Our Sons

Right now there are ten pair of shoes piled by the front door, along with a soccer ball, a soccer bag and a remote controlled truck. I have a neat little tray where in theory four pair of shoes would fit perfectly, and there is a designated hook in the kitchen for the soccer bag (which should be holding the soccer ball.) We have a big basement that is supposed to be the home for ALL toys, including the legos, plastic tools and giant tote of trains that I will have to step over if I want to move to the couch. I am always sure that my next chore chart or discipline plan will solve this, but it won’t. I am also sure, however, that when there are no shoes or legos or soccer bags, my house will feel like a clean and lonely place.

I found this poem written by my Grandma about 70 years ago…which confirmed my suspicion that my thoughts are similar to all mothers everywhere and at every time in history.

Our Sons

S.M.W.

Tonight they came in with

clothes full of mud.

Their shoes were all ruined

with silt and grime.

But the smiles on their faces

proved to me

They had been having

a very good time.

Did I scold them because

their clothes were soiled,

Those four dear little sonny boys

of mine.

Ah no! for I thought of

many dear lads

Who are far away for

a long long time.

How happy their mothers

would be if they

Could wipe from their faces

the mud so vile,

And say as they tuck them

in their own beds;

Dear sons sleep and rest

and wake with a smile.

Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Psalm 127;3