Dish washing

On Sundays my father always wore that dull gray apron � the one with the race cars all over it. The ritual began after breakfast when Dad always announced: "Go ahead everyone. I'll take care of the dishes!" With that my mother disappeared into the folds of the Sunday paper. Off came the suit coat he had worn to church that morning. Up went the shirtsleeves. On went that apron. For the next hour Dad did the dishes, singing ballads like "I Had a Hat When I Came In" and "Who Put the Chow in Mrs. Murphy's Chowder?"

I suppose it was strange for a boy's father to wear an apron � even one with race cars � but I never thought much of it until the day that Dad broke with tradition. It was the last Sunday in August. My father seemed in an expansive mood as we walked home from church together.

"Tommy," he said letting my name roll off his tongue. My mind raced ahead of his words: The birds and the bees? A new bike? A part-time job?

"There comes a time in every boy's life when he must take on responsibilities." This was important. I might even get to back the car out of the driveway.

"Responsibilities?" I asked.

"Yes. It's time you took a greater role in the household." Power tools? Boss my baby brother?

"Starting today, I want you to do the dishes on Sunday morning so your mother and I can work the crossword puzzle together."

"The dishes!?"

"Anything wrong with taking over the dishes, son?"

I started to say something about a man's job or woman's work, but I knew immediately that my protests would fall on deaf ears.

I didn't taste a bit of breakfast that morning. Dad seemed in a jovial mood as he described an exceptional Yankee game seen through the eyes of Mel Allen on the radio last night.

"Mickey Mantle drove the ball right over the center field wall," he said. "Just a straight line climb in right out of the stadium." He looked out the window as if trying to pick the ball out of the cloud formations. I tried to imagine Mickey Mantle wearing an apron.

Suddenly, everything grew quiet. My sister began to clear the table. My brother was scraping the last of the egg from his plate. And then that ancient family ritual that had filled so many Sunday mornings came to an end. My father announced: "Let's go read the paper, Hon."

"Aren't you doing the dishes?" my mother asked fretfully.

"Your oldest son has generously offered to fill the position."

My brother and sister stopped cold. So this was what my life had come to. A dark angel sat on my left shoulder and reminded me that I could hit a baseball farther than anyone in my class. I could bench-press my weight. I knew three declensions in Latin, the language of Caesar. Ask me to run through a rainstorm. Command me to ride the roller coaster � backward. These things I would do. But I could never do those dishes. There was nothing left but to refuse.

People often say there is a special chemistry between a father and a son. He came back into the kitchen just as I was about to storm out. He had loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt � ready to relax. In his right hand was the old apron.

"I want you to have this, Tommy. It'll keep your clothes from getting wet." And before I could mount a protest, he had put the thing on me. "Thanks, Son. Your mother and I appreciate this."

With that he disappeared into the Sunday paper. I looked down at the plastic. It had seen better days. I could see my dad reaching for the dishes. The dark angel flew off. Soon I was singing about Mrs. Murphy's chowder. The words came out of nowhere. And out of nowhere I knew the kind of man I wanted to be.

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The whisper

Recently, I heard a touching story which illustrates the power that words have to change a life -- a power that lies right in the hands of those reading this article. Mary had grown up knowing that she was different from the other kids, and she hated it. She was born with a cleft palate and had to bear the jokes and stares of cruel children who teased her non-stop about her misshaped lip, crooked nose, and garbled speech. With all the teasing, Mary grew up hating the fact that she was "different". She was convinced that no one, outside her family, could ever love her ... until she entered Mrs. Leonard's class.

Mrs. Leonard had a warm smile, a round face, and shiny brown hair. While everyone in her class liked her, Mary came to love Mrs. Leonard. In the 1950's, it was common for teachers to give their children an annual hearing test. However, in Mary's case, in addition to her cleft palate, she was barely able to hear out of one ear. Determined not to let the other children have another "difference" to point out, she would cheat on the test each year. The "whisper test" was given by having a child walk to the classroom door, turn sideways, close one ear with a finger, and then repeat something which the teacher whispered. Mary turned her bad ear towards her teacher and pretended to cover her good ear. She knew that teachers would often say things like, "The sky is blue," or "What color are your shoes?" But not on that day. Surely, God put seven words in Mrs. Leonard's mouth that changed Mary's life forever. When the "Whisper test" came, Mary heard the words: "I wish you were my little girl."

Dads, I wish there was some way that I could communicate to you the incredible blessing which affirming words impart to children. I wish, too, that you could sit in my office, when I counsel, and hear the terrible damage that individuals received from not hearing affirming words--particularly affirming words from a father. While words from a godly teacher can melt a heart, words from a father can powerfully set the course of a life.

If affirming words were something rarely spoken in your home growing up, let me give you some tips on words and phrases that can brighten your own child's eyes and life. These words are easy to say to any child who comes into your life. I'm proud of you, Way to go, Bingo ... you did it, Magnificent, I knew you could do it, What a good helper, You're very special to me, I trust you, What a treasure, Hurray for you, Beautiful work, You're a real trooper, Well done, That's so creative, You make my day, You're a joy, Give me a big hug, You're such a good listener, You figured it out, I love you, You're so responsible, You remembered, You're the best, You sure tried hard, I've got to hand it to you, I couldn't be prouder of you, You light up my day, I'm praying for you, You're wonderful, I'm behind you, You're so kind to your (brother/sister), You're God's special gift, I'm here for you.

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Love is action

"If I never saw this kid again, Lord, I wouldn't be sorry!" I thought. Tears clouded my eyes as I stood in our laundry room. Clenched in both hands were new jeans and a shirt belonging to my 16-year-old stepson, Brett. The clothing was already destroyed from burn holes and vomit stains after a drunken binge.

Exhausted and defeated, I sank to the floor. The clothes were just one more thing Brett had ruined. He had already kicked a large hole in his bedroom wall; his bedcovers were torn. Numerous windows in our house needed repair due to his breaking in to steal money when he chose to live on the street. Yet none of this could compare to the emotional damage Brett had inflicted on our once quiet home.

I knew that Brett's needs were deep, and I had often prayed for wisdom and love. The second greatest commandment, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself," had taken on new meaning when Brett came to live with us when he was 12 years old. If I were to love my neighbor, was I not to love my own troubled stepson even more?

During those four years I had dealt with Brett as patiently as possible, but inside I was churning. "I don't want him in my house another day, Lord," I cried as I knelt on the laundry room floor. "I just can't stand him!"

Chest heaving, I poured out my despair. Then God tenderly spoke to me in my weakness. Matthew 25:35-40 rose in my thoughts---Jesus' declaration that when we invite a stranger, feed the hungry, clothe the naked or visit those in prison, we are doing it as unto Him. For the first time I saw this story in light of the action words. Jesus was saying, "Act. Meet these people's needs. Through your actions you are loving them and Me."

God's encouragement to me that day helped me to gather strength and continue parenting Brett. Still, Brett did not change his behavior.

When Brett was nearly 18, he landed again in Juvenile Hall, this time on suicide watch. Through prayer, my husband, Dave, and I sensed God's leading to send Brett to a boarding school with a high success rate for helping troubled teens.

The psychological training at Brett's school was rigorous. Out of more than 20 people in his class, Brett was one of only five graduates.

At the graduation ceremony the graduates stood one by one to thank those who had helped them. Each graduate held a long-stemmed, white rosebud to give to the person who had meant the most to him or her.

Brett spoke lovingly to his mother and father and for the first time took responsibility for the heartaches he had caused.

Finally Brett spoke to me. "You did so much," he said. "You were always there, no matter what. My mom and dad, I was their kid. But you just got stuck with me. All the same you always showed me such love. And I want you to know that I love you for it."

Stunned, I stood as Brett placed the white rosebud in my hand and hugged me hard.

At that moment I realized the truth in God's words to me. Although I had struggled with silent anger toward my stepson, Brett had seen only my actions.

Love is action. We may not always have positive feelings about certain people in our lives. But we can love them.

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My money tree

For years I wanted a flower garden. I'd spend hours thinking of different things I could plant that would look nice together.

But then we had Matthew. And Marvin. And the twins, Alisa and Alan. And then Helen. Five children. I was too busy raising them to grow a garden.

Money was tight, as well as time. Often when my children were little, one of them would want something that cost too much, and I'd have to say, "Do you see a money tree outside? Money doesn't grow on trees, you know."

Finally, all five got through high school and college and were off on their own. I started thinking again about having a garden.

I wasn't sure, though. I mean, gardens do cost money, and after all these years I was used to living on a pretty lean, no-frills budget.

Then, one spring morning, on Mother's Day, I was working in my kitchen. Suddenly, I realized that cars were tooting their horns as they drove by. I looked out the window and there was a new tree, planted right in my yard. I thought it must be a weeping willow, because I saw things blowing around on all its branches. Then I put my glasses on - and I couldn't believe what I saw.

There was a money tree in my yard!

I went outside to look. It was true! There were dollar bills, one hundred of them, taped all over that tree. Think of all the garden flowers I could buy with one hundred dollars! There was also a note attached: "IOU eight hours of digging time. Love, Marvin."

Marvin kept his promise, too. He dug up a nice ten-by-fifteen foot bed for me. And my other children bought me tools, ornaments, a trellis, a sunflower stepping stone and gardening books.

That was three years ago. My garden's now very pretty, just like I wanted. When I go out and weed or tend my flowers, I don't seem to miss my children as much as I once did. It feels like they're right there with me.

I live up in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, where winters are long and cold, and summers are way too short. But every year now, when winter sets in, I look out my window and think of the flowers I'll see next spring in my little garden. I think about what my children did for me, and I get tears in my eyes - every time.

I'm still not sure that money grows on trees. But I know love does!

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