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What
Would You Say?
Have you ever thought what you would say if you had the opportunity
to speak to your departed mother one more time? Would you tell
her that you are sorry that you had not visited her more often?
Would you tell her that you are sorry that you had not told her
you loved her more often? Would you tell her that you are sorry
that you had not gotten more of her hugs and kisses before she
left? Occasionally, I have heard grieving children express such
remorse. But alas, by then it is too late.
Some of us are still blessed to have our mothers with us. We may
take for granted that we have plenty of time to visit, to express
our love, or to receive another
hug and kiss. However, I am reminded of the words of James. " For what
is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes
away." (James 4:14 NKJV). We are never guaranteed tomorrow, but only
the present moment. Because life is so unpredictable let us make sure that
we take
advantage of every opportunity we have to be with and honor our mothers.
God said, "Every one of you shall revere his mother and his father" (Leviticus
19:3 NKJV).
FROM
A MOTHER’S
PERSPECTIVE |
I Loved You Enough
“You don’t love me!” How many times have your
kids laid that one on you? Someday when my children are old enough
to understand the logic motivating a mother, I’ll tell
them:
• I loved you enough to bug you about where you were
going and what time you would get home.
• I loved you enough to let you discover your friend was a creep.
• I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your
bedroom, a job that would have taken me 15 minutes.
• I loved you enough to ignore what every other mother did or said.
• I loved you enough to let you stumble, fall, hurt and fail.
• I loved you enough to accept you for what you are, not what I wanted you
to be.
• Most of all, I loved you enough to say no when you hated me for it.
Some mothers don’t know when their job is finished. They
figure the longer the kids hang around, the better parents they
are.
I see children as kites. You spend a lifetime trying to get
them off the ground. You run with them until you’re both
breathless...they crash...you add a longer tail. You patch and
comfort, adjust and teach—and assure them that someday
they will fly.
Finally they are airborne, but they need more string, and you
keep letting it out. With each twist of the ball of twine, the
kite becomes more distant. You know it won’t be long before
that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that bound you
together and soar—free and alone. Only then do you know
you did your job.
– Erma Bombeck
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