"In this spirit, let us consider mother. Four mothers come to mind: first, mother forgotten; second, mother remembered; third, mother blessed; and finally, mother loved.
Mother Forgotten
“Mother forgotten” is observed all too frequently. The nursing homes are crowded, the hospital beds are full, the days come and go—often the weeks and months pass—but mother is not visited. Can we not appreciate the pangs of loneliness, the yearnings of a mother’s heart, when hour after hour, alone in her age, she gazes out the window for the loved one who does not visit, the letter the postman does not bring? She listens for the knock that does not sound, the telephone that does not ring, the voice she does ek, right at 3:00 P.M. on Sunday. To her right is Mrs. Peek. Each Wednesday there is a letter in her hands from her son in New York. It is read, then reread, then saved as a precious piece of treasure. But see Mrs. Carroll: her family never telephones, never writes, never visits. Patiently she justifies this neglect with words that are heard but do not convince or excuse: ‘They are all so busy.’”
Shame on all who thus make of a noble woman “mother forgotten.”
“Hearken unto thy father that begat thee,” wrote Solomon, “and despise not thy mother when she is old.” 2 Can we not make, of a mother forgotten, a mother remembered?
Mother Remembered
Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered. A famed officer from the Civil War period, Colonel Higginson, when asked to name the incident of the Civil War that he considered the most remarkable for bravery, said that there was in his regiment a man whom everybody liked, a man who was brave and noble, who was pure in his daily life, absolutely free from dissipations in which most of the other men indulged.
One night at a champagne supper, when many were becoming intoxicated, someone in jest called for a toast from this young man. Colonel Higginson said that he arose, pale but with perfect self-control, and declared: “Gentlemen, I will give you a toast which you may drink as you will, but which I will drink in water. The toast that I have to give is, ‘Our mothers.’”
Instantly a strange spell seemed to come over all the tipsy men. They drank the toast in silence. There was no more laughter, no more song, and one by one they left the room. The lamp of memory had begun to burn, and the name of Mother touched every man’s heart.
As a boy, I well remember Sunday School on Mother’s Day. We would hand to each mother present a small potted plant and sit in silent reverie as Melvin Watson, a blind member, would stand by the piano and sing “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” This was the first time I saw a blind man cry. Even today, in memory, I can see the moist tears move from those sightless eyes, then form tiny rivulets and course down his cheeks, falling finally upon the lapel of the suit he had never seen. In boyhood puzzlement I wondered why all the grown men were silent, why so many handkerchiefs came forth. Now I know: mother was remembered. Each boy, each girl, all fathers and husbands seemed to make a silent pledge, “I will remember that wonderful mother of mine.”
Some years ago I listened intently as a man well beyond middle age told me of an experience in his family history. The widowed mother who had given birth to him and his brothers and sisters had gone to her eternal and well-earned reward. The family assembled at the home and surrounded the large dining room table. The small metal box in which mother had kept her earthly treasures was opened reverently. One by one each keepsake was brought forth. There was the wedding certificate from the Salt Lake Temple. “Oh, now Mother can be with Dad.” Then there was the deed to the humble home where each child had in turn entered upon the stage of life. The appraised value of the house had little resemblance to the worth Mother had attached to it.
Then there was discovered a yellowed envelope that bore the marks of time. Carefully the flap was opened and from inside was taken a homemade valentine. Its simple message, in the handwriting of a child, read, “I love you, Mother.” Though she was gone, by what she held sacred mother taught yet another lesson. A silence permeated the room, and every member of the family made a pledge not only to remember but also to honor mother.
Mother Blessed
Now that we have considered “mother remembered,” let us turn to “mother blessed.” For one of the most beautiful and reverent examples, I refer to the holy scriptures.
In the New Testament of our Lord, perhaps we have no more moving account of “mother blessed” than the tender regard of the Master for the grieving widow at Nain.
“And it came to pass … that he went into a city called Nain; and many of his disciples went with him, and much people.
“Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow: and much people of the city was with her.
“And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not.
“And he came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise.
“And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. And he delivered him to his mother.” 3
What power, what tenderness, what compassion did our Master and Exemplar thus demonstrate! We, too, can bless if we will but follow His noble example. Opportunities are everywhere. Needed are eyes to see the pitiable plight, ears to hear the silent pleadings of a broken heart. Yes, and a soul filled with compassion, that we might communicate not only eye to eye or voice to ear, but in the majestic style of the Savior, even heart to heart. Then every mother everywhere will be “mother blessed.”
Mother Loved
Finally, let us contemplate “mother loved.” Universally applicable is the poem recalled from childhood and enjoyed by children even today, “Which Loved Best?”
One certain way each can demonstrate genuine love for mother is to live the truths mother so patiently taught. Such a lofty goal is not new to our present generation. In the times described in the
Book of Mormon, we read of a brave, a good and noble leader named Helaman who did march in righteous battle at the head of 2,000 young men. Helaman described the activities of these young men:
“Never had I seen so great courage … [as] they said unto me: Father, behold our God is with us, and he will not suffer that we should fall; then let us go forth. …
“Now they never had fought, yet they did not fear death; … yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them.
“And they rehearsed unto me the words of their mothers, saying: We do not doubt our mothers knew it.”
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At the end of the battle, Helaman continued his description: “Behold, to my great joy, there had not one soul of them fallen to the earth; yea, and they had fought as if with the strength of God; yea, never were men known to have fought with such miraculous strength; and with such mighty power.”
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Miraculous strength, mighty power—mother’s love and love for mother had met and triumphed.
The holy scriptures, the pages of history, are replete with tender, moving, convincing accounts of “mother loved.” One, however, stands out supreme, above and beyond any other. The place is Jerusalem, the period known as the meridian of time. Assembled is a throng of Roman soldiers. Their helmets signify their loyalty to Caesar, their shields bear his emblem, their spears are crowned by Roman eagles. Assembled also are natives to the land of Jerusalem. Faded into the still night, and gone forever, are the militant and rowdy cries, “Crucify him, crucify him.”
The hour has come. The personal earthly ministry of the
Son of God moves swiftly to its dramatic conclusion. A certain loneliness is here. Nowhere to be found are the lame beggars who, because of this man, walk; the deaf who, because of this man, hear; the blind who, because of this man, see; the dead who, because of this man, live.
There remain yet a few faithful followers. From his tortured position on the cruel cross he sees his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing by. He speaks: “Woman, behold thy son! Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother!”
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From that awful hour when time stood still, when the earth did quake and great mountains were brought down—yes, through the annals of history, over the centuries of years and beyond the span of time, there echoes his simple yet divine words, “Behold thy mother.”
As we truly listen to that gentle command and with gladness obey its intent, gone forever will be the vast legions of “mothers forgotten.” Everywhere present will be “mothers remembered,” “mothers blessed,” and “mothers loved”; and, as in the beginning, God will once again survey the workmanship of His own hand and be led to say, “It is very good.”
May each of us treasure this truth: One cannot forget mother and remember God. One cannot remember mother and forget God. Why? Because these two sacred persons, God and mother, partners in creation, in love, in sacrifice, in service, are as one."
Thomas S. Monson- Behold Thy Mother
This talk was given in church and it struck a chord with me. The line that has dominated most of my thoughts is,"Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered." Today is my mother's birthday, so today I will do no evil and remember her. All joking aside, " All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother." She is not a perfect mother, but she is the perfect mother for me. When people turned their backs on me, she stuck by my side. Always giving me the love that I needed to get through the day. She may not have always had the right thing to say, but she cared for me nonetheless.
My mama is a blonde-haired, 5'1", blue-eyed, deaf, and single mother of three. As one of the most compassionate people I know, she always was helping anyone who needed it. I don't ever remember her denying anyone service, even when she was sick. Continually showing me that you put others first. Selflessness seemed to be her motto that she lived by daily. I constantly saw people treating her as beneath them and she went out of her way to serve them. This quality always seemed to make the greatest impression on me. She didn't have much, but what she did have she gave. The amount of love this woman possesses is endless. For being as petite as she is, I wouldn't be surprised if you cut her open (morbid for a birthday post) and her heart took up her entire body. I have a few friends that I speak to her about that have had some health issues and, by golly, that woman asks me everyday how they are doing. Mind you, she has never even met them or she has only met them once.
We have been friends and no-so-much friends. It didn't matter what stage we were at, if I needed her she was there; regardless of what our feud was about. You would never want to get into a fight with my mother, by-the-way, she is the most STUBBORN person you will ever meet. Most days I feel as if we are sisters due to how much time we spend with each other. I have yet to find a human being that has disliked her. It's kind of annoying how much people love her. Really. My children have benefitted the most from having her as their grandma. They have weekly and sometimes daily play dates. She is the perfect amount of goofy for them. To see the joy on their faces when I tell them Nana is coming over is priceless. What 55 year old woman wants to spend their day at Wet N' Wild (a water amusement park)?? I don't even want to, yet if I invite her she is there with a smile asking what I need help with.
I love this woman more than she will ever know. As my girls get older, I pray that we may have a similar relationship to the one I have with my mama. Minus the parts where she drives me insane. On this day, her birthday, I hope my mother feels as a mother loved, that she is blessed beyond measure, and will never be forgotten by me.
