Mother’s Day is the time we show our appreciation and gratitude for what our mothers, grandmothers, great grandmothers. and our great, great grandmothers have done for us.
The word “mother” is a very outstretched word. A mother feeds, protects, comforts, understands, listens, and finds many other ways to assist all ages within her everyday life. She is known as a woman at heart for what she does.
Four months ago, our daughter became a first-time mom. We and another couple became grandparents again. What a joy, honor, blessing, and excitement that can bring into one’s life.
Both sides of the families gathered around to see this tiny baby boy. How special and wonderful is that?
We examined his feet, hands, ears, eyes, nose, legs, to make sure everything was the way it should be. The dark, full head of hair, the smile how precious.
Then, the big question, “Who does he look like?”
He has his father’s hands, his ears, his mother’s hair, her eyes, her mouth, his feet within a couple of days, that all changed. In other words, he was created with a little bit of each of us somewhere. He was individually designed to look like his own little self.
Thinking back when doing all of this examining, it brought to mind a thought and a story I remembered from years ago.
A new mother asked after giving birth, “Can I see my baby?” When the bundle was nestled in her arms, she moved the fold of the blanket to look upon his tiny face. She gasped. The baby had been born without ears.
Time proved that the baby’s hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred.
It was now time for him to go to school. He clung to his mother’s arms. She sighed as her child blurted out the tragedy of being called a freak.
He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. He was a popular student. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music.
The boy’s father had a session with a family physician. He questioned, “Can’t anything be done?”
The doctor replied, “Yes, I could graft on a pair of ears.”
Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man.
Two years went by. One day, his father said to his son, “You’re going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it’s a secret.” The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed; school and college became a series of triumphs. Later, he married.
One day, he asked his father, “Who gave me the ears? Who could give me so much? I could never do enough for him or her.”
“I do not believe you could. The agreement is that I tell you later on in life,” said the father.
One of the darkest days that ever passed was the day he stood with his father over his mother’s casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal the mother had no outer ears.
“Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut,” his father whispered, “and nobody ever thought mother to be of less beauty, did they?”