Speak life to your children....

My scissors are lost. I know that means nothing to anyone reading this, but for me...it is heartbreaking. Like tears gushing, boo hoo heartbreaking. And I'm not a pretty crier. AT ALL. These aren't just any scissors. They are my sewing scissors that my parents bought me when I was 13. I remember the night. We were at WalMart, (remember when WM used to be where Atwoods is now?) getting my sewing project supplies for home ec. There was a cheap pair, and a more expensive pair. My mom and I had been doing the choosing. But when we were looking at scissors, Dad spoke up. He said to get the more expensive pair. That I was ready for them. Mom agreed. For me, it was a moment that I have never forgotten. It was a moment of recognizing that my parents believed in me. That they thought I deserved the more expensive pair. That I would put them to good use. See, sewing was a big deal at our house. My mom sewed everything we wore. Things my grandmothers wore. Things friends wore. She sewed every day. My sister and I had to learn to sew. To prove that we weren't being ask to do the impossible, my dad also learned to sew. He made a red shirt. Wearing his suede tool belt, using a Tsquare and carpenter's pencil to mark seams. The shirt turned out perfectly. And our family smiles alot over the image of dad working. So we learned to sew...being given the nicer pair of scissors meant my parents believed that I could continue to learn to do something that I equated with being an excellent wife and mother....

I sewed my way through high school. Sewing for myself, my sister, my friends...being given a sewing machine one year for a gift, when I thought I was going to be given a diamond ring. The ring came the next day, and I began sewing for my new home. I went away to school...and studied how to sew in college...still using the scissors my parents had bought me when I was 13. With every project, every assignment that seemed impossible, I remembered the words "She's ready for the better ones." And even though my parents were 8 hours away, I knew they believed in me. And so I measured. And cut. And sewed. And in time, I earned the respect of some tough professors. And was given an opportunity to work for a designer...and was able to use my scissors while sewing to clothe the First Lady of Louisiana. And I continued to sew for my family...work shirts, and Sunday dresses, and napkins, and pillows, quilts that my grandmother helped me piece... turned into tiny onesies, and blankets....for a child that was never born...a child that would be 16 years old this Mother's Day...the scissors sat untouched for a while...but were eventually picked up again, and sewing continued...for three precious girls... In time, more heartache came. And on tough days, I would lose myself in my sewing projects. My sewing has always been so therapeutic for me. So comforting. And always, a reminder that I was holding the words of my parents..."She's ready"

I know I've rambled...down my memory lane, and for those of you still with me, I do have a point...my parents had no idea that night in WalMart that the words they were speaking were going to be the words that have sounded in my mind over and over and over again through my life. And so many times, when I wanted to give up, and give in, I held in my hand tangible proof that they believed in me. Parents-our words to our kids matter. Always. We feed their dreams. We mold and create who they become. I've been reading alot in James lately. We are instructed throughout the Bible, but particularly in James, to gain control of our tongue. With it we speak either life or death. Speak life over your children. You have no way of knowing what the world is going to throw at them as they grow. Plant seeds of faith that will carry them over the hard spots. Let them know that you believe in them. Even when it seems like nothing more than a pair of scissors from WalMart.