To Brent - with Love, Mother

When I graduated from high school my mother presented me with a poem she had written about me and for me. It is a long poem composed of fifteen 4 line rhyming verses honed in perfect meter. It is a poetic synopsis written from my mother’s perspective of the first eighteen years of my life. It notes, sometimes with interpretive detail, the important events and passages of my life from the time I was born until I graduated from high school. I am sure my mother labored hard writing the poem, giving careful thought to what she wanted to say and was precise with the wording. I am equally sure it was a labor of love.

Upon completion of the poem she enlisted someone who had abilities in calligraphy to copy the poem on fine parchment and then had it encased in a nice frame and presented it to me as a gift. This kind of gift was typical of my mother. I received it with politeness and with words of thanks. But I am sure I probably thought it was a little silly and I did not show it off to many people. Over the years however I have displayed the poem in a place of prominence in my office and ever now and then I would read it. I read it again this week which is probably the first time I have read it in five or six years. I noted that the ink on the parchment is becoming faded and told myself that I needed to preserve the poem in some other format so the legacy of my mother’s thoughts would not be lost.

I preached this morning from Psalm 121 which speaks of the watch care of the Lord in our lives. It says the Lord preserves our going out and our coming in from this time forth and even for evermore. The psalm reminded me of my mother’s poem. For 18 years she had watched my going out and my coming in and she had recorded the events with remarkable accuracy. The last verse of her poem was an admonition to walk with God – to allow God to oversee my going out and my coming in. So in my sermon I showed the congregation the framed copy of my mother’s poem, told the story behind it, noted its purpose and challenge. But I did not read the poem. But some of my congregants requested that I read it tonight and so I did.

I am glad I have the poem. I appreciate the time and effort and love my mother put into it. But honestly that poem has never been especially important to me. But today the poem took on new significance. Today it became a more relevant part of my heritage. For today as I read it I could hear my mother’s voice. I could sense her love and pride and presence as if she were giving it to me all over again. I was reminded once again of who I am and where I came from. I was reminded of whose I am and the journey that I am on.