What's Good About Home: Encouragement and a Few Good Laughs and Tears for the Busy Mom

By Elece Hollis

With stories gleaned from years of raising her seven children, Elece shares her mishaps, traumas, heartaches, joys, and delights with moms in similar situations. Elece turns daily sights, sounds, and happenings into stories through which she shares her wisdom and insight to mothers everywhere. Elece knows how you feel and what you are going through––the loneliness, tenderness, fears, frustrations and joys. If you need encouragement in the wonderful work of motherhood, a good cry and a good hearty laugh, these pages will take you there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elece Hollis
• Release date: Oct 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463957370

Elece Hollis

Elece Hollis and her husband Ron met in Texas where they attended LeTourneau College. Ron became a pilot and aircraft mechanic and still considered the guru of airplane engines. Elece studied child evangelism and started writing. They married and moved to Oklahoma in 1974. They raised seven children four daughters, (three moms (two teachers and one a cook), one ranch-hand and horse-trainer)) and three sons––(one an aspiring mechanical engineer, a computer expert, and a Marine retired after 14 years service and in the a/c heat business). They now enjoy twenty-four grandchildren. The farm produces hay for cows, a vegetable garden, and pecans. Elece loves painting, drawing, reading, and sewing and she cans jams, jellies, pickles, and pears in the fall. She also loves collecting––dishes are her favorite collectable––diner dishes are the favorite items. Elece loves to write and likes prose and poetry. She has published over four hundred articles for online and print magazines on subjects as diverse as birdwatching, cooking, baking, child safety, homeschooling, creative writing, history, and caregiving. Elece has also worked with a freelance company producing twenty-five books for Christian publishers. These are all gift books and devotional books. Elece loves to go places camera in hand. Her favorite work of all is macro and floral photos. She doesn’t do wedding or studio work, but enjoys the craft and sells greeting cards and framable photo art. A visit to the Hollis farm might get a ride to the back forty to see the bee hives, a trip out to the garden to gather cucumbers, a walk to the coral to feed cows and check the watering troughs, a swim in the family pool, a meal around the big dining table pinto beans and ham, cornbread and sweet pickles, washed down with iced tea, a chance to help gather pecans, or chop firewood, or mow an acre. It might get you a cup of strong coffee to drink by the wood stove or on the porch swing, or a chance to paint something in Elece’s little art studio.

Book preview

Really powerful for me.

Beautifully written.

It was so beautiful and spoke to my heart and needs.

There is transparent sweetness and peace in your writing.

I love it! A timely message.

Nothing like a good cry in the morning.

Life holds so many things to ponder. Thanks for wording some of them.

Very poignant. Beautiful!

Thanks for sharing.

Excellent. Moved me to tears.

Thanks for the laugh today!

You have a way of making a reminiscent scene come alive for your reader.

This is a wonderfully balanced combination of humor and encouraging, uplifting content.

Genius and all from real life! Nice going.

Your words always encourage me.

You have me smiling with amusement all the way up to the last paragraphs where my eyes tear up with scriptures.

What a gift for seeing and writing the truth.

Inspiring and unusual enough to make you think.

This is the funniest thing I’ve read in a while.

Your stories are so powerful. Thanks for sharing.

You always hit the nail on the head, don’t you?

The Lord uses you to convict me.

I always enjoy What’s Good About Home. You always inspire me.

You penned my heart!

Wow! What a gift for pulling concepts together and painting clear pictures.

It is amazing how artists like yourself can know the thoughts of my heart.

What’s Good About

Home

Encouragement and a few good laughs and tears for the Busy mom

Elece Hollis

Copyright © 2018 Elece Hollis

www.EleceHollis.com

SMASHWORDS EDITION

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Scriptures used herein came fro the KJV unless otherwise attributed. Scripture quotations marked cev are from the Contemporary English Version, Copyright © 1995 by American Bible Society. Used by permission.

Scripture quotations marked kjv are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture quotations marked niv are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Scripture quotations marked nkjv are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked nasb are taken from the New American Standard Bible, © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Certain stock imagery © BigStock Images

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by BigStock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Prepared for publication by www.40DayPublishing.com

Cover design by Jonna Feavel at www.40DayGraphics.com

Published by Meadowlark Country Press

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

I dedicate this book to all the friends, family, and folks you will meet inside it whom I have known and loved over the years and who have been a part of my days of mothering children. Most especially to my precious friend Penny Alden, who encouraged me to keep on writing for the sake of moms everywhere.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to all my early column and magazine article readers who took the time to encourage me to bind my words inside a book: my daughters Rachel McNew and Audra Michie; writer friends: Wendy Toy, Tracy Crump, Carol Sharp, Eleanor Joyce, Cheri Emmer, and Reba Wilson; and homeschool friends: Sandy Fairchild, Shelley Boland, Sally Williamson, Ronee Jordan, and Rose Collins.

Contents

WHAT READERS SAID ABOUT THESE WRITINGS

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

SHE SWALLOWED TWO RAINBOWS

THE OLD ROCKING CHAIR

MY MOCKINGBIRD SONGS

CLEANING BEHIND THE COUCH

LIVING IN THE LAND OF MILK AND HONEY

BASKET WEAVING

RISKY BUSINESS

LIKE CLAY IN THE HAND OF THE POTTER

APPLE ON A STICK

STOPPING BY MCDONALD’S ON A SNOWY EVENING

THE PILOT

MATHEMATICAL MUSINGS

SUNDAY’S SOAP

WHERE THERE ARE NO MESSES

WHERE WAS GOD TODAY?

A DUSTING OF SNOW

THE STAR, THE MOON, AND THE FATHER

THE ECCLESIASTES 1–3 WOMAN

WHAT WE LEARN FROM FRIENDS

PULL UP YOUR SOCKS

THE YELLOW TOWELS

THE PENCIL BOX

THE SEEING EYE

NOBODY ELSE BUT THE ROSE BUSH KNOWS

TONGUE IN HAND

LESSON IN GOLD

THE CORN STICK PAN

HANNAH STOOD UP

THE LESSER LIGHT

BLESSING OF A STORM

WHOA, AMOS!

THE WHITE ROSES

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, MAMA?

THE PRAYERS OF A GOOD MOTHER

TRIPPING THROUGH LIFE

PLOWED UNDER

TO LOVE FREELY

OLD WINDOWS NEW

ISN’T IT AMAZING?

A SECOND SPRING

ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL

A SNOW JOB

LET THE MORNING BRING ME WORD

THE PRICE TOWER CHAIRS

SUCH EXQUISITE PAIN

THE SEALED BOOK

MORNING HAS BROKEN

EATING LIKE A KID

MY GOD IS AN AWESOME GOD

THE FLAVOR OF QUIET

ROACHES IN MY POCKETS

ROSE IN BLOOM

THE BEAUTY OF MOTHER’S DAY

THE FENCE ROW

CAKES LIMITED

HANNAH SANG

HONEST CRITICISM

HOWLING WILDERNESS

BLACKBERRY PICKING TIME

THE GREEN SATIN RIBBON

SHE CLIMBED UP IN A SYCAMORE TREE

WINTER WHEAT

THE BELL RINGER

WEARING DADDY’S BIG SHOES

THE SKY IN THE GLASS

THE COLORS OF GENIUS

MOTHER IS A VERB

THE GIANT CAME TUMBLING DOWN

THE STUMP OF GOLIATH

THE DAY MY PRAYER PLANT DIED

EASY TO BE ENTREATED

THE LION DREAM

SOFTENED INTO WISDOM

SNOW AND ICE CREAM

BRINGING HOME BACK HOME

THE PAPER LADY

SUMMER IS FOR GROWING

PICKLES AND PEACHES

DROUGHT OF THE HEART

DADDY’S HAND

WHERE WAS OUR GOD TODAY?

EVEN THE DARKNESS

HOW THE DEVIL GOT MY GOAT

HOPE’S BLOOM

A TREE BY THE WATER

COOL CLEAR WATER

IF A FRIEND KNOCKS AT THE DOOR

A NEW BROOM

GOD HAS WHITE HAIR—NOT GRAY

RAIN AND THE OLD CAMPING TRAILER

ETCHED IN GLASS

THE BOUQUET

A FIXED MIND

CROWDED BUT WORKING

PENNY NUDGED ME

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

She Swallowed Two Rainbows

I was only eight when I agreed to sing my favorite song, Somewhere over the Rainbow from The Wizard of Oz, in the school program. I was a shy girl, but not timid. I wanted very much to sing my song and so I pushed myself ahead. As the day of the program approached, I sang the song over and over—listening to it on my record player. It was such an inspiring song. It made me feel the courage to shoot for my dreams.

Finally, the day arrived. The excitement I felt about my performance began to be overpowered by the butterflies in my stomach. I looked out at all the empty seats in the auditorium and realized that the seats would soon be full and that many of my schoolmates might not like my song or my voice. I began to wonder if I could sing well enough. I began to doubt myself for choosing to perform a solo.

Fear crept up as I waited my turn and as I climbed the hollow-sounding steps to the stage.The polished boards of the stage floor looked slick and treacherous as ice. I walked carefully to the microphone. When I finally stood there facing the audience, the auditorium had somehow grown to the size of an ocean.

I felt smaller than a mouse and suddenly terrified as I started my song. It went like this: Somewhere over the rainbow, gulp, gulp, gulp—up high. Yes, way up too high! Those rainbows just did not come out. They were nothing but gulps. I could not hit the notes. I had swallowed both rainbows.

But the auditorium was still. The students were listening and so I steeled myself—stood up straighter and went on. When I finished the song my classmates applauded. They loved the song.

My friend Diane told me this story one day and I could relate. I have taken that gulp of fear—swallowed a rainbow or two myself. I think I will probably swallow many more before I reach some of my dreams. But rainbows, like dreams, are God’s gifts to us.

Rainbows are symbols of His promise, and The Promiser keeps His promises, so when we miss a note, we can sing on in confidence that He will strengthen us and help us sing the whole song.

The Old Rocking Chair

Four months ago when my son left to join the Marine Corps I moved the old rocker that I bought before he was born out to the burn pile to be cremated. It was too big to bury. The burning of the chair marked a turning point in my life.

Not that there are no little ones to rock. I have several grandchildren who love to be rocked now and then, and sometimes my nine-year-old still wants to be babied. I love the motion when I sit to read. I loved that particular old chair.

I soothed many babies to sleep, many nights in that chair. I hated to part with it. I recalled all the favorite stories and songs we sang there. Coleman loved Rock-a-My-Soul and Oh, My Mama Loves Me. He learned words to many hymns and worship songs that I hope will come back and comfort him when he is far away and facing war.

My friend Martha has nine children and she never rocked any of them. She thought it might spoil them, and it might have. Of course, they were spoiled in other ways. I loved the time with my babies. I rocked each of my girls and Coleman every night when they were small. I rocked Quinton, even when I had Alton, and the two boys as long as I could fit them on my lap, until I was about seven months along with Brenna. When I just couldn’t manage the three of them anymore, I had to give it up.

I tucked them in and said prayers and sang to them until I couldn’t manage it any longer. Still I could not sleep at night until I had checked each, made certain they were settled and comfy and breathing well. Finally, the boys seemed to rouse and be bothered by my nighttime visits, so I made myself stop. It is hard to break such a habit.

I still check Brenna most nights. I should drop that, but it fills a need I have—gives closure to the day—sets my mind at ease to see her sleeping peaceful and warm. I miss my rocking duty. Sometimes I wish I still had babies to hold close and soothe to sleep at night. Maybe that is where the phrase off her rocker comes from.

My Mockingbird Songs

By them shall the fowls of heaven have their habitations, which sing among the branches.

Psalm 104:12

A mockingbird sings outside my window this morning. I’ve seen him many a morning balancing on the telephone wire, perching on the backboard of the basketball goal, on the roof of the well house, or sitting in the uppermost branch of a young pecan tree, and how he sings!

I count the patterns and he sings at least thirty-one different songs. Thirty-one!

I am just strange enough to wonder how he chose those songs. Did he try each and then decide which songs to add to his collection?

Were those songs the songs of other birds he admired? Were they the tunes of birds he listened to? His neighbors? Acquaintances? Were these the songs he heard while nest building? The greetings of fellow birds he heard while in flight, of passing strangers? Of birds he shared his territory with, that he heard singing from a garden path or a rooftop?

Were these songs taught to him by his own bird mother? Songs he heard from the first dawning of his life while he waited inside a brown spotted blue/green shell? Or, as a fledgling, while he waited for a parent bird to bring him food, before he was pushed from his nest into the waiting world?

These songs—might they be his collected favorites? Has he been given the gift of showcasing the songs, like a museum curator—a sort of record keeper of the species? Were they songs he was born knowing? Songs he was endowed with the power to sing by his maker? Was the music prepackaged? Did it come programmed in his throat? Did he hatch with thirty-one songs shrink-wrapped inside?

I think he learned the songs. I want to believe he chose the sweetest, the most delightful, the clearest noted, the truest toned. Because I want to believe my voice—my words —are a compilation of gifts God placed in me before I was born and all the homespun, the happy, and the heartening voices I have heard since birth.

I want my words to sing the song of my daddy’s sweet laughter, my mother’s instruction to go bravely, my