On May 12, people throughout the United States will pay tribute to mothers.
Whether we celebrate our biological mother, an adoptive mother, a stepmother, a grandmother, some mother figure who made a real difference in our life, or all the above, Mother’s Day is a great opportunity to reflect on the role mothering has played in making us what we are today.
Times of national celebration often give people the incentive they need to pause and reminisce about the good times, to try to make sense of any not-so-good times, and to resolve to do whatever we can to make all aspects of parenting and family more of what it should be.
Graceworx Community Church encourages the whole of Central Florida to make Mother’s Day special for all mothers. If you’re looking to attend a church service where the sermon and various other parts of the worship service will focus on mothers, we’d like to invite you to Graceworx on Saturday, May 11, at 11:30 AM,
To encourage all readers of this column to reflect for a few moments on the impact children, youth, and all of us can have when we show due respect for mothers and mother figures, we share the following classic poem, written in 1878.
Somebody’s Mother
By Mabel Down Northam Brine (1816-1913)
The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng.
Of human beings who passed her by,
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eyes.
Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of “school let out,”
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray,
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her —
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir.
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet,
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group:
He paused beside her and whispered low,
“I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go.”
Her aged hand on his strong young arm,
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,
For all she’s aged and poor and slow.
“And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
“If ever she’s poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away.”
And “somebody’s mother” bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said,
Was “God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!”
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