A mothers love is so rare...so precious; a true gift from above. The poem "Mothers elbows on my bed" is so very precious to me...it reminds me of the very love of MY mother. So often children face hard times in their life when they seem to turn away from what is good and in my case it was my mother to keep me in check. Just recently I was falling away from all that I knew to be right and was completely lost. My mom never ceased to pray for me and I am happy to say I heading down the right path again. Mother's prayers are never done as they pray for their children. A mothers love can not be beaten.
Mothers elbows on my bed
I was but a youth and thoughtless,
As all youths are apt to be;
Though I had a christian mother
Who had taught me carefully,
But there came a time when pleasure
Of the world came to allure,
And I had no more sought the guidance
Of her love so good a pure.
Her tender admonitions fell
But lightly on my ear,
And for her gentle warnings
I felt an inward sneer.
How could I prove my manhood
Where I not firm of will?
No threat of future evil
Should all my pleasure kill.
But mother would not yield her boy
To Satan's sinful sway,
No more she tried to caution
Of ways she knew it's pain.
And though I guessed her heartache
I could not know it's pain.
She made my room an altar,
A place of secret prayer,
And there she took her burden
And left it in His care.
And morning, noon, and evening
But that humble bedside low,
She sought the aid of Him who
Best can understand a mothers woe.
And I went my way unheeding,
Careless of the life I led,
Until one day I noticed
Prints of elbows on my bed.
Then I saw that she had been there
Praying for her wayward boy,
Who for love of worldly pleasure
Would her peace of mind destroy.
While I wrestled with my conscience,
Mother wrestled still in prayer,
Till that little room seemed hallowed
Because so oft she met Him there.
With her God she held the fortress,
And though not a word she said,
My stubborn heart was broken
By those imprints on my bed.
Long the conflict raged within me,
Sin against my mothers prayers.
Sin must yield for mother never
While she daily met Him there.
And her constant love and patience
Where like coals upon my head,
Together with the imprints
Of her elbows on my bed.
Mother-love and God-love
Are a combination rare,
And one that can't be beaten
When sealed by earnest prayer.
And so at last the fight was won,
And I to Christ was led,
And mothers prayers where answered
By her elbows on my bed.
~Unknown~
At times I feel that I am drowning in the floods while I am standing here in the midst of this storm. It seems unending, but at the same time I can see a little light beaming through the clouds. In the beginning, when this all started, I thought the world was coming to an end and I thought for sure my depression would overcome me--pulling me under to the deep dark pit of despair. I feared for my sanity. I lay in the darkness of the night feeling as if it was swallowing me up . . . tears watering my pillow . . . an empty whole in my heart where love once dwelt (well, that's how it felt anyway).
