer, which both of us have prayed a thousand times. "Forgive us our trespasses, AS WE FORGIVE OTHERS."

The example that follows that prayer makes it clear that the steward who refused to forgive the boy who stole from him was not forgiven by his Master, because he juggled his books, stealing from him. Jesus told that story to illustrate that if we do not forgive others, then Our Father in Heaven will never forgive us.

If you cannot forgive Grandma, and cannot forgive me for loving Grandma, so that I am finding it impossible to forgive you, because you have condemned me to spend all my days in hell, where do you think the two of us are going to end up?

On the other hand, Bobbi, Eva, Marianne, and my grandparents will be with the Lord. THANK GOD!