p. 12 | My Dearest of Mothers

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Aug 12, 1902

My Dearest of Mothers

“My dearest of mothers!” I heard the words repeated in soft tones by my next-door neighbor at an inland farmhouse where we were sojourning. “My dearest of mothers!” My friend was a widow, and her son, an affectionate, talented fellow, was an engineer in Idaho. In one of his late letters he said at the close: “And now, my dearest of mothers, good-by.” Did he guess, I wonder, how the little petting phrase would please the heart that loved him so? Did he think that she would say it over softly to herself as she sat alone in her room?

The home days were over. The babies with their sweet ways, their joy-giving and their trouble-making, had grown to noisy boys, then to self-asserting men; they were out in the world making their way; brains busy, thoughts absorbed, hearts full; yet here was one who remembered the mother, still in middle life, loving and needing love the same as when her boys were her very own in the dear child’s home. He wrote her long letters, describing his adventurous, changeable life, the strange companions with whom he was surrounded, the wondrous scenery of the wild Western world. It was all intensely enjoyed; but better than all were the love phrases which showed the son’s affectionate heart. I wonder whether the “boys” know how dear they are to their mothers; and how a little attention, little gifts, tender words, flying visits, cheer and warm the hearts which have borne the test of years and sorrows.

In the old home the rooms seem very bare and silent after the children are gone. It is as though summer had flown, with its nests and bird songs, and autumn winds were blowing. Then the love of the sons and daughters is like sunshine or warm fires to the hearts which sadly miss them. Let us hope that there are many sons who write “my dearest of mothers.”

— The Presbyterian.