“Sometimes our light goes out but is blown again into flame by an encounter with another human being. Each of us owes the deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this inner light”—Albert Schweitzer, 1952 Nobel Peace Prize Winner
Mother’s Day is Mother’s Day; not Mothers’ Day. Notice the emphasis on the singular Mother. It is a day to honor our Mother. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have carried us in the womb, labored and travailed to give us physical life. And for those of us who were adopted, we can be twice grateful: grateful for the gift of life and for the gift of a mother’s nurturing love.
Mother’s Day is a near universal holiday. While it isn’t celebrated on the same day of the year throughout the world, almost all cultures today have an official day to reflect on and remember the gifts which our mothers have bestowed on us.
In the Arab world Mother’s Day is celebrated on March 21st. An Egyptian journalist, Mustafa Amin, is credited with starting this practice in the Muslim nations. Amin became motivated to promote the idea of a holiday to honor mothers when he heard the story of a widowed mother who devoted her whole life to raising her son. The son became a doctor, married, and abandoned his mother without showing any gratitude.
Each of us should pause and reflect, not just on the official day set aside to commemorate our mother, but throughout the year on the many ways in which our mother has influenced our lives. In a sermon on this Mother’s Day I heard the suggestion we try to remember the most significant gift or influence our mother gave us.
What flashed into my mind in that moment was a project I was working on when I was probably in the third or fourth grade. It was a project for a geography lesson. We were supposed to make a map using salt dough. We would color the map with blue for major rivers and large lakes, mountain ranges would be shaded in browns and large forests in green. We were encouraged to put tiny figures for cows and horses where there were ranches, tractors where there were corn and wheat farms, and a star where the state capitol was located. As I recall I was supposed to illustrate the State of Texas.
My mother took the recipe for salt dough which my teacher had provided and prepared a generous supply of salt dough and the cardboard on which I would construct my map of Texas. I worked well past my bed time and had just about completed my map when something went terribly wrong. I don’t remember today just what it was. I think it may have been a spill of the food coloring which was used to color code the map. In any event I suffered an emotional melt-down when I saw that my almost perfect map was going to be much less than perfect. In my frustration I pounded on the map doing much more damage than the spill of the food coloring and burst into sobs.
My mother tried to console me and assured me that she could fix the damage I had done. My parents put me to bed. I don’t know how late it was but I suspect it was at least an hour or two later than my normal bed-time and we had been working on this project for three or four hours.
When I arose the next morning my mother, perhaps with some help from my father, had reconstructed the map. She had started over and tried to redo the whole map. The second version was much better than the first and I proudly carried it to school the next morning. I had never reflected until this Mother’s Day on just how late my mother must have stayed up to repair the damage my temper tantrum had done. I feel deep emotion rolling up inside me today as I contemplate how powerful an energy source at that late hour of the night a mother’s love for her child is.
What was your mother’s greatest gift to you? What positive influence from your mother is still felt in your life today?
As you reflect on that greatest gift, and on your mother’s love and positive emotional energy in your life, record those feelings and describe the story of your mother’s gift and influence. You, and those who are privileged to read this story, will always be grateful you took the time to pause and reflect. It will be a legacy that can last well beyond the grave.
My mother said to me, "If you become a soldier, you'll be a general; if you become a monk, you'll end up as the Pope." Instead, I became a painter and wound up as Picasso—Pablo Picasso
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