Little boys are so much fun - though, admittedly, hard work (but at least all of their running around keeps us moderately thin, right?). And there is nothing in the world akin to how much they adore their mommies, am I right? I can't wait to have another one :O) Well, maybe just a little while longer...
More importantly, though, someone in the world has to raise up some godly men. It seems that God deems you perfect for the job :O) I will pray for you as you bring them up in the ways of our dear Lord Jesus.
Here's a sweet little poem for you. Encouragement is a must for a mother of boys!
The Mother of Boys
Praise to the High One for giving me joys Peculiarly sweet, I'm the mother of boys! Mud puddles, torn blue jeans, toads, whistles and worms. The furred and feathered and whatever squirms.
Black knuckles, bats, arrows and thundering noise. They're all in a day for the mothers of boys. But, ah, 'tis a dear joy to turn the blue eyes To the manifold wonder of earth, sea and skies.
And, ah, 'tis a dear joy to watch a small hand seize The hand of God in the knowledge of these. Spare me, oh High One, to praise Thee more when This mother of boys is the mother of men.
3 comments:
три мальчика!
Класс! Маленькая армия!
Dear Jennifer,
Little boys are so much fun - though, admittedly, hard work (but at least all of their running around keeps us moderately thin, right?). And there is nothing in the world akin to how much they adore their mommies, am I right? I can't wait to have another one :O) Well, maybe just a little while longer...
Congratulations!
Love, Susan
More importantly, though, someone in the world has to raise up some godly men. It seems that God deems you perfect for the job :O) I will pray for you as you bring them up in the ways of our dear Lord Jesus.
Here's a sweet little poem for you. Encouragement is a must for a mother of boys!
The Mother of Boys
Praise to the High One
for giving me joys
Peculiarly sweet,
I'm the mother of boys!
Mud puddles, torn blue jeans, toads, whistles and worms.
The furred and feathered
and whatever squirms.
Black knuckles, bats, arrows
and thundering noise.
They're all in a day
for the mothers of boys.
But, ah, 'tis a dear joy
to turn the blue eyes
To the manifold wonder
of earth, sea and skies.
And, ah, 'tis a dear joy
to watch a small hand seize
The hand of God
in the knowledge of these.
Spare me, oh High One,
to praise Thee more when
This mother of boys
is the mother of men.
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