Mommy Musings
Monthly Column by Anni Welborne

This past weekend, I had a rare privilege. I tend to weep sweet tears any time I see someone baptized. But this baptism was particularly sweet to witness. You see, this little boy, probably about 8 or 9 years old, was being baptized by his dad. I met his dad when he himself was probably 8 or 9 years old. His older sister was my best girlfriend from junior high. And I asked her to come to church with me - 30 years ago.

I’d like to think I was concerned about her eternal soul, and I suppose I was, to an extent. However, I think I really wanted her to come to church with me so I’d have a girlfriend at church to hang out with. I bugged, I begged, I pleaded, I persisted. I’m sure I became annoying. But she came anyway, and God blessed. That girlfriend accepted Christ and was baptized. And it started when I asked her to go to church with me.

She started coming to church regularly. Then another family member started coming. Then another. Then her whole family. I don’t know what their spiritual life was like before I asked her to come to church with me. I just knew they weren’t going to church at that time, and in my junior high mind, they should. And 30 years later, I heard her father pray beautifully before the offering collection and watched her nephew be baptized by his father.

While it seems only yesterday since I was in junior high, I must admit 30 years seems a short time when looking back. What will the next 30 years bring? That 8 or 9 year old boy will have his own family, and he might be baptizing his own son. And it started when I asked my girlfriend to go to church with me.

Sara Groves has a lovely, haunting song called “Generations”¹ that both chills me and encourages me.

I can taste the fruit of Eve
I’m aware of sickness, death and disease
The results of our choices are vast
Eve was the first but she wasn’t the last

And if I were honest with myself
Had I been standing at that tree
My mouth and my hands would be covered with fruit
Things I shouldn’t know and things I shouldn’t see

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

She taught me to fear the serpent
I’m learning to fear myself
And all of the things I am capable of
In my search for wisdom, acceptance and wealth

And to say that the devil made me do it
Is a cop out and a lie
The devil can’t make me do anything
When I’m calling on Jesus Christ

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

To my great, great, great grand daughter
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand son
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand daughter
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand son
Live in peace, oh, live in peace

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

Oh, remind me
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know
Oh, I may never know¹

I had no idea that simple invitation 30 years ago would lead to the baptism of an 8 year old boy. At 13, I was barely over 8 years old myself. God gave me a beautiful gift when I heard that little boy profess his belief in Jesus and watched his father baptize him.

Incidentally, this was at the church where I grew up. The church that my great grandparents helped to start, way out in the farmlands of east central Indiana. After the baptism, I went to the restroom, with my own 6 year old daughter in tow. I could have visited any number of restrooms, but I chose to visit the very same restroom that I used when I was a toddler at that church. Still the same blue-grey stalls as when I was little. I had to walk past the nursery to get there, and I thought I saw the cribs that my grandmother bought for the church nursery. Cribs that I slept in when I was in the nursery. Cribs that my own daughters slept in when we visited and they were nursery age.

As mothers, we are faced with at least a bazillion decisions every day. Some are not earth-shattering or eternal, like what’s for dinner or which laundry detergent to use. But some are. Do we know which ones? Never for sure. But we have a good idea. I’ve always liked the poem by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton called “Song for a Fifth Child.”

"Song for a Fifth Child"

Parents, what are the eternal consequences of your decisions? What appetites will that TV show awaken and foster in your child? What about that video game? Book? What long-term effect will that extra-curricular activity have, not just on the child, but on your whole family? What about the people with whom your family comes into contact? Will God give you a glimpse of eternity 30 years from now?

About the Author: Anni is the wife of Charles Welborne and the homeschooling mother of five children - two daughters (ages 7 and 5) here on earth, and three who graduated early and now dwell with their Heavenly Father. She assists her husband in the tape/CD duplication ministry at their church, where she is also in charge of the Deaf ministry and serves as a sign language interpreter. Anni is also a part-time Developmental Therapist for at-risk and developmentally delayed infants and preschoolers. In her "spare" time, she enjoys sewing, quilting, scrapbooking, and making pysanky (Ukranian decorated eggs). The Welbornes live in Indiana.

Copyright © 2007 by Anni Welborne.

¹Sara Groves’ lyrics are the property and copyright of Sara Groves.