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Her Children Rise Up and Call Her Blessed

Her Children Rise Up and Call Her Blessed   
by David Shannon

David Shannon

Mothers are our first environment. They surround us with comfort and fill us with nutrition from the moment of our conception. Mothers sacrifice from our beginning. Many have endured morning sickness and swollen feet, not to mention our delivery into the world. Many have sacrificed places of notoriety in the world to quietly serve us in our childhood. Mothers are our first teachers. They teach us of love as they cuddle us as a prized possession or awaken to feed us. They teach us our words, our steps, and our daily routines. They teach us to stand on our own the first day of kindergarten, as they cried, and we didnít. They teach us to be responsible as we clean the table and sweep the porch. They teach us manners as we open doors to greet guests or sheepishly remind us with only a look to remove our elbows from the table. They teach us of God from the rocker to higher education. They emulate Him, they speak of Him, they read from His Word. Since they are close to the heart of the child, they have the greatest potential of anyone to hide the Word in a youthís heart. Mothers are our first disciplinarians. They set safe and respectful boundaries. They encourage, instruct and motivate. They remind us average is as close to the bottom as it is to the top. They love us enough to consistently punish us when weíre wrong. They consistently demand the best of us. They use time-out, they yank the short hairs in the back of the neck, they pinch the tender places on arms or legs, they spank, and they make it clear that children who tower above them donít rule the house. They arenít sisters, they are mothers. Their wisdom becomes our rule. Our life will reflect them as long as we live. Motherís are the first ladies in our lives. They are beautiful. No hands are prettier than momma's hands. Those are the hands that held our foreheads when we were sickly with nausea. They were the hands that made our birthday cake or bathrobe with a horse on it. Those hands were magic to a skinned knee and comforting during our teenage break-ups. Those hands were strong; yet tender. They were firm, sometimes scary; yet loving. Her eyes are encouraging, accepting, instructive and threatening. How can eyes do so much? Only a motherís can. Her lips are kind, soft, perfect. Her cheeks brush our baby skin with all the love that can be transferred through a touch. We played with her hair as she held us. We patted it when she left the hairdresser. We played in her closets among beautiful clothes and shoes. Mothers are our first compass. Which way will a child go? How will they speak or interact with family, strangers, and those in authority? Pretty much however mother goesóthatís their direction. Mothers point them toward God, toward love, toward compassion. Mothers cast their eyes on dreams, opportunities and expectations. Mothers help sons know what kind of wives they want and daughters what kind of woman they long to become. There is no place like knowing you are in the heart of a godly mother. In this sense they are still our environment.


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