Mother by Robert J. Burdette

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · May 22, 1907

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 33, No. 21.

Mother.

By Robert J. Burdette

[Robert J. Burdette, in S. S. Times.]

I HAVE known many women who have brought the picture of the Christ into my thought as I noted their daily work. Smiling over the humblest service. That's mother. Cheerfully doing the things of which the rest of us have said, "You catch me!" That's mother. After the long, long day's work,—five or six to seven hours over union time,—girding herself and kneeling to wash the feet of guests that were unworthy to cross the threshold of her sweet home. That's mother. Sinking into a chair, weary and faint, only to rise from it with the unfailing smile on her dear, tired face, to wait on some man who has worked eight hours that day; or to mend a jacket or catcher's mitt for a boy who has played all day; or to sew on a bit of lace or adjust a ribbon or change something about a gown for a girl who has had such a good time all day that she can't stop, but must go out for a better time in the evening. That's mother. Staying at home that the others may go out and enjoy themselves. That's mother. Sacrificing this hope, that comfort, and that rest, for people who forget to say "thank you." That's mother. Laying off her wraps and staying home from prayer-meeting or church because somebody else danced herself or played himself into a headache. That's mother. Getting accustomed to hear the rest of the family say, as they get ready for the evening's entertainment, "O, no; mother doesn't care to go. Church and prayer-meeting are mother's only dissipations." Well, those are about all some families allow her. They don't cost anything, and the rest of the family don't want to go.