Three French Hens

"I hope those mothers don't complain about their gifts! If they complain, I'll just tell them we don't have to help them!" Exclaimed an anxious volunteer.

"Don't say that. It'll be fine." Soothed her friend.

They were not the only ones who were nervous this morning. Most of the Salvation Army volunteers present had worked very hard earlier to prepare for this very moment. While we had been told how to give the toys and clothes to the parents, no one could account for human jealousy. We hoped the women would be thankful, but the police officer standing nearby was not a very comforting sign.

I soon became very grateful for the policeman, because he directed the women into a line and checked their I.D.s. He was a very welcome figure of authority, at least, to me. He sent a woman from the line to me as soon as I finished presenting the last one with gifts. I saw many women, and most of them were very appreciative and wished me a "feliz navidad". Unfortunately, one rotten apple can spoil the whole lot of memories. One woman sat down and was overly chatty. Nothing wrong with that; she's just talkative. But something just did not seem right. I asked her the age of her children, because there seemed to be conflicts with the paperwork. She gave me a blank stare and when she didn't answer, I asked her again. I knew she spoke English. She was speaking fluently just a second earlier. Finally she answered that she had told me the wrong age. "I forget sometimes, you know." She chuckled. I tried to chuckle with her, but I could see her face twitch slightly. Could this have been my imagination? Oh Lord, please tell me this woman is not on drugs, I cried in my mind. As she walked away, my mind carried my soul away and down a dark path. How could a mother do that to her children? This unanswered question lay heavy on my heart throughout the afternoon.

I lightened up when I heard the director of the after-school program where I teach, talk about her grandson. Apparently, he was volunteering at many places and had quite a tender heart for helping people. I am sure he got that from our director. She loves her staff and the children as if they were her own children or grandchildren.

While listening to our caring boss, my cellphone reported jubilantly that a text message had arrived. Blushing because the noise had interrupted our staff meeting, I flipped open the phone and found a message from my my Sunday school teacher. It declared that she was volunteering at the Salvation Army and was sorry she missed us. How sweet of her! I often feel like her adopted daughter, because of how she is thinks of me and my sister. She is always giving us invitations to serve God with her. Everywhere my Sunday school teacher looks, she sees an opportunity to serve God. She has taught me that being close to God and waiting on Him brings unspeakable joy into one's life.

When I arrive home at night, I am tired, but I am never to exhausted for a chat with my grandma. She often regales me with stories from her pregnancy center. She provides information to many young women in crisis pregnancies, teaches parenting classes, and runs the center as director. She is completely dedicated to her work, and that same dedication pours into her family. Today I found out that she got everything set in place so that my parents would be able to go Christmas shopping. This is no small feat, as my family lives in Africa at present. Even though my father is grown, my grandmother will never stop being his mother.

As I think about these mothers in my life, I can see that I have been asking God the wrong question. Instead of why there are bad mothers, I should be asking him, "Why have you blessed me with so many great mothers?" I have no clue as to the answer of this question, but I am grateful all the same.

On the third Day of Christmas my True Love gave to me three great dames, two hands two thumbs, and a volunteer named Mary.