I Love You and I'm Sorry

Tue, 09 May 2006 00:00:00 -0500

From 1962 to 1970, my family lived in Victoria, Texas. There is a wonderful church there, the Central Church of Christ. We were very involved in that little community of faith. We were in Bible class on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. We went to Sunday night worship and Vacation Bible School. We were in the big middle of nearly everything that was going on.

I was a rather energetic child -- understatement. It was difficult for me to sit still -- impossible -- and I was a bit of a challenge -- a real PAIN -- to the women who were trying to teach me in Sunday school.

When I was six, one Sunday morning (so I'm told) I was more of a challenge (a bigger PAIN) than usual. The Sunday school teacher threatened to take me to my parents (a fate worse than death) if I didn't "simmer down."

My response?

I calmly informed her that, "My daddy's out of town and I don't have to mind my mother."

I'm sure this sounded good to me at the time. I am also sure it was proven to be false about three minutes after the words left my impertinent little mouth.

This Sunday is Mother's Day. My mother should get a medal. I was ADHD before there was such a thing. I think I helped invent it. But this Sunday she won't get a medal. She'll get the traditional corsage, a Mother's Day telephone call and the usual card which I'll sign, "I love you -- and I'm sorry."

Like all holidays, Mother's Day is bittersweet. Many will celebrate with gifts and cards, honoring and thanking their mothers for all she has done for them. But for some, Mother's Day is a day to be endured. It brings back memories of a dysfunctional home and unhealthy parenting styles.

If you are part of the second group, the enduring group, I'm praying for you. My prayer is that God has placed another person in your life who can bless you. I pray that your anger and your pain will be healed. I pray that you are part of a healthy community of faith where you can minister and receive ministry. I pray that, through the grace of God, your difficult beginnings won't hamper your ability to have intimate relationships. I pray that God will give you a deeper sense of his love for you, that you will see yourself as a valued, adopted son or daughter of the Creator of the universe -- someone whom he considered worth dying for.

If you are in the first group, the celebrating group, I want to remind you of something. You are the recipient of the greatest earthly blessing there is, the blessing of being born into a loving and nurturing family. You have a leg up on the rest of the world. You are who you are because of this wonderful blessing. No possession is more valuable than the fact that you can celebrate Mother's Day. If you were loved, you learned how to love. If you were secure, you learned how to trust. If you were taught about God, you learned how to have faith.

My prayer for you is that you will never take your blessedness for granted, that you will never stop being thankful, and that you will pass this most precious of blessings on to your family and friends.

Happy Mother's Day -- and mother, if you're reading this, I love you -- and I'm sorry.

Bunnies, Baskets, Eggs, and Stuff

Wed, 23 Feb 2005 00:00:00 -0600

The words “boy” and “genius” never really got together for me as a child. There were, however, other words that seemed to be strung together with uncommon regularity. Little phrases like, “Why did you...” and, when adults were speaking to each other and I was the topic, “You’ll never believe...” But “boy” and “genius” never occurred in the same sentence.

I was a gullible kid -- believed everything I saw on T.V. and trusted, as truth, every word that came out of an adult’s mouth. There was this particularly misleading commercial that caused me great angst when I found it to be untrue.

It was an advertisement for a toy bubble gum machine. It was supposed to be a ‘60’s version of a piggy bank. You bought the bubble gum machine, bought the little gum balls that went inside, and you used pennies to extract the gum balls from the machine. After a while, the little plastic base of the machine was full of pennies and, all of a sudden, you were rich!

The scene (it’s burned in my memory even today), which was especially misleading, was of a pretty little girl blowing a bubble. She blew this huge and wonderful bubble — and then, when it burst, all these pennies flew out. I watched this with unbridled excitement, completely convinced that it was magic — that the gum balls were special, penny producing candies. I couldn’t wait to get my teeth into some of that magic gum — get my lips around one of those magic bubbles — and be a filthy, penny-rich little kid.

We bought the toy. We bought the bubble gum. I chewed it -- got it to just the right bubble producing consistency. I blew a huge bubble. It exploded all over my face. No pennies. Just a mess. I was horribly disappointed. It ruined the next 20 minutes of my life before I snapped out of it, and clothes-pinned a towel around my neck and went out to save the neighborhood from major crime figures like The Joker and The Riddler.

You can imagine how confused I was by Easter. I knew about bunnies — they were cute. I knew about eggs — they were white on every other day of the year and came from chickens. I knew about baskets — they were used to gather things like pecans, dirty clothes, and if constructed of heavy wire and wheels, you put food and stuff in them at the grocery store. But, on this one very confusing day, bunnies, colored eggs, and fancy little straw baskets all came together. The bunny hid the colored eggs, then provided the straw baskets in which to place the bright colored eggs. It was all quite fun — but what possessed this bunny to color eggs — which come from chickens and not bunnies? And, while it was fun to find the eggs, I didn’t really want to eat a colored egg because, if it was the wrong color, what else might be wrong with it?

In 1967, when I was 7 years old and my sisters were 5 and 3, my understanding of Easter began to change. When we arose early on that Easter morning, the bunny had been there. The eggs were all over the house and the baskets were all lined up in a row. But this year, along with the eggs and the candy, there was something else in our baskets. Bibles! Mine was real, artificial leather and everything. It was black, very official looking, and it had my name on it. I was very impressed — but once again, rather confused.

That morning after the Easter egg hunt, we were on our way to church and dad asked us if we knew what Easter was really all about. We were too young to understand things like death and sin and eternity and sacrifice, but the seeds were sown. And every Easter after that — even when the bunny stopped coming and the eggs no longer littered the house, as we drove into town to attend Easter morning worship, dad always asked if we knew what Easter was really all about. As the years went by, we grew into the answer. And all of us, my sisters and their families and me, now know. And it’s a wonderful thing to know.

For you parents, I don’t know how old your children are, but if they’re old enough, put a Bible in their basket this year. Start to tell them what it’s really all about. It just might be the spark that starts a fire in their souls that will change their world forever. And I do mean forever.

But the fact is that Christ has been raised from the dead. He has become the first of a great harvest of those who will be raised to life again. (1 Corinthians 15:20)

Articles by Danny Mann at Heartlight

I Love You and I'm Sorry

Bunnies, Baskets, Eggs, and Stuff