5-14-17 10:00 AM EST: Thank you for the loving labor of carrying and bringing me to life. That you did the same for four brothers and one sister is pretty cool too. The secret I have is that I know you loved me best. The same secret my siblings have and hold.

mom3

Each one of us knows you loved us best. We all needed varying amounts, types, and degrees of it, at sundry times through myriad circumstance. You tended to us and tended to show with every "good and perfect gift" of which we had need. Gifts we could see as they were given, and feel while unwrapped.

It's not that we could touch the very finest with fingers or the palms of our hands, but teary eyes could still see them, when in no shape to see at all. Needful little hearts could rouse themselves and step in time to that beat yours established. Yours, the bigger heart, held the conductor's wand-baton, and when it moved, it was magic, and naturally made us sing.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." (James 1:17 NIV)

You see, I know where Mom shopped and obtained all that lovin' stuff she brought home and shared. She introduced us to the storekeeper just as soon as we could say, hi. She showed us how to talk to Him and fully expect a response.

mom2

At bedtime, if you snuck quietly passed Mom's open door, you'd invariably see her with knees on the floor and bowed head atop folded hands at the edge of her bed. Momma called that, "being reverent", which means, "showing deep and solemn respect". She'd linger there too, as there was always much to discuss. He was her loving Daddy, and she His precious little girl. Some things never change, and that's a fitting example of one. He guided her and she guided us.

God is not Mom's co-pilot. He is her Pilot, the entire flight tower, and the voice of traffic control. The owner of all airports, surrounding land, and every bit of sky. Mom is His stewardess...and she strapped us in for every take-off and landing. He is everything to her, and we all proud to place second.

Though I could often "talk Mom into" letting me do what I wanted to do, the firm lines she drew are like deep etchings in granite, and read, "This and no further!". I appreciated the leeway, learned much from chiseled lines, but remain a stubborn trespasser, too often digging in unholy ground. Turning earth that ought not be touched.

Yet I too have knees, and rest head upon folded hands. These knees resemble Momma's, and assume the same reverent scene...a clear picture of Momma, superimposed.

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A Mother's Day Open Thread. Please to say what you'd like to convey ♥

mom4b

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