Here I am, God, relaxing in my recliner
with one dog snoring contentedly by my side and the other sleeping
on her pillow nearby. It is the first day of retirement and it
feels good to stay home. But I know I can't retire from housework,
so I better get busy. Oh, my legs are stiff today. I walk like
mom did when she was my age. I miss her though she's been gone
for 37 years. I feel disappointed that I never had the chance
to talk with her after I became a mother. You took her home to
be with you the day after my first-born was baptized. What conflicts
I had in my heart that day—mourning the end of life on
earth for someone so dear, yet rejoicing in the new life cradled
in my arms. How I would like to thank my mother for the firm
but loving Christian discipline she used in training me as a
child. Her singing of favorite hymns as she ironed clothes instilled
in me the love of songs of faith. Thank you, God, for giving
me a mother who opened her heart to care so lovingly for me.
Here I am, God, relaxing in my recliner
with one dog snoring contentedly by my side and the other sleeping
on her pillow nearby. It is the first day of retirement and it
feels good to stay home. But I know I can't retire from housework,
so I better get busy. Oh, my legs are stiff today. I walk like
mom did when she was my age. I miss her though she's been gone
for 37 years. I feel disappointed that I never had the chance
to talk with her after I became a mother. You took her home to
be with you the day after my first-born was baptized. What conflicts
I had in my heart that day—mourning the end of life on
earth for someone so dear, yet rejoicing in the new life cradled
in my arms. How I would like to thank my mother for the firm
but loving Christian discipline she used in training me as a
child. Her singing of favorite hymns as she ironed clothes instilled
in me the love of songs of faith. Thank you, God, for giving
me a mother who opened her heart to care so lovingly for me.