THAT IS WHAT LOVE FEELS LIKE

In 2014, my dad and I had the difficult task of going through my mother's things, the hardest being her clothes and purses. Certain outfits brought back beautiful memories; however, taking them out of the closet brought back the stark realization that she was gone. On the lighter side, we had to check each item painstakingly. Later stages of dementia resulted in her hiding jewelry and money in pockets, hems, etc...and the Kleenex! She always feared having a runny nose with no tissue available, so her purses and jacket pockets were stockpiled. If we had unfurled and stacked each tissue (I'm not kidding), I think we would have refilled three boxes.

Anyway, we accomplished our mission. The closet was empty, boxes filled, her blouses, slacks, and jackets hanging on the clothes rod and a portable clothes rack. After loading the van, we headed to a local homeless shelter that housed both men and women, as some of her jackets and sweatshirts could be used by either gender. I located a volunteer, and before he followed me to the van, he unlocked the closet where they stored clothing donations. I looked in and chuckled. I told him the closet wasn't big enough. You see, my mom never discarded anything (she also had 700 beanie babies!), and close to the end, she would order something that she never had a chance to use. The volunteer must have thought I was exaggerating until I opened the van doors. He returned to the shelter, calling for some residents to help unload.

Several men jumped at the opportunity. A man approached me as I began unloading some of the smaller boxes. He was unkempt and toothless. At first, I hate to admit, I felt the urge to turn around and run. He took the box I was holding and put it on one of the food carts they were using for transport. I thanked him and, with an embarrassed look on his face, said, "I wasn't always like this." While both of us continued to unload boxes, he told me of his many attempts to get clean and sober, each relapse causing him to lose more until nothing was left. Proudly he exclaimed that his most recent period of sobriety was the longest yet, and he truly felt the Holy Spirit. I congratulated him and said I would pray for his continued success. I told him I struggled with addiction and shared a little of my story. As I was sharing, I realized how blessed I was. Although we shared the same affliction, the consequences he suffered were much more severe. All I could think of was, "There but for the Grace of God go I."

The van was empty; the job was done. The shelter volunteer and residents offered thanks and wheeled the carts to the storage area. I started towards the driver's side of the van. The man I was chatting with came back out of the storage area and asked if he could hug me. It wasn't a little one ... it was an extended, long bear hug. He backed up and, with a toothless smile, said, "and THAT is what love feels like," and walked away. As I started the drive home, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw nothing but a few stray hangers hanging from clothes rods where my mother's clothes hung. Instead of feeling empty, I was enveloped in peace and fulfillment. 

Yes, my friend, that's what love feels like.

A Lesson in Worth

Some stories have such a special message they should be shared more than once.

This is one of them ...

The Pearl Necklace

Author Unknown

A cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box. "Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please, Mommy, please!"

Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost two dollars. If you really want them, I'll
think of some extra chores for you, and in no time, you can save enough money to buy them for yourself.  Your birthday's only a week away, and you might get another crisp dollar bill from grandma."

As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her piggy bank and counted out seventeen pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores, and she went to the neighbor and asked if she could pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill, and at last, she had enough money to buy the necklace.

Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown-up. She wore them everywhere--Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a
bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green.

Jenny had a very loving daddy, and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?"  "Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you." "Then give me your pearls."  "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess-- the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite."  "That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.

About a week later, after story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?" "Daddy, you know I love you." "Then give me your pearls." "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my baby doll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful, and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper."  "That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And, as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.

A few nights later, when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling, and one silent tear rolled down her cheek. "What is it, Jenny? What's the matter? Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand to her daddy. And, when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver, she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you."

With tears in his eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace. With the other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of beautiful genuine pearls. He had had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store pearls.

  

We all hold on to

dime-store pearl necklaces...

feeling unworthy of anything better.

Our Father's hand is reaching out for 

those cheap pearls to replace them with

His greatest gift ...

Seeing our worth through His eyes.