Today i am restless. My heart no longer beats mildly with respect to the restlessness with which i struggle to exude.
I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes took in the mirror's eloquence:in hope of seeing my figure, rather it was that of a woman signifying womanhood.
I began to read and to understand this woman in the mirror like an open book in which each sign was a symbol,but an easily interpreted symbol.
To be a mother,to live the life of a mother is not an easy task. These women we call mothers deserve praise. The management of the home is an art. This domestic art they exhibits, and which is not paid in hard cash,is essential to the home. For what they do for us comes from their heart. Love comes from the heart,and not from the mind.
The flavour of life is love. The salt of life is also love. And mothers are the source.
I therefore feel no iota of unequivocal vexation to adduce the fact that God knows why he gave them to us.
By Peter Prince
No comments:
Post a Comment