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MOTHERS SWEET MOTHERS


Theodore Roosevelt, the 26th President of the United States said:  “Praying mothers are America’s greatest assets.”

J. Haney wrote, “If America had more praying mothers, there would be less crime, violence, hate and torn families… Pray for your family, pray for yourself, pray for your church, pray for your community, pray for your government, pray for the world.  Pray, pray, pray.”

“More things are wrought in prayer than this world dreams of.” Alford Tennyson

Henry Ward Beecher said: “Nothing can compare in beauty and wonder and admirableness, and divinity itself, to the silent work in obscure dwellings of faithful women bringing their children to honor, virtue and holiness.”

“I remember my mother’s prayers and they have always followed me.  They have clung to me all my life.” Abraham Lincoln

“The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.” W.R. Wallace

Mother is the heartbeat of the home…

Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart walking outside your body.” E. Stone

The sweetest sounds to mortals given
Are heard in Mother, Home, and Heaven.
~W.G. Brown

 

 

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Hope these next two quotes give you a little smile:

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“Mothers are all slightly insane.” J.D. Salinger

“I want my children to have all the things I couldn’t afford.  Then I want to move in with them.” Phyllis Diller

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When you wonder why mothers do what they do….THIS IS WHY!

THE INVISIBLE MOTHER

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It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

Obviously not; no one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I’m invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more! Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, “What time is it?” I’m a satellite guide to answer, “What number is the Disney Channel?”  I’m a car to order, “Right around 5:30, please.”

Some days I’m a crystal ball, “Where’s my other sock?”, “Where’s my phone?”, “What’s for dinner?”

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history, music and literature -but now, they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She’s going, she’s going, she’s gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England . She had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic when she turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, “I brought you this.” It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: “With admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.”

In the days ahead I would read, no, devour the book. And, I would discover what would become for me four life-changing truths after which I could pattern my work:

1.) No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names.
2.) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
3.) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
4.) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A story of legend in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, “Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.” And the workman replied, “Because God sees.”

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, “I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does.”

No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, no Cub Scout meeting, no last minute errand is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, “My Mom gets up at four in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.” That would mean I’d built a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, he’d say, “You’re going to love it there!”

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible mothers.

The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you.

To all the wonderful mothers out there. God bless and keep you!


SWEET MEMORIES

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I think it’s sweet to set aside a special day to thank Mom for loving us and putting up with our antics.  I love and appreciate my mother who turned 80 years old on her last birthday.  She was a good mother to me.   She took care of me when I was sick.  Even pulled out the stickers when I fell into the cactus.

She was a good seamstress too.  One of my favorite dresses she made me as a young girl, had small purple flowers.  It had a square collar and small tucks down the front bodice attached to a gathered skirt.

She was and is, in my and my siblings’ and relatives’ opinion, the best cook in the land.  We used to have big, made from scratch, apple pies.  She had a huge pie pan.  She made cakes from scratch too. I especially remember a blue one she made (remember food coloring)?  She made great Mexican, American, and Italian food.  (Her pork chili is still the best, except she makes it fiery hot and I can’t eat much at a time).  In fact everything she made was wonderfully delicious.  You know, one of those cooks who didn’t measure the ingredients and it turns out great every time?  Not me, I have to measure the pie crust, the tortilla dough, etc.  It seemed that when friends or family came over, it was in the kitchen that we visited.  Mom was very hospitable.

She was a stay at home mom, except for a brief time when I was about 12 years old.  She kept the house clean and disliked clutter.  She did not do the supper dishes. I did! I hated it!  Absolutely hated it.  But too bad, it was my JOB!  Confession is good for the soul.  I could stack ’em high, too!  I was a master stacker, from the bottom of the dish drainer to the bottom of the cabinet above!   (I just had to insert that here ha!)  Too bad I didn’t know as a kid, to hurry and get it over with, instead of moaning and groaning and dragging it out.

As a younger child, before the rest of the gang came along, I remember we would take the bus downtown.  It was mom, I and little brother (though I don’t remember him being there, he wouldn’t have been anywhere else).  Fun! Fun, as we would go to Boston Coney Island for a burger and chili, and she would let me have lemon meringue pie too!  It was a treat to be sure!

She walked me to my first day of school. After school, she found me crying, lost on the other side of the school building instead of the place where I was supposed to meet her.  We lived nearby, but had to cross an enormous street to get there ( a lot of things look gigantic to a little kid, you know).  Afterwards, I would walk the one, or two (not sure which) small side streets, then I would meet her at the light, where she safely watched me cross the big street.

Mom let me and my friends play house in the back yard where she let us use blankets thrown over the clothes lines and draped down the sides with clothes pins.  Of course we played dolls, and mama and daddy.  So much fun!

Another time my brother, (who was very young and has no recollection of this) and I played bride and groom.  Mom must’ve let us play with a lace curtain, because it was the bridal veil I bobby-pinned to his short hair.  As you guessed, he was the bride!  Sweet memories.

I love you Mom!

When I was a child, we called the last meal of the day  “supper”.  God bless you till next  time as I close with a song I enjoyed as a young Christian called, “Suppertime.”

 

 

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Posted July 2, 2011 by Nin Ashmore in Inspiration, Mothers Sweet Mothers

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