Mother's and Father's Day are about to arrive. I'm going to share with you the concept of four pictures on a wall in my house that could be labeled "parenting." They aren't large pictures but they are large enough to "capture the moment."

I like to gaze at each picture and take a moment to pause and think about each one. We have four children. Each picture is a snapshot of them in the middle of "parenting" their children. In the world we live in parenting has seemed to become a lost art. These pictures remind me that my own loved ones still consider it a high priority and for that I am deeply grateful.

Our oldest daughter can be seen sitting outdoors amidst a pile of fall leaves; her three sons in the pile with her, laughing and enjoying the moment.

The picture of our second daughter is of her seated on the edge of a bed, holding two small boys in her arms. Everyone is smiling and enjoying the moment.

A third picture is of our third daughter holding I would guess about an 18-month-old Bethany in her arms. We had just finished a summer picnic together. Bethany looks sleepy and is cradled fondly in her mother's arms, enjoying the moment. So is her mother.

The fourth picture is a side angle of our son holding six-month-old Erica in one arm and a fishing rod in the other. Shadows of trees are reflected on the lake; the day is about over. It is a peaceful shot. And a happy memory.

I have a very old memory of my own parenting experiences. My elderly Aunt Lydia and I were sitting and visiting on her porch while my young daughters played around our feet. I must have expressed frustration when she told me "parenting is one of the hardest jobs you will ever encounter but it is the most rewarding."

This poem by Kahlil Gibran says it all:

Your children are not your children

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself,

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which

You cannot visit, even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you,

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bow from which your children as living arrows are sent forth,

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrow may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.