Hugs for Mom: Stories, Sayings, and Scriptures to Encourage and Inspire

by John Smith

Overview

This newly packaged edition of the original Hugs for Moms has a fresh, contemporary look and will make the perfect gift for any mom.

Moms are usually the ones who give the hugs—hugs of encouragement, hugs of acceptance, hugs of forgiveness, and hugs of shared joy. This little book is a way to give some of the hugs back to Mom—hugs of love, thankfulness, devotion, and respect.

The pages of this very special book are filled with hug after hug that express your warmest feelings and appreciation for Mom. Each portion of this collection is chosen to encourage and inspire her and let her know how very important she is to your life. Whether it’s through one of the stories by the beloved storyteller John William Smith, one of the personalized scriptures by LeAnn Weiss, an uplifting quote, or one of the many inspirational messages to Mom, you’ll find that these hugs reach deeply into the heart of Mom and tell her what she needs to hear. Share a hug that will last a lifetime!

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I have an important message for you.

It may come as a surprise, because this message is not repeated nearly often enough. Are you ready?

You are greatly admired. It’s worth repeating. You are greatly admired.

And not just by your family—by others, too. Some of your admirers are close acquaintances, others are strangers, but they all hold you in high regard. Why? Because you are a mother through and through. . . .

Because you are totally in love with your family and are thoroughly prepared to show your love by giving all, asking little, and accepting less. . . .

You may do many other things in your life on earth that will be productive and meaningful, but none will be as admired as being the beautiful mother you are. —Excerpt from Hugs for Mom

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781451656893
Publisher:	Howard Books
Publication date:	04/03/2012
Series:	Hugs Series
Edition description:	Reissue
Pages:	160
Product dimensions:	5.00(w) x 7.10(h) x 0.60(d)

About the Author

John Smith wrote five books in the Hugs series. In addition to Hugs for Mom, he authored Hugs for Dad, Hugs to Encourage and Inspire, Hugs for the Hurting, and Hugs for the Holidays. He has been a preacher and teacher for more than forty years and taught public school at the junior and senior high level; he also taught at the college and university level. He is an in-demand speaker for graduations, as well as for athletic, education, fund-raising events. He and his wife, Kila, live in Huntsville, Oklahoma, and his three adult children are scattered about the country.

Read an Excerpt

Hugs for Mom

Stories, Sayings, and Scriptures to Encourage and Inspire

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By John Smith

Howard Books

Copyright © 1997 John Smith
All right reserved.

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Chapter One

Nurturing Hearts

    Cultivate faith, goodness, knowledge, self-control,

perseverance, godliness, brotherly kindness, and love in your

children. For if they are growing in these qualities, they

won't be ineffective or unproductive, and they will

never stumble.

Love,

Your Living God

2 Peter 1:5-11, Jeremiah 10:10

Inspirational Message

    You may not realize it, but you are a gifted gardener. Though

you may be incapable of keeping a simple houseplant alive, you

are an accomplished gardener nonetheless. The soil you work in is

not of this world. No! It is the soil of the human heart.

    Your children are your fertile field, and in their hearts you

have tenderly planted your seeds of love, joy, peace, patience,

kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

    Attimes, you have courageously protected your precious field

from destructive and uninvited strangers. When spiritual or

physical disease threatened, you worked with bleeding hands to

free the roots of life from contaminants. You have nursed the

wounds left by the violent storms of life. You have struggled

through seasons of drought; you have celebrated at the sight of

unhampered growth. You have weeded, watered, plowed, and prayed.

    In turn, you should know that your labor of love has not gone

unnoticed. You are deeply loved and appreciated - not only

by hearts you have tended and cared for, but by the God who made

you the mother (and expert gardener) you are.

    God bless you, Mom.

 

There never was a woman like her. She was gentle as a dove and

brave as a lioness . . .

The memory of my mother and her teachings were, after all, the

only capital I had to start life with, and on that capital I have

made my way.

--Andrew Jackson

Mother's Cherry Tree

    My mother loved all growing things. We had apple trees, pear

trees, a grape arbor, a rose arbor, tulips, lilacs, irises, and

an annual garden. The Merdocks, who lived directly west of us,

had a large cherry orchard. Although they gave us all the

cherries we wanted, my mother was determined to have her own

cherry tree. Accordingly, one fall we planted (I say

"we" because I dug the hole) a three-foot sapling.

Mother fertilized, watered, watched over, pampered, and stroked

that tree until it was a wonder it didn't die from too much

attention. It was amazing how it grew, and in its second spring

it actually blossomed and bore cherries - not enough to make

a pie - but my mother was so proud of the accomplishment

that she nearly burst. She even carried some of those cherries in

her purse to show her friends.

    We always shopped at the A & P grocery store in Royal Oak.

Fortunately for me, just down the street was Frentz & Sons

Hardware. While my mother shopped, I wandered up and down the

aisles of Frentz & Sons. It was a fascinating place. Great

bins of nails, rows of hinges, racks of shovels, balls of twine,

smells of feed, seed, and leather goods, and a hundred other

items all combined to make it a whole world in itself.

Inevitably, I was led to the fishing equipment, then the gun

rack, and finally to the knife display case. It was a wooden

cabinet with a glass door. I stood for long minutes gazing in

wonder that there could be so many fine things to be had.

    At the bottom of the knife case there was one item in

particular that attracted me. It was a belt hatchet - just

the right size for me. It had a leather case that could be

strapped right onto your belt for carrying purposes. I began to

pester my mother about it. One day she actually went in to look

at it, and I knew that my pleading was getting somewhere. It was

a long process, but eventually she bought it for me.

    I remember going around the yard whacking on things. It was

exceedingly sharp. I whacked on old two-by-fours, I whacked on an

old crate that had been sitting behind the chicken coop -

but it was all very dissatisfying. I wanted something more

substantial to cut. All of the trees on our place were far too

large for me to tackle with my hatchet - all except one

- the cherry tree. As preposterous as this seems, the idea

was probably enhanced by my school teacher telling us about

George Washington cutting down the cherry tree. Since George was

quite a hero, the idea of cutting down our cherry tree was an

easy step.

    I guess that actually walking up and cutting it down all at

once was a little too much for me, so I decided to trim it a

little first. The result was that I left not a single limb

intact. Our cherry tree was reduced to a forlorn looking,

tapering rod protruding from the ground. Around its base lay a

pile of limbs with the leaves looking limp and sickly.

    When I stepped back to survey my work, my conscience began

speaking to me. You know, consciences are often the most useless things. When I

needed it was before I started, but it was completely silent - didn't help me a

lick. It never said, "John, you'd best think about this," or "Are you sure this

is what you want to do?" Now, when it was too late to be of any use whatsoever,

here it came - full blast. "Now look what you've done," it cried. Pictures of my

mother fertilizing and watering, her proud tones as she displayed those first

cherries to all of her friends - all flooded my memory and made me feel terrible

    But what good did it do to feel terrible after the fact?

    I put my hatchet in its case and wandered slowly into the

kitchen. I had studied some on how best to approach this

situation and had decided that it would be to my best advantage

to open the subject before it was discovered.

    "I know a little boy who cut down a cherry tree," I

piped in my most cheerful, winning voice.

    My mother, busily occupied, replied, "Oh, I bet I know

who it was. It was George Washington." She said it so nice

and sweet that I was reassured and plunged ahead.

    "No, it wasn't. It was John Smith."

    Right off, there was a noticeable change in both the

temperature and the atmospheric pressure in the kitchen. My

mother turned on me quickly, and her voice didn't have any

sweetness in it - or light either, for that matter.

    "Did you cut down my cherry tree?" She grabbed me by

my left ear (she was right handed so her grip was better on that

side), and we marched out to the scene of the crime - with

her nearly lifting me off the ground, using my left ear for

leverage.

    I would have gone anyway.

    When she saw the tree, she started to cry; and since she

needed both hands to dry her eyes, she turned loose of my ear

- which was a great relief. It was a sad-looking sight

- standing there like a little flagpole - but I thought

things might go a little easier for me since she was so sad and

all. They didn't. She whipped me with every last limb I had

chopped off that tree - whipped me till the limb was just

shreds of bark left in her hand. I was afraid she was going to

start on the pear tree limbs, but she finally gave out. You know,

a person is mortally strong when they're aroused like that,

and they also have an amazing endurance. It cheered me some to

think that she was using the limbs on me instead of the hatchet.

    You know, my mother went right back to work on that cherry

tree. She kept right on watering and fertilizing and caring for

it. Anyone else would have given up. She willed that tree to

live, and it did. It grew and became a fine tree with only a few

scars on its trunk - to remind me of my folly.

    Isn't it amazing how things will grow if they get the

right kind of attention? I strongly suspect that there's a

lot of folks around right now who were at one time near to death

- like mother's cherry tree - because some

thoughtless rascal started cutting on them, but now they're

healthy and growing because somebody kept watering and

fertilizing and loving them - and they lived.

    In fact, I strongly suspect that's what happened to me.

Today, I am healthy and strong, with only a few scars to remind

me of my folly and some folks' attempts to trim me. And I

stand here knowing Christ, because both he and my mother

wouldn't quit on me.

    She willed me to live.

    And I live as a result of her love and determination.

Continues...

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Excerpted from Hugs for Mom by John Smith Copyright © 1997 by John Smith. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Chapter One: Nurturing Hearts

Chapter Two: Shaping Minds

Chapter Three: Imparting Faith

Chapter Four: Giving Encouragement

Chapter Five: Sharing Laughter

Chapter Six: Valuing Motherhood

Chapter Seven: Building Memories