HOW'D THEY WIND UP IN THESE FIXES?

It's Saturday as I write this post. We've had our two little grandsons—our grandboys, we call them—since Thursday night when we picked them up in Tampa and brought them home with us. A first grader and a four-year-old. They're a bundle of energy. They take lots of time and work to care for them. Cooking their meals. Bathing them. Reading to them. Refereeing their arguments. Helping them make "books" at the kitchen table, complete with drawings. Playing with them in the backyard—they love to pick pink grapefruit off of one of our trio of citrus trees. Taking them places like out to lunch, the hands-on children's museum, Pottery Works to make ceramic figurines, Papa's office at church where they get to draw and write, the library, Sonic Burgers for an ice cream sundae in the car right before bedtime.

Today, I'm lonely. Milton's got them at the zoo. I should have gone. But I needed to get some office work done. They have to go home Monday. I don't want to think about that right now.

Milton and I worry about them. The other day, the oldest one said, "I don't like having two homes. Why do I have to go back and forth?" He was talking about his father's home and his mother's home.

It hasn't been easy for our daughter. She thought she found the man of her dreams when they married. She didn't want a divorce. But when the unspeakable occurs, the decision is taken out of your hands.

On Mother's Day, Milton asked me to speak at our church. With both daughters here to share the weekend with us (one all the way from San Juan, Puerto Rico!), I felt the Lord leading me to speak on the topic, "A Mother Talks to Her Daughters." I asked them what they thought about it, and they said they'd like to participate.

I set up the church platform like a TV set with three wingback chairs and plants, etc., and on Mother's Day morning, the three of us miked up and took our places when it was time for me to speak. I used an interview-type format, and the three of us talked—with much prayer beforehand.

One daughter is married to an atheist and recently rededicated her life to Christ—read her blog for a glimpse of her unique journey—and the other daughter, well, I just described her.

The one in San Juan has a darling two-year-old and an infant. In a four-month period earlier this year, her husband announced he was divorcing her because of her newfound faith. She fell on her knees in front of him and begged him not to. She doesn't want her children to grow up without their father, plus, she loves him, is devoted to this man. She is God's gift to this man, and that's not just her mother saying it. She treats him like a king.

The other daughter walks a hard road as a single mom to two very active little boys and as a dedicated school teacher who puts in long hours, plus she has an ex who's made her life (and ours) so hard, I can't hang words on it.

How did both girls wind up in these fixes?

Girls who were raised in a good home?

A Christian home.

A home where their parents' marriage was stable.

Where both sets of grandparents were married decades (presently, one is at 60 years, and before they died the other at 67 years)?

Good girls.

Girls who worked in various ministries of the church.

Girls who had ministers for parents?

Continued tomorrow…

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