A MOTHER'S DAY POEM

Why a Mother's Day?




What we do on a Sunday
        In the lovely month of May
Is what we should probably do
        Every single Day.
But in the busy world of ours,
        We scarce have time to think,
In a life of need and greed
        We are living on the brink

We did not choose this world of ours
        It was chosen for us.
So we could join with others
        In their mournful chorus.
But two people in expressing their love
        Brought about our birth
That is, so they tell me,
        Why we are on this earth.

We may not choose to bless the ones
        Who caused us to be born.
But we will surely bless them all
        That on that awesome morn
They chose to love and keep us
        No matter what the cost.
Thus our mothers sought us out
        When ever we were lost

Now, it came to my mind,
        That in God's eternal plan,
When He chose to come to earth
        As an ordinary man
He could have come from heaven
        Direct from the hand of God
Or perhaps as a new creation,
        Like Adam, from this old sod.

But He chose for His own Son a mother
        And Mary was her name,
That He might like us mortals
        Experience what we call pain
So when I am a hurting
        And feel so misunderstood,
When I am condemned
        For doing what I thought was good.

When all the folk that know me
        Leave me for another,
Should  the time ever come
        That I am forsaken of my mother,
Then I remember, how as a child,
        When just barely 12 years old
That His parents could not find Him
        Their first remark seemed  cold.

When they asked the awful question.
        That echoes until this day
"How could you treat your father
        And I this terrible way?"
It was He who faced for the first time
        Two nights so very lonely,
It was they who had left Him there
        Yet now it is that they think only
Of themselves and how it should be
        And how it was He who failed them
And so today it happens with us
        As it did way back then.

How Jesus must have wept that night,
        As we have often done,
Because His mother had misjudged Him,
        Her faithful, loving son.
Yet He submitted to them and grew
        In favor with God and man
And we, like Him, must not rebel
        At God's eternal plan

So, it is not that  mom is perfect
        Or easy to obey
But that she has always cared for us
        That we celebrate this day.
ghvs 4/4/96