Vujnov - Spilt milk: devotions for moms

ZONDERVAN

Spilt Milk

Copyright 2009 by Linda Vujnov

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ePub Edition February 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-56444-7

Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Vujnov, Linda, 1963

Spilt milk : devotions for moms / Linda Vujnov.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-310-28511-3 (softcover)

1. MothersPrayers and devotions. I. Title.

BV4847.V85 2008

242.6431dc22 2008040322

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, Todays New International Version. TNIV. Copyright 2001, 2005 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

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To God, whose grace and mercy overwhelm me
and who deserves all glory and honor.

To my biggest fan and supporter, my rock, Greg,
who took the children on three-hour field trips
so I could finish my manuscript.

Is she dead yet? I asked, shuffling past my son and daughter as they burst into the seventeenth performance of a silly, hand-clappy, nonsensical melody about a gal named Miss Susie. The lyrics start when Miss Susie is a baby, giving childish details as to what Miss Susie says through each milestone of her life.

It goes something like this: Miss Susie was a baby, a baby, a baby, Miss Susie was a baby, she went like this, Wheres my bottle? The singsong continues along with questions she asks, depending on her age. The final line is, Miss Susie was a grandma, a grandma, a grandma, Miss Susie was a grandma, and she went like this, Wheres my cane?

As day turned to night, the song became more incessant and irritating. Who in the world is Miss Susie, and why would anyone create such an annoying rhyming song about her? My two oldest children spent the next twenty-four plus hours facing each other in different parts of every room, slapping hands and chanting about this strange character named Miss Susie. This insidious clang, clang, rubbish, quickly became impressed on my brain.

I caught myself while in the shower or feeding the dog or doing laundry repeating Miss Susies life storyugh! Only severe drugs could clear the mentally etched song. Why did I remember a song about Miss Susie, whom I dont even know, but I cannot seem to remember a Scripture past the first reading?

The best way to remember Scripture is by repeating it over and over again. We, as believers, need to make Scripture memory a part of our daily quiet time. Easier said than done? Of course! But there is one thing that is for sure: it takes one step to start the journey. Standing still will get you nowhere.

At the end of each Spilt Milk devotion I include a Scripture verse. Feel free to sing them to yourself to the tune of Mary Had a Little Lamb or the Little Einsteins theme songwhatever it takes to get them stuck in your head like Miss Susies still stuck in mine, although by now she must be dead.

For those of you who cannot carry a tune past your front door, are in the church choir but shouldnt be, or (like me) would end up in the outtakes of American Idol, dont fret. Another way to get Scriptures stuck in your head is to write them on sticky notes and adhere them to bathroom mirrors, the refrigerator, the pantry, or wherever you visit during your daily routine. Oh, by the way. I dont recommend sticking one to your two-year-olds forehead. It keeps falling off.

I have hidden your word in my heart

that I might not sin against you.

Psalm 119:11

Saturday morning was quite possibly the most exciting day of the week in my neighborhood as I was growing up. This day marked the arrival of the Helms truck, whose two-toned exterior could be seen for miles. Its unique whistle rustled up sleepy-eyed families, luring them curbside in order to satisfy their taste buds with fresh from the ovendonuts, pastries, and sliced loaves of bread.

My older brother and I would run out our front door, stand on the edge of our driveway, and wave our hands above our heads, signaling the driver to stop in front of our house. My dad slowly trickled out behind us, clutching his wallet and readjusting the belt of his robe.

A friendly man dressed in white pants and a button-down white shirt would stop the truck so that our bodies were perfectly aligned with the end of his back bumper. He would throw open the back door of the truck, which would then emit an aromatic cocktail of sugar, yeast, and butter. He pulled out wide, flat drawers and exposed an array of every flavor of pastry and donut imaginable, while steaming loaves of bread were seen tucked neatly in the center section of the truck.

Hundreds of choices meant that time ticked slowly for the deliveryman. He patiently waited as we gazed at the treasure trove sitting among us. The admonition to choose just one was an excruciatingly difficult task for two small children. Even after my dad had picked out the perfect loaf of marbled rye bread and his usual jelly donut, we remained undecided. The selection was overwhelming, although any decision would have been perfect.

Dad paid the tab, while we slowly returned to the porch, nibbling our fare. As we savored each bite, we promised ourselves that next Saturday we would try a different pastry, in the gluttonous hope of eventually experiencing every offering.

What if I were to purchase a pastry, walk inside the house, and place it on a shelf and leave it there? Ludicrous! Eventually it would get stale, lose its flavor, be deemed unfit, and be subjected to the garbage can. The sole purpose of a donut is to tantalize taste buds while causing feelings of dreaminess and pure delight. The sugar crash and additional cellulite come much later.

All of us have giftstalents that God wants us to share with others. While many of us desire to be great wives and mothers, we often squelch our talents and gifts as we assume that our selfish desires would be fed if we used these to benefit ourselves and others.

In the utmost ragtag interpretation of Greek, God calls this ludicrous. His face beams with pride when we honor him by using the gifts he has given in order to help others and further his kingdom. There is a spring in his step when we are doing his will for our lives, and his penetrating smile lights up the heavens as he watches us commit to his purpose.