[Faith-talk] {Spam?} Daily Thought for Saturday, May 14, 2016

[Paul Smith]

Hello and greetings to one and all on this Saturday or, for you in 
Australia and New Zealand as this message is being written, a good 
Lord's Day.  I hope that your day is going well, by God's matchless 
grace and His providential care.

Today will be the last daily thought for several, but I hope that you 
will survive without them, as I know you will.  If you have saved these 
in whatever folder you have them, just go over past ones to take the 
place of fresh ones, as a suggestion, and just maybe you will gain new 
insights that you previously did not have.

A contemporary phrase I hear nowadays in urban settings is that "black 
lives matter," and while that may be true, in God's eyes all of our 
lives matter.  Today's article addresses this issue.  Written by a 
Delaware writer, Eva Maddox, it mainly addresses an incident in her 
young life and she takes it a step further as you will read.  Entitled 
"I Matter," it is rendered as follows:

When I hopped off the school bus, I couldn't imagine why my mother was 
waiting for me.  After all, I was in the third grade and had been 
getting on and off the school bus since kindergarten.  Mom threw her 
arms around me.  Since we were not a hugging family, I was confused, 
but happy for the hug.  Mom kept one arm around me as we walked across 
the yard to our front door.  I saw a tear trickle down her cheek, and I 
noticed her hand tremble as it lay across my shoulders.  When the bus 
roared away, Mom's arm tightened and she spun me around to face her.  
That's when I knew something was up.  I dropped my lunch box and stared 
into those brown, misty eyes.

"Are you crying, Mommy?

"Crying! I've been crying this whole night long!" I couldn't understand 
why she was yelling.  That's when I remembered.

"Where on earth were you?" demanded Mother.  She shook my shoulders and 
I felt like Raggedy Ann.  I began trembling like Mom.

"I-I rode the b-bus home with Marybeth Wilkins yesterday after school."

"Do you mean to tell me that you just decided all on your own to go 
home with another child without so much as asking permission to spend 
the night? Is that what you're telling me?" Mom wasn't crying any 
longer.  She was angrier than the time my sister, Barbara, went 
swimming in the town reservoir.  I was more confused than ever.

"Y-Yes." I didn't want to blubber like a little kid since some of the 
neighbors had appeared and were watching us, but I couldn't help it.

"What on earth were you thinking, Eva Carolyn?"

I-I didn't think it would matter."

"You didn't think it would matter that I had no idea where my child 
was?" Mother's words caught in her throat as she snatched up my lunch 
box and propelled me inside.

I no longer remember why my eight-year-old brain thought I could go 
home with my new friend without asking.  I do remember that I was 
excited and didn't care about anything except the fun we were going to have.

As my own children came along, visions of the grief I put into the 
heart of my mother that night often came to mind.  I have no idea how 
she managed to survive the night not knowing where I was, except that 
she had a strong faith and prayed for my safety.

Some things about the event made it exceptionally difficult.  One was 
that neither the teacher, who saw me climb into the wrong bus, nor the 
driver, who must have known I was not a kid on his route, questioned 
me.  I doubt that would be the case today.

In addition, few people in 1948 had telephones.  My family didn't have 
a phone and my friend's family didn't either.  So there was no way for 
me to call home, or for Mom to call anybody unless she walked to teh 
corner grocery.  Even then, she didn't know whom to call.  By the time 
she had waited in vain, hoping some child's dad was giving me a ride 
home, the store was closed.  I can only imagine her terror.

One thing I learned from the incident is that I mattered.  I was as 
shaken by my mother's reaction to my escapade almost as much as she was 
by the event itself.  I mattered.  My little brother and my two sisters 
actually hugged me--this from a nonhugging family.

I wonder how many people out there aren't sure if they matter--if their 
life means anything to anyone? I know this much, everyone matters to 
God.  We need to make sure that folks with whom we come in contact know 
that indeed they do matter.  They matter so much that God sent His Son 
to die that they might live (John 3:16).

I'm glad I found out that I mattered in a big way.  Tears in Mom's eyes 
convinced me of that! And I'm glad to know that I matter to God.  
Jesus' death and resurrection is a constant reminder of that!

And there you have Eva's article which I trust was a comfort to you all 
with just four words:  You matter to God.

A similar incident happened when I was 11 and my sighted brother George 
was 9.  We hated our mom, so George wrote a note for her saying that we 
were running away.  Well, our destination was Clayton Spring, about 
seven miles away from where we lived at the time in the next county.  
George decided that all we needed was my prayer book and a canteen for 
water.  Well, after trudging all that distance, George had second 
thoughts and back home we trudged.  I was afraid that the policement 
would find us and send us to jail.  When we finally got back home, Mom 
had a unique way of punishing us.  She said that we were going to a 
popular amusement park at the time in southwest Baltimore, but because 
she knew that we were tired she consigned us to bed, and we didn't mind 
that kind of discipline in the least.  Was our Mom crying while we were 
gone, probably wondering what she did to make us run away? Probably.  
But we finally got home and went on with our lives.

And that will do for today's daily thought message and article.  
Tomorrow in this space will be the weekly Bible trivia game, then from 
the New Testament.  Until then may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob 
just keep us safe, individually and collectively, in these last days in 
which we live.  Your Christian friend and brother and a runaway kid, 
Brother Paul