WOW (Tissue alert)

[Guest guest]

>> This is a lesson we as parents should learn and teach... >> Subject: WOW! You gotta read this!

> "Learn to Listen" >> Midnight phone calls stir a mother's heart. We all know what it's like to >> get that phone call in the middle of the night. This night was >>no different. Jerking up to the ringing summons, I focused on the red, >>illuminated numbers of my clock. >> Midnight. Panicky thoughts filled my sleep-dazed mind as I grabbed the >> receiver. "Hello?" My heart pounded, I gripped the phone tighter and >>eyed my husband, who was now turning to face my side of the bed. >> "Mama?" The voice answered. I could hardly hear the whisper >>over the static. But my thoughts immediately went to my daughter. When the desperate >> sound of a young crying voice became clear on the line, I >>grabbed for my husband and squeezed his wrist. >> "Mama, I know it's late. But don't . . . don't say anything until I >> finish. And before you ask, yes I've been drinking. I nearly ran >>off the road a few miles back and . . ." >> I drew in a sharp, shallow breath, released my husband and pressed my hand >> against my forehead. Sleep still fogged my mind, and I attempted to >>fight back the panic. Something wasn't right. >> "I got so scared. All I could think of was how it would hurt you if a >> policeman came to your door and said I'd been killed. I want . . to come >> home. I know running away was wrong. I know you've been worried >>sick. "I should have called you days ago but I was afraid . . . afraid ." >> Staying on the line, sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and >> poured into my heart. Immediately I pictured my daughter's face >>in my mind, and my fogged senses seemed to clear, "I think ---" >> "No! Please let me finish! Please!" she pleaded, not so much in anger, but >> in desperation. I paused and tried to think what to say. Before I could go >> on, she continued. "I'm pregnant, Mama. I know I shouldn't be drinking now, >> especially now, but I'm scared, Mama. So scared!" The voice broke again, and >> I bit into my lip, feeling my own eyes fill with moisture. >> I looked up at my husband, who sat silently mouthing, "Who is it?" I shook >> my head and when I didn't answer, he jumped up and left the room, returning >> seconds later with a portable phone held to his ear. She must have hear the >> click in the line because she asked, "Are you still there? Please don't hang >> up on me! I need you. I feel so alone." I clutched the phone and stared at my >> husband, seeking guidance. "I'm here, I wouldn't hang up," I said. "I should have told you, >>Mama. I know I should have told you. But, when we >> talk, you just keep telling me what I should do. You read all >>those pamphlets on how to talk about sex and all, but all you do is talk

>>You don't listen to me. You never let me tell you how I feel. It is as if >>my feelings aren't important. Because you're my mother you think you have >>all the answers. But sometimes I don't need answers. I just want someone to listen." >> I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the >> how-to-talk-to-your-kids pamphlets scattered on my night stand. >>"I'm listening," I whispered. >> "You know, back there on the road after I got the car under control, >>I started thinking about the baby and taking care of it. Then I saw this phone >> booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching to me about how >>people shouldn't drink and drive. So I called a taxi. I want to come home." >> "That's good honey," I said, relief filling my chest. My >>husband came closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through >>mine. "But you know, I think I can drive now." >> "No!" I snapped. My muscles stiffened and I tightened the >>clasp on my husbands hand. "Please, wait for the taxi. Don't hang up on me >>until the taxi gets there." >> "I just want to come home, Mama." >> "I know. But do this for your Mama. Wait for the taxi, please." >> Learning to listen: I listened to the silence . . . fearing. When I didn't hear her >> answer, I bit into my lip and closed my eyes. Somehow I had to stop her from >> driving. >> "There's the taxi, now." Only when I heard someone in the >>background asking >> about a Yellow Cab did I feel my tension easing. "I'm coming home, Mama." >> There was a click, and the phone went silent. Moving from the bed, tears forming in my >>eyes, I walked out into the hall >> and went to stand in my 16-year-old daughter's room. My husband came from >> behind, wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. >> I wiped the tears from my cheeks. "We have to learn to listen," I said to him. >> He studied me for a second, then asked, "Do you think she'll >>ever know she dialed the wrong number?" I looked at our sleeping daughter, >>then back at him. "Maybe it wasn't such a wrong number." >> "Mom, Dad, what are you doing?" The muffled voice came from >>under the covers. I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring >>into the darkness. "We're practicing," I answered. >> "Practicing what?" she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, >>but her eyes already closed in slumber. >> "Listening," I whispered and brushed a hand over her cheek.

>> "Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not

>>hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'" >>19:14

>> > Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com

[Guest guest]

That's a good lesson for us all to practice. Thanks e.

Love & hugs,

Jo-Ann

WOW! You gotta read this!

> "Learn to Listen"

>> Midnight phone calls stir a mother's heart. We all know what it's like to >> get that phone call in the middle of the night. This night was >>no different. Jerking up to the ringing summons, I focused on the red, >>illuminated numbers of my clock.

>> Midnight. Panicky thoughts filled my sleep-dazed mind as I grabbed the >> receiver. "Hello?" My heart pounded, I gripped the phone tighter and >>eyed my husband, who was now turning to face my side of the bed.

>> "Mama?" The voice answered. I could hardly hear the whisper >>over the static. But my thoughts immediately went to my daughter. When the desperate >> sound of a young crying voice became clear on the line, I >>grabbed for my husband and squeezed his wrist. >> "Mama, I know it's late. But don't . . . don't say anything until I

>> finish. And before you ask, yes I've been drinking. I nearly ran >>off the road a few miles back and . . ."

>> I drew in a sharp, shallow breath, released my husband and pressed my hand >> against my forehead. Sleep still fogged my mind, and I attempted to >>fight back the panic. Something wasn't right.

>> "I got so scared. All I could think of was how it would hurt you if a >> policeman came to your door and said I'd been killed. I want . . to come >> home. I know running away was wrong. I know you've been worried >>sick. "I should have called you days ago but I was afraid . . . afraid ."

>> Staying on the line, sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and >> poured into my heart. Immediately I pictured my daughter's face >>in my mind, and my fogged senses seemed to clear, "I think ---"

>> "No! Please let me finish! Please!" she pleaded, not so much in anger, but >> in desperation. I paused and tried to think what to say. Before I could go >> on, she continued. "I'm pregnant, Mama. I know I shouldn't be drinking now,

>> especially now, but I'm scared, Mama. So scared!" The voice broke again, and >> I bit into my lip, feeling my own eyes fill with moisture.

>> I looked up at my husband, who sat silently mouthing, "Who is it?" I shook

>> my head and when I didn't answer, he jumped up and left the room, returning >> seconds later with a portable phone held to his ear. She must have hear the >> click in the line because she asked, "Are you still there? Please don't hang >> up on me! I need you. I feel so alone." I clutched the phone and stared at my >> husband, seeking guidance. "I'm here, I wouldn't hang up," I said. "I should have told you, >>Mama. I know I should have told you. But, when we >> talk, you just keep telling me what I should do. You read all >>those pamphlets on how to talk about sex and all, but all you do is talk

>>You don't listen to me. You never let me tell you how I feel. It is as if >>my feelings aren't important. Because you're my mother you think you have >>all the answers. But sometimes I don't need answers. I just want someone to listen."

>> I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the >> how-to-talk-to-your-kids pamphlets scattered on my night stand. >>"I'm listening," I whispered.

>> "You know, back there on the road after I got the car under control, >>I started thinking about the baby and taking care of it. Then I saw this phone >> booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching to me about how >>people shouldn't drink and drive. So I called a taxi. I want to come home." >> "That's good honey," I said, relief filling my chest. My >>husband came closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through >>mine. "But you know, I think I can drive now."

>> "No!" I snapped. My muscles stiffened and I tightened the >>clasp on my husbands hand. "Please, wait for the taxi. Don't hang up on me >>until the taxi gets there." >> "I just want to come home, Mama."

>> "I know. But do this for your Mama. Wait for the taxi, please." >> Learning to listen: I listened to the silence . . . fearing. When I didn't hear her >> answer, I bit into my lip and closed my eyes. Somehow I had to stop her from >> driving.

>> "There's the taxi, now." Only when I heard someone in the >>background asking >> about a Yellow Cab did I feel my tension easing. "I'm coming home, Mama." >> There was a click, and the phone went silent. Moving from the bed, tears forming in my >>eyes, I walked out into the hall >> and went to stand in my 16-year-old daughter's room. My husband came from >> behind, wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. >> I wiped the tears from my cheeks. "We have to learn to listen," I said to him.

>> He studied me for a second, then asked, "Do you think she'll >>ever know she dialed the wrong number?" I looked at our sleeping daughter, >>then back at him. "Maybe it wasn't such a wrong number." >> "Mom, Dad, what are you doing?" The muffled voice came from >>under the covers. I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring >>into the darkness. "We're practicing," I answered.

>> "Practicing what?" she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, >>but her eyes already closed in slumber.

>> "Listening," I whispered and brushed a hand over her cheek.

>> "Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not

>>hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'" >>19:14

>> >

Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com