Mom, Thanks For All You Do!

Mom, Thanks For All You Do

When God Created Mothers...

When the Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of "overtime" when an angel appeared and said. "You're taking a lot of time on this one."

And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order?" She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands."

The angel shook his head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands? No way."

"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."

"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded. "One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word."

"God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...."

"I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick... can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger meat... and can get a nine-year-old to stand under a shower."

The angel circled the prototype model of a mother very slowly. "It's way too soft," she sighed. "But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can imagine what this mother can do or endure." "Can it think?" "Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator. Finally, the angel bent over and ran his finger across the cheek. "There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to cram too much into this model." "It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear." "What's it for?"

"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."

There is something so special about mothers. (from https://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/mothers-day-steve-kinnard-sermon-on-mothers-day-208443)

Salary.com determined in 2019 using its Salary Wizard that the median annual salary of a mother is $178,201 – more than a $20,000 increase from the 2017 salary.

“We would like to recognize both professional and stay-at-home Moms on their unwavering dedication to their families and other responsibilities.”

From 2009-15, the salary was between $112,000 and $122,000. In 2016, it had a significant increase from $113,568 to $143,102.

The survey determined that the average number of hours stay-at-home moms actually work is more than 90 per week.

An analysis from Oxfam in 2020 figured out that unpaid work by women in the U.S. (such as house cleaner, cook, child care, driver, laundry service, etc.) would be worth $1.5 trillion in 2019, using minimum wage per hour for its calculations. (https://local12.com/news/offbeat/survey-stay-at-home-moms-should-earn-a-178000-salary)

Mom, thank you for all that you do! It may go unrecognized sometimes, and it shouldn't. So today we want to encourage you. What you have done as a mother, and what you are doing as a mother, matters. It flows from who you are, who God made you to be. It matters.

Mom, thank you for all that you do! You shape us into what we become. It has been said that the hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world.

William Ross Wallace (1819-1881)

THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE IS THE HAND THAT RULES THE WORLD.

BLESSINGS on the hand of women! Angels guard its strength and grace. In the palace, cottage, hovel, Oh, no matter where the place; Would that never storms assailed it, Rainbows ever gently curled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain, Power may with beauty flow, Mothers first to guide the streamlets, From them souls unresting grow— Grow on for the good or evil, Sunshine streamed or evil hurled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission, Here upon our natal sod; Keep—oh, keep the young heart open Always to the breath of God! All true trophies of the ages Are from mother-love impearled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women! Fathers, sons, and daughters cry, And the sacred song is mingled With the worship in the sky— Mingles where no tempest darkens, Rainbows evermore are hurled; For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.