Happy Mother's Day!

 Today is Bekah's birthday. She is a little sweetheart and much like her mother in some ways.  Eliza also is like her mother in some ways.  Ah - Motherhood.

I had completely forgotten that it was Mother's Day in the States until Lia sent a Marco Polo, Erin requested a time to call, and a little package showed up in the afternoon with a sweet little necklace that says "Mum." That is what nearly everyone here calls their mother.  

The speaker in our Zoom Sunday meeting also mentioned it. She is a young woman whose husband is here for a year working on his degree, and they have three children. I am sure that she is one of the young mothers who have had it particularly rough this year. COVID has taken a toll on mothers of young children. Especially mothers of young children who live far from home and family and whose husband is very occupied with studies.

She gave a wonderful talk about the Savior, and her husband did as well. It is easy to see that she is a dedicated mother, and a woman of faith.  

Since finding out about Mother's Day, I have been pondering my own mother, and how much she has meant to me all my life. She and Dad were my world for so many years. That home on Fifth South had everything I could possibly have wanted or needed. My father was a rock, keeping us safe from every possible fear. Mom kept our home running and the family on track. Both loved us deeply and we knew it.  Both were solidly dedicated to us. We knew that we were their world.

When I was about twelve, my father quit going to church. He would attend for special occasions, and he prayed with us and read from the scriptures with us.  He smoked and drank coffee.  I hardly ever remember him without a cup of coffee nearby, and I associated the smell of tobacco with him, making it a very pleasant scent to me.

Mom never missed church.  She LOVED church.  She loved the meetings, the talks, the testimonies, Primary, Relief Society, and the music (As a pianist and organist, it seemed like she accompanied every solo, trio, quartet and choir number ever performed in Bountiful - and, as my father pointed out, she played at every funeral). In fact, my dad often quipped that people were requesting that she play at their funeral long before they died.

She was always tired. She fell asleep as soon as she sat down, and she started working from the moment she awakened.  She washed the clothes, carried them wet from the basement to the backyard where she hung them on a clothesline.  She took great delight in the smell of clean clothes. I don't think there was ever a day when she didn't iron (not Sundays). I loved walking into the kitchen from school where she was ironing and listening to the radio.

She must have planned it that way.  While she ironed, she could listen, and she listened to me. I would tell her about my day and she would watch me as I talked. She would smile, ask questions and generally make me feel like I was worth listening to. 

As a little girl and for many years, I went to bed with the soothing sound of her voice reading to Judy and me. I looked forward to going to bed because I loved the continuing stories from the chapter books. Often after getting the younger boys settled in for the night and then reading to us, she would go into the living room, sit down at the organ or piano and play.

In the dim light of a lamp, she would completely relax, close her eyes as a gentle smile played over her features. She would tip her head back and immerse herself in the music. If Dad was home, he would sit in his recliner, eyes closed, and if possible enjoy her music even more than she did. Seeing them together like that gave me a peace that is difficult to describe.

She loved us more than I can express, and we were supremely aware of it.  There is such comfort, such strength in that.  She was my very best and dearest friend in so many ways for so many years.  I will be eternally indebted to her.

I was blessed today to hear from children and grandchildren, from Dave, and from various friends here, including two young British missionaries who served here until two weeks ago.  They are now in London serving, and they called to wish me "Happy Mother's Day."  "Mothering day" as it is called in England was in early April.

And just before I end this blog, I will include a sweet message that came in tonight from one of the women enrolled in the Pathway course.  It was a response to a message I sent out thanking her for her technical help. It left me in awe.  I know very little about her, but she stayed on after the class last Tuesday and there were several others too, and we just visited.