For the Moms

I was asked to write a poem about mothers. I am not sure what is going to be done with the poem. It's not my greatest work. It's for my church back in Tennessee. I didn't have a lot of time, and I really have to be in the mood for poetry. I hope that somehow my main feeling is communicated: I have been mothered by many many women. Some are really my moms and some were friends and some were total strangers.

I will never forget the day that I left the local library bawling. That morning I had just received some shocking and awful news. I decided to take the kids to the library to get my mind off of things. Of course, my two children had other ideas. My baby was a monster that day. They say that our small children respond to our emotions, and I think she was responding perfectly. A man came across the library and pretty much told me I was an awful mother. It was the straw that broke the momma's back. I gathered the monster, her sister, and tried my best to keep it together until I got outside. I broke halfway to the door.

Another mother had seen the whole thing go down. She ran out to greet me at my car. I had locked the kids in their seats and sat at my steering wheel bawling uncontrollably. I couldn't even muster the strength to drive back home and even if I could, I couldn't see well enough to drive. She had the audacity to knock on my window. I sheepishly rolled my window down, and explained that I was having an awful day. She asked me if she could pray for me, and I said, "Oh, that is so sweet, please do." As a Mormon, I thought that meant she would go back to her car, bow her head and say a silent prayer, but as a relatively new Southerner, I had a lesson comin' to me. She stood in place and started pleading with the Lord on my behalf. I don't remember most of what she said except for one line, "Jesus, this woman is obviously having a really hard time, and she has children to take care of, please comfort her so she can do whatever it is that she needs to."

Do you know that it is six years later and I am still dealing with this major trial in my life. And often, very often I hear the words to that prayer and feel at peace. I wish I could somehow tell that mother, wherever she is, that she has been an angel in my life. But really, aren't all mothers angels? I think God gets so much of his work done through women with mother hearts. How grateful I am to be one who can succor and to also be one who is succored.

Mothers.

They give birth to babies.

Cradle, not just their own.

A woman’s heart is so large

It’s too big to be alone.

Mothers.

Sometimes are single.

Or have never housed a full womb.

But they still hold hands and hug,

And cry over grave and tomb.

Mothers.

Love and teach.

To everyone they know.

Their children, or mine,

They can’t help but help them grow.

Mothers.

Don’t exclude.

They love one and all.

Because they can’t help it.

They know peace is their call.

Mothers.

I have many.

Lots are far away,

Yet I carry them in my heart,

To get me through each day.

Mothers.

I hear them.

Encouraging my frown.

They laugh with me a lot

And cure me when I’m down.

Mothers.

They are also known as

Sister, daughter, friend.

They are women who I love.

God, to me, did send.

Mothers.

They are busy

Righting the world’s wrongs.

I will, with them, in awe,

Kneel in His eternal throngs.

Mothers.

Work miracles.

In lives old and new.

Because they know how to love.

And succor me and you.

Mothers.

They inspire.

Each person on the earth.

All good things start with them.

Without them, where’s our worth?