And the Beat Goes On!

If there is one thing in life I would like to do over, it would be wishing, on my children, children of their own that are just like them. See, we, as parents, do that without considering the consequences of the wish coming true. If I had had any idea of the amount of time I would be spending with those children, or the possibility of them acting anything like their fathers, I would have made a totally different wish! I would have wished for quiet, well behaved children that always obeyed without being told more than once. Children who never thought to pull pranks on each other, especially in Church! Children who always brought out the best in ME! But, no! I had to say, "I hope when you grow up you have kids that are just like you! Then you'll understand why I get so upset!" Well, that wish came true, and I have paid dearly for it over the years.

Like the time Kevin and Diana went on some wonderful vacation and left me at home with their two boys, Andrew and Daniel. Daniel was still in preschool at the time, and Andrew first grade. I had had quite the week with those two boys! It was the last day I had to get them off to school, and it wasn't going well. I was trying to get them dressed. They were jumping on the livingroom sofa like it was a trampolene. Nothing I said or did seemed to dissuade them. They didn't care that time was slipping away, or that there was a good chance both of them would be late for school. And, they certainly could have cared less that they were not supposed to use the sofa as a trampolene. My voice, getting louder by the second, was completely drowned out by the screaming and laughing and jumping.

Finally, in total desperation, I grabbed one boy, smacked his little bum and sat him down on the couch. Then I grabbed the other little boy and followed the same proceedure with him. For a brief moment there was total silence as they tried to make sense of what had just happened. I had never laid a finger on either of them in their lives. When the reality set in that Grandma had actually spanked them (just one small swat, I assure you) Andrew just sat there with a look of total disbelief on his face. Daniel began to wail!

As the tears flowed, Daniel cried, "Grandma, you made me very sad!" With that, the tears began to flow from my eyes, as well. Immediately Daniel stopped crying. He, too, had a look of disbelief on his face. "Grandma, why are you crying?" he asked. Through the tears I said, "Because you made me very sad!" Andrew came close to me, put his little arm around my neck and drew me as closely to himself as possible. With a soft, kind voice he said to me, "It's okay, Grandma. Our mom cries a lot, too."

This morning crying was not the problem. Well, maybe, in a way, but inadvertently. You see we had a carry in dinner after church today. Michaelle, Randy's wife,was in charge of the kitchen and organizing and setting up the food tables in the fellowship hall. She had recruited Randy to help and asked if Trevor and Aaron could sit with me in church. Corey stayed in the kitchen with Mom and Dad. Once in the sanctuary, Aaron decided he wanted to sit with Daniel across the aisle from Trevor and me. Uncle Kevin said it was fine, so I agreed.

Trevor was being so good! And so was Aaron until he decided he wanted to sit with us after all. Across the aisle he came. From the moment he sat down, I knew he was in the ornery mode. He hadn't done anything yet. It just sort of radiated out of him. He had a few little stickers I assume he was given by his Sunday school teacher. I watched as he took one and stuck it to the hair on the side of Trevor's head a couple of inches above the ear. Tevor has a short crew cut, so I thought the sticker would just peel right off without any effort.

Aaron reached up and pulled the sticker off of Trevor's head. I was so wrong! That sticker stuck quite well on that short hair. And, when peeled off, it sounded just like a band aid coming off of a hairy arm! The sound could be heard for rows ahead and behind! Trevor looked at me in total shock, as did Aaron! The looks on their faces did something to tickle my funny bone. I wanted to get angry, to really let Aaron have it for doing such a thing! But, I could not control the laughter. I laughed so hard the tears began streaming down my cheeks. Every time I looked at Aaron with the intention of giving him a verbal reprimand, I started laughing uncontrollably again. My shoulders shook, the tears flowed, I was a mess!

Finally I was able to gain enough self control to look Aaron straight in the eyes and tell him that after church he was going to apologize to the people behind us for interrupting their worship! Aaron turned around to see those people, then turned back to me. As serious as a heart attack he asked, "Just those three, or all of 'em?" I was gone again!

Cooking Pot Christianity

There is something about beautiful handmade pottery that fascinates me. I look at an unusual piece of earthenware and almost immediately begin to picture in my mind the artist who molded and made a worthless piece of clay into a beautiful work of art. Whenever my husband and I travel, I look for shops that sell pottery made by local artisans. Usually I just look, but sometimes I find a piece I think I just can't live without.

One such piece is a beautiful blue bowl with a pouring spout on one side and a sleekly formed handle on the other. Where the potter pressed the handle into place with his thumb, I can place my thumb. And, where his fingers formed the pouring spout, I can place my fingers. The impressions he made on that bowl are so evident! I love that piece of pottery! To me it is a work of art.

It caught my eye the moment I walked into the little shop in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. The lady behind the counter remarked about the beauty of the bowl and told me of the artist in the area that had created it. Then she said, "Not only is this a beautiful piece of pottery, but, best of all, this is usable pottery!"

I have to admit I had not thought of the usefulness of any of the pottery I had admired. I simply liked it for its beauty and the thought of the hands of the master potter gently, yet firmly, forming a piece of clay into a wonderful work of art. The value of this lovely bowl for me was purely aesthetic. However, I was curious about its usefulness and asked the clerk for an explanation. She told me the bowl could be used for mixing, serving and even baking, and it would still look beautiful sitting out for display. I saw a beautiful work of art. Now she was telling me it was actually a cooking pot!

In this little lake town in Wisconsin, a potter had taken a useless lump of clay and fashioned it into a beautiful vessel fit for use. That didn't just happen! The original clay had to be cleansed of impurities and carefully kneaded to remove destructive air bubbles before it could even begin to be formed into a vessel. Once the vessel was formed, it was still fragile and unfinished. Not until the potter added color, design, and glaze, and put the vessel through the intense heat of the kiln, did it become a vessel of beauty fit for use.

In Jeremiah 18:6,we read that He (God) is the potter and we are the clay. He knows exactly what ingredients to add to the clay in order to properly mold it. In the process, sometimes the clay breaks apart or developes a terrible flaw that would affect its beauty and usefulness if left undone. The potter doesn't throw the clay away. He works it with his hands and places it on the potter's wheel again. And the process of remolding and reshaping begins. Every finished piece must then go through the fire. The purpose of the fire is not to harm the vessel but to give it the strength to withstand the uses for which it was created. He knows just how much of the fire it will take to turn us into vessels of honor fit for use. It is His fingerprints that can be seen on the finished product.

Some years ago on an archaeological dig, at a well-known Roman site, Mr. Tony Birks picked up a dull fawn colored fragment of pottery. On the side, he could still see the fingerprints of a potter from some two thousand years ago.

II Timothy 2:20-21 says, "In a large house there are articles not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay; some are for noble purposes, and some for ignoble. If a man cleanse himself of the latter, he will be an instument for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master, and prepared to do any good work."

God is willing to do whatever it takes to mold us into noble vessels. However, we must be willing to be molded. No matter how long it takes He will continue to work the clay with never a thought of casting it aside. And, when the molding is done, the color, design and glaze are added, and we have been strengthened in the fire, His fingerprints will be visible on these beautiful vessels of honor fit for the Master's use.

Whose Kids, Continued

Talking about the old parsonage chapel days has really triggered some memories for me. Like the day I was standing at the kitchen sink when I heard this horrible screaming and crying coming from the yard. I looked out the window and saw Kenny and Robby rolling in the grass and laughing their heads off. About the same time, Kevin, the source of the screaming and crying, came bounding through the door. I didn't know what had happened, but I was sure Kenny and Robby had something to do with it.
Kevin was always a bit melodramatic, so you looked for lots of blood or misplaced bones before getting too upset when he got hurt. This time there was no blood or misplalced bones, however, I could see clearly where the problem was. It was his nose! Something black mixed in with a great deal of mucous was running out of his nose! I had never seen the likes of it before, nor have I since. Kevin was way too upset for me to get any information from him. I figured my best bet was with the culprits who had, I was positive, caused his pain.
Kenny and Robby were just picking themsellves up off of the ground, although still laughing, when I arrived on the scene. "Okay, you two. I don't know what you did, but I know you did it! What's with Kevin's nose?"
"We just gave him a pretty flower to smell." One of them announced. "What's wrong with that?"
"What did you do to the flower to make it lethal? I know you did something, so fess up!"
After a bit of motherly persuation, they finally admitted they had put some, actually a lot, of black pepper in the flower before giving it to Kevin to smell. They enticed him to take a smell. He sniffed it a bit and agreed it was a pretty flower. But, nothing happened. So, they told him to put it close to his nose and take a really big sniff of the flower. The poor unsuspecting child took that flower, stuck his nose right down inside the middle of it and inhaled deeply through his little nose to get the full effect of the fragrance. Instead he sucked so much black pepper up his nose that it took forever to blow it all out and to stop the burning.
In their defense, those four little apples didn't fall too far from the tree. That's right, it's all their dad's fault! For instance --- One fall evening, about 8 PM, Randy had fallen asleep on the livingroom floor watching television. I said we needed to get him up and get all the boys ready for bed. It was a school night. They needed their sleep, and apparently Randy needed his more than anyone. He was only in first grade. Still a baby! Right, mothers? Well, my husband had a better idea.
"Watch this." he said to the other boys. He got Randy's jacket and lunch box and headed for the livingroom. I couldn't imagine what he was going to do. I stood and watched in utter disbelief as he got my baby up out of a deep sleep and put his coat on him all the while saying things like, "Come on, Randy, you're going to miss the bus. It's time to go to school. Here's your lunch box. Hurry up before you miss the bus."
Poor little Randy must have thought he was dreaming. Having a nightmare would be more accurate! I yelled for him to stop, but he was on a roll! He had him outside, coat on, lunch box in hand, eyes closed, head down, heading down our looooong driveway toward the bus stop!
Ken and the boys were roaring with laughter. "Go get that baby and bring him back into this house right now!" I ordered. "I'll get him in a minute. Let's just see how far he gets." said the sadist!
Under great duress, he finally rescued the pitiful child. But the laughter lingered for some time.
Not everything that happened in that little parsonage chapel was funny, though a great deal of it was. We had left behind a good life, with ample security, and moved our family of six to a small church in Northern Illinois to become first time pastor and family. We left our home church of about 300 in attendance, with great programs and activities for everyone. The first Sunday in our new church we had 13 people in the congregation, and 6 of them were our family members. Ken had been working in a factory, as well as managing a photography studo. Though not wealthy by any long shot, we were making a decent living. Our salary in Rockton was $60 a week from the church and another 30 or 40 from the district. Even in 1973 that was not enough to meet the needs of a family with four growing boys.
The holidays were coming, and we were so broke. In fact, a week or so before Thanksgiving we woke one Monday morning to the emptiest cupboards we had ever had and no money to buy anything to put in them. We literally had one can of green beans in the cupboard and enough cereal for the boys to eat for breakfast knowing there would be nothing for them to eat when they got home.
Before they left for school, we spoke honestly to them about the situation. We told them we had no more food and no money to buy any. But God had sent us to this church to minister for Him. We knew He would not let us down. We stood in a family circle holding hands in our kitchen and prayed, "God, we have no more food and no money to buy any. But we are going to trust you to provide for our needs. Thank you for what you are going to do. Amen." With that, the boys went on to school and we went about our business at home.
Early that afternoon Don and Elaine Turner, pastor and wife from a neighboring church, and dear friends, knocked at our door. We were thrilled to see them and invited them in to visit. Ken and Don sat at the kitchen table, and Elaine and I went into the livigroom to talk. We visited for quite some time before I realized the guys had been going in and out of the house repeatedly. Finally I said to Elaine, "What are those two up to, anyway?" "Let's go see" she replied.
As soon as we entered the kitchen, my attention went immediately to the table where boxes and boxes of food had been piled. And Ken and Don were still carrying in more.
Elaine explained that, for over a month, their church people had been bringing in food to give to us for Thanksgiving. Week after week they brought in non-parishable food items, then added meat and dairy products that last Sunday to be delivered to us that day. The very day we ran out of everything so we and our children could experience God's miraculous provisions for those who dare to put their trust in Him for all their needs.
After our friends left, Ken and I emptied every box and bag of food onto the kitchen table and countertops. We wanted the boys to see clearly what God had done for our family. I wish we had taken a picture of their faces when they came home from school that afternoon and saw all that food in our kitchen! We actually had more food than our cupboards would hold! What a faith lesson for our boys! No matter how old they get, my sons will always remember where their help comes from. Their help --- our help comes from the Lord! Thank God for the faith lessons we all learned in a little parsonage chapel in Rockton, Illinois.

Whose Kids Are These?

Ken and I were both the babies of our families, so neither of us were used to having younger children around. I don't think I had ever changed a diaper before having my own children. I didn't even like to babysit. I would iron all my dad's shirts for a quarter apiece rather than take a babysitting job. So why did God give us four boys to raise? Because He has a tremendous sense of humor!

We didn't start out our married lives as pastor and wife, either. We were only 17 years old when we got married. By the time we were 24 years old we had four sons, Ken, Jr., Rob,Kevin, and Randy. What one of those boys didn't think of, one of the others would. Kenny, the trailblazer, was quietly destructive. Robby saw the potential humor in everything. Kevin was so gullible and in his own little world most of the time. Randy was Dennis the Menace reincarnated. You could see the wheels turning in that little head and know he was thinking, "I wonder what would happen if-----?" He was also very accident prone. I believe we had him taken apart and put back together by age 3.

There was no way to keep things out of Randy's reach. By the age of 2 he had discovered that there were many desirable tidbits to be had in the upper kitchen cupboards, and all one had to do to get to them was to pull the drawers of the bottom cupboard out, climb them like stair steps, then stand on the counter top and open the cupboard doors to reveal all the wonders hidden behind them.

One day I found the drawers pulled out and the cupboard door open, but no Randy or Kevin to be found. I heard a stirring in the bathroom and entered to find two little boys sitting on the floor sharing a bottle of Flintstones Vitamins. At first I panicked, sure they would both be comatose in a very short time. A quick call to the doctor settled my nerves. Since there was no iron in the tablets, there was no real danger in eating the entire bottle at one setting. However, that bathroom was well used the next day by those two little boys

Kevin has always been an entrepreneure, and a pretty creative one, as well. We were pastoring our first church in Rockton, Illinois. Kevin was 6 and Randy was 4. One fine summer day my phone rang. I answered, "Hello, Nazarene parsonage, Rosie speaking." The voice on the other end of the line sounded a bit amused as the lady said, "Mrs. Stirratt, your two younger sons are going door to door in the neighborhood selling old Sunday school papers for ten cents each. I thought you might want to know." Certain she could feel the redness in my face seeping through the phone line, I thanked her kindly, hung up the phone, and went hunting for two little boys.

Kevin and Randy weren't too hard to find. They had had a pretty good day. Used Sunday school papers must have been in high demand in our neighborhood that day. They came running across the yard toward the house faces beaming and waving the leftover papers, obviously anxious to share their little business venture with me.

"Have you boys been selling old Sunday school papers to the neighbors?" I asked. "Yeah! Look at all the money we got!" they replied opening their dirty little hands to reveal the day's earnings. They had over a dollar in dimes from the sale of those old papers. As much as I hated bursting their bubbles, I had to explain that selling the leftover Sunday school papers was just not appropriate. They could give them away, but they just couldn't sell them. And, since they didn't remember exactly which neighbors had purchased papers from them so they couldn't make refunds, they would have to give the money to the Sunday school offering the next Sunday. Two very sad little boys handed over the handful of dimes and the leftover papers, and, with shoulders drooping and heads hanging down, walked slowly to the house.

I have so many memories of that little parsonage chapel. For those of you who are not familiar with the term parsonage chapel, let me explain. A parsonage chapel is a house that has been built as a church on one end and a house on the other. The purpose of these structures is to provide a church building, as well as a home for the pastor until the congregation increases to the point that a separate church can be built and the parsonage chapel can then be converted to a house for the pastor and family to live in. The problem being that there is not enough room for the congregation to ever get large enough in number to be able to afford to build a separate church building. Ours was quite small on both ends, especially for a family of six.

Our livingroom was actually smaller than 9'x12'. I know this because we had to cut a 9'x12' carpet to fit the room. We had 3 kitchen doors. One entered the house from the outside, one led to a very short hallway which led to two bedrooms and a bathroom, and the third door opened directly into the back of the sanctuary of the church. Some ingenious layperson had sometime in the past decided it would be a good thing to cut a very large window in the wall shared by the livingroom and the back wall of the sanctuary so that the livingroom could double as a nursery during church services. I had hung a nice little curtain to cover the window and give us at least a feeling of privacy.

One Sunday afternoon Randy had fallen asleep on the sofa which sat directly under the "nursery" window. It was time for the evening service to begin, and Randy was still sound asleep on the sofa. I had to be up front during the first portion of the service to lead the congregational singing, so I opened the curtains to reveal the "nursery" and instructed Kenny, about 10 or 11 years old at the time, to watch for Randy's head to pop up in that window. When he saw Randy was awake, he was to go in the house quietly and bring him into the church.

We were about half way through the second song when I saw Randy's little head pop up in that window. I gestured to Little Kenny to go get his brother. He quietly left his seat and carefully opened the door leading into the house. I continued to lead the singing. Before the last verse was sung, the door to the sanctuary opened and there stood Kenny motioning for me to come. I continued leading the singing and shaking my head no. I couldn't come. His gestures became more insistant. He really wanted me to come! My head shaking became more insistant. I really couldn't come at the moment. Finally the song ended and Kenny cried from the doorway leading from the church into our kitchen, "Mom, will you please come in here. Randy fell in the toilet!" Five men in the house and someone left the toilet seat up. Go figure!

Whose Image Do You See?

I was simply washing my hands at the bathroom sink thinking about nothing in particular and not expecting anything unusual to happen. I mean, I was just washing my hands. My eyes had been tending to the duty of watching to make sure the washing was thorough, that soap had been well distributed to every digit and between each one. When the job was finally finished, I raised my eyes to gaze quickly into the mirror before vacating the bathroom. I was compleltely shocked at what I saw in that mirror. I found myself unable to move from the spot in which I stood. My eyes were glued to the mirror and the stranger whose reflection stared back at me. She was noone I ever remembered seeing before, although somewhat familiar. She wasn't old, but she was older. There was a hint of tiredness in her eyes, and wrinkles were beginning to appear around her lips and eyes. A bit of extra flesh hung on her neck, as often happens to people in mid-life and beyond. Though she seemed friendly enough, her presense there in my mirror took me so much by surprise, I yelled loudly for my husband to come quickly. He wasn't far away and, without hesitation, ran quickly to my rescue.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt or sick or something? What are you yelling about?"

"Look in the mirror." I ordered. "Who is this strange woman. I don't remember seeing her before. When did this happen? When did I start looking like this?"

That was the beginning of the realization that years were passing quickly and inevitable changes were taking place over which I had no control. Even now, probably ten years later, I find myself peeking into the mirrors in my house looking to see if any part of the young woman who used to reside in this clay vessel we call a body might show her face again. But, all I see is a much older version of her with somewhat deeper wrinkles than the first time we met in the bathroom and even more of that loose flesh the grandkids love to play with when they sit by me in church.

It has occurred to me that along with an older and weaker body I may very well develope an older and weaker mind. Right now it is brimming with fond memories and funny stories of the past. It is full of lessons learned from God's Word, of lessons learned through suffering, pain, and heartache, and through mistakes I wish I hadn't made among the few things I did right.

While I still have a good mind and the ability to communicate some of those things, I have decided that modern technology offers the perfect platform from which I am able to share some of what I have experienced and learned through the 64 years of my life so far. Thus, "Mama Rosie's Blog." So, grab a cup of coffee, or a cup (or glass) of tea, and join me as I share with you.