About Mothers…

One could search and ponder long without finding anything new to say concerning mothers. But need there be anything new—but only some things that should again be said. Appreciation, praise, and love often need to be expressed—for gratitude is a living thing, like music being heard, or it is a dead thing, like music that is heard no more. One cannot be too long sustained by yesterday’s song (nor live very long on yesterday’s nourishment). It is the song that now is being sung, the music that now is being heard, the strength that now sustains us, the gratitude for them is one of life’s precious privileges for there is no act of kindness, no hour of service, no loving thought, of hallowed motherhood that does not deserve acknowledgment—not always by words but in a loving gesture, a welcoming kiss, sharing a confidence, a little help, and understanding heart. These things, and much more, mothers are entitled to—not for some far future time, but now while they are with us.

Is there nothing new about mothers? If not, neither is there anything new about spring, nor about love, nor about goodness of life or of living. It isn’t the newness of things that we need, but the solid, satisfying things that endure—like the love of mothers, like their service, like their service, like their sacrifice, like their willingness to give their lives that we might live; like their presence when we come home—like the emptiness we fell when they are not there. There comes a time when mothers leave us, and then we know that gratitude should be—always—a thing that somehow shows itself as a song that now is being sung—an appreciation expressed while mothers are still with us—so let our kindness show itself.