Today as I passed her, she sat alone, her children nowhere to be found. I wondered again at how difficult it must be for a Mom not to be able to look up and see her children and know that all was well with them. How, for example, could she come to their aid if just one of those passing by intended them harm? These thoughts often turn to prayers that God himself would watch over them for her.
My feet walk on.
Suddenly, I hear the frightened cry of a child and the pounding of little feet on pavement. Her toddler is running furiously and crying out for her. He has wandered inexplicably far from her and yet, surrounded by a sea of grown up legs, he runs toward his mother's place, absolutely sure that she will be there.
I stop and watch, concerned that he may not know the way, unsure of whether I should help him. In the sea, one hand reaches down momentarily stopping him but it is not the hand he seeks. He pushes it aside and continues on as do I, confident that he knows exactly where he is going.
My feet follow the path once more around the stade and there, at the other end, my eyes seek out his mother's place. She is there. Resting safely in her arms is her little one. He is comforted by her whispered assurances and her gentle hand tapping his bottom. There is a mother.
Dedicated to my Mom and Dad, who, just like this mother,
have always been a place of refuge and assurance.