Childhood Stories

My beautiful daughter turned 7 years old this past weekend.  While we were eating breakfast as a family at the world's most popular fast food restaurant...  she asked to hear stories of my childhood.  She and my son giggled as I told them different stories that told about their extended family.  While talking with my mom later that day, she suggested that I write the memories down in my own words. 
So, here is the start of a series of family stories. 

I thought I'd start with a story of faith and compassion.  Before I begin, I have to preface that my parents are wonderful parents!  They were also extremely poor when I was young.  Poor to the point of taking their daughter's leftovers for their lunch.  My mom would hope I wouldn't finish all of my yogurt! However, I never wanted for anything.  All of my needs were met, especially love and faith. 

When I was about 8 years old, or in second grade or so, we were preparing for a Thanksgiving meal.  Now, my dad was in medical school and gone quite a bit.  My mom was a homemaker and stayed at home with my brother, sister, and myself.  (my youngest sister came quite a few years later! )  I remember mom making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for our Thanksgiving dinner.  Yup, that's what we had at the end of the month, even for Thanksgiving.  As a kid you just don't understand the internal struggle parents go through when you don't have the things you'd like to give your kids and can't.  (I have a better idea now)  So, I asked my mom if I could go and play in the back yard.  As she was facing the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she said I could go out without looking my way.  With a smile and a desire to make a speedy escape to outside I didn't watch where I was going.  The next thing I know, I was face down on our porch!  When I looked to see what I had tripped on and my mom came around the door to see that I was ok we both sat there gaping with our mouths wide open.  There were about 4 or 5 bags full of groceries.  Including a full Thanksgiving meal.  The rest of my memory is fuzzy but I know the happy feeling that always comes from that story.  You see, we were members of a church that had such an amazing amount of compassion.  As an adult my parents have told me that on more than one occasion extra money had mysteriously found its way into their bank account during that hard time.  I don't think my folks were ever really open with others about their struggles but they did ask for prayer and prayed for others.  Even today, my mom is fairly diligent with her daily quiet time, praying for others and especially for me and my siblings.  A bit of faith, a pinch of compassion, and a heaping spoonful of prayer gets us all through those tough times. 

In his hands,
Lisa