Susan: Thoughts on mothers

Good morning! I was reading letters by Robert Lewis Stevenson this week and he stated to his mother that he believed there was another sense we don’t mention. The sense of memory.

He was describing a scene he hopes will be in his memory in the future. For me a memory would be the silence of morning. The sweet stillness that can’t be described because it’s a “nothing” – all is still.

A beautiful stillness. A strong memory of other still moments. Camp sites. Watching someone you love dearly sleep. A worn-out cat silent and sleeping across a room. An exhausted puppy asleep in the sun. Memories of stillness.

This is a poem I love written by a mother to her unborn child. She wonders if the child would chose life if knowing what hurts and griefs come along with being alive.

She then goes on to end the poem with the realization that life is beautiful. Being alive is worth what will hurt. I just loved this. One of those poems that stays in your mind after shutting the book.

A new thought. A new memory to hold. We will be putting this poem up on the wall in our bookstore this month along with 48 languages of “Life is Beautiful” around the bookstore.

Reminding us, regardless of the griefs and loads of life we would hopefully still desire life before we are born. Still desire the wonder of the stars, the seas, the hills…

A Mother’s Song by Hester Suthers. “My little unborn child, I

“My little unborn child, I carry you, Without your yes or no to life and light. Would you consent, I wonder, to be born, If you could choose and know each grief, each plight, We all endure who walk the mortal road? Would you consent to share the human load?

I think you would; you are so close, so close, These many months to one rejoicing heart, You cannot help but feel how strong, how sweet, A joy can be, and long to claim your part, In such a heritage which life bestows, To more than compensate for all the woes.

I know you would; for I can promise you, The wonder of the stars, the seas, the hills, The miracle of love and comradeship, The breathless sum of loveliness which fills Our world. O small, new soul that looks toward birth, I bring you to a good, a glorious earth.”

The wonder of the first yellow rose. The beauty of the swaying in the cornfield. Watching my little one play on the bandstand where I vividly picture his grandpa playing his trumpet.

The strong sense of memory and of life continuing. A place of joy. Then a location of painful memory. Replaced now with a little warrior and sticks. All on a 20×20 cement block. Memory.

The wonder of running up and down and up and down and up and down a three foot ditch. Beautiful memory. The little bird that is now breaking the morning silence. Memories of birds breaking other silences.

Always singing for us. Always telling us in every silent moment, even silent moments of pain, singing to us over and over the song of the poem -- the little bird giving us the promise of the stars, the seas, the hills, love, friends, new little souls entering the scene.

Today we are again individually handed the gift of life. Our soul. As our Delaney sisters wrote at the ages of 103 and 105…life was given longer to them than any of those they knew.

They decided to love the moments. To love the gift. To realize their souls were created for this life of all experiences. To make each day worthy of their creation. Our epitaph will be written tonight. Will we make our decisions today worthy of imprinting in the stone?

Thank you for letting me enter your Thursday. Let’s go notice the little bird singing for us. The little rose created for us. The little hands making smudges for us to clean.

The bright eyes of our older ones as they change and discover more details in their earth. The slowness of older ones we love. Can we slow down for them and look them in the eyes and listen to their stories?

The little squirrels greeting the silence of this morning with me. Another day. Another gift. Thank you for letting me enter your Thursday and for being the reason we are able to have our beautiful store. Life.

No matter what is brought into our lives can we learn from those that showed the ability to look to the heavens to find the beauty still given them daily?

Learn from those in the past how to find the beauty of the moments of life. Our gift. Regardless of the length. Our gift.

-- Susan