111. Winter’s Mothers God Holds Most Dear
MOTIVATION AND TRIGGER OR KEY
This morning's walk was at a different place and taken at a different time than ever before. Across the street, I saw two people cleaning a car in their driveway. I felt a need to approach, and saw it was a man and a woman. I believed it to be an elderly husband and his wife.
Upon reaching them, I saw the man was in his 30s, with misshapen arm/hand and a distorted face. His mother explained that they were preparing the car for sale, as they had to leave for the Midwest: There were no services available to her son in light of his disabilities, both physical and cognitive, and his occasional fits of rage.
The thought came to me: Despite the new green of Spring surrounding us amid Summer like temperatures, "this is a child born of Winter." I attempted to be as cheery as I could, and left with kind salutations. I had a job to do; a message to send:
B21. Winter’s Mothers God Holds Most Dear
The child of spring finds all things new,
A world of growth surrounds his view.
Limitless promise is his lot,
How quick and easy he is taught.
But what of the summer child?
The summer child is fair of face,
With shapely limbs and an easy grace,
An eager mind, and quick to smile--
Such choice gifts are the summer child’s.
But what of the autumn child?
Autumn’s children bear colorful hues,
The best of spring and summer they choose.
Learning and growing from all before,
The coming storms they may ignore
But what of the winter child?
Winter’s child knows cold and fear,
No fruit to taste, no warmth to cheer.
Caged and buried ‘neath winter’s snow,
His brothers’ joys he shall not know.
Winter’s child needs constant care,
His pains and rages hard to bear.
With mind grown dark, his spirit may fail.
‘Gainst this cruel fate his mother may rail.
In realms of wonder, Father grieves,
The perils and pain of all he sees.
He sends a message strong and clear--
Winter’s mothers he holds most dear.
“Your lives of service are known to me,
Your blessings await in eternity.
Your sons shall yet be whole and strong,
As they, with you, in Heaven belong.
“Of all the mothers in time and space,
Your rewards hold a special place--
Your deeds shall your memorial be,
Fear not, you did them unto me.”
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THE BRIEF ACCOMPANYING NOTE
[The website address was not supplied, nor did I identify myself in any way. This was to be an essentially anonymous gift.]
After meeting you and your son I was compelled to write this piece. If these words help you, then praise God. Your service makes you a child of Christ. What wonders await you. I believe you are well advised to leave this place. A profound economic and societal adjustment is fast approaching. In a time of scarcity, the supposedly generous populous of California may become merciless. The winds of South Dakota may be chilly, but Midwesterners are more often kindly souls. They will likely embrace you warmly and protect you from the coming storms. God bless you. [Yes, the last two lines are adapted from “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief”—the principal is timeless, the reward is sure.]