Small Things Matter

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We never forget the small things our parents did for us or the silly “rules” they had.

It’s funny how as adults we remember the funniest things about our parents. I remember that when I came home from college, Mother would not take me shopping if I had on jeans. And goodness gracious, she’d tell me I should never marry anyone with a beard or mustache. (Funny … that wish didn’t happen. My first husband had facial hair!) But honestly, my mom was very generous and loved to bless my sister and me with shopping trips to our favorite stores. But one memory about my dad that sticks out to me like it was yesterday was the delight he took over popsicles.

On occasion, Daddy would come home from work with two or three bags of groceries. He’d plop my sister and me up on the kitchen counter, and before our very eyes, one by one he’d pull different ice cream treats out of the sacks. With each surprise, we’d squeal and holler. I can still hear the footsteps of my sister and me rushing to the freezer and spending what seemed like hours contemplating what treat we wanted to eat. I’m surprised they didn’t melt while we stood there contemplating our momentous decision.

Now I’m known as “Grammy Pammy,” and you guessed it. My favorite delight is filling my freezer full of orange sherbet push-ups, ice cream sandwiches, multicolored veggie pops, fudgesicles of every shape and kind, and, of course, any ice cream goodie that has a Frozen character on the box.

This I’ve learned. We never forget the small things our parents did for us or the silly “rules” they had about shopping or dating men with facial hair. Today, I treasure all those memories.

Moms, sometimes in the busyness of life in being a single mother it’s easy to forget that your kids will remember the small things you do for them: putting a Bible verse in their lunch box, writing a post-it-note prayer above their bed, saying prayers with them at night, or blowing them a blessing kiss every morning. What seems like your “little” can be God’s “much” in forming a memory that will be remembered, appreciated, and even passed down to  your grandkids after  you have gone on to be with the Lord.

I don’t suppose my Popsicle mania is over yet. I bet one day my grandkids will carry on the same Grammy tradition.

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