Another Mother Story

This one is also borrowed. But the sentiment is still the same.
Love, From Your Daughter Barbara

Even as a child I loved to sing. I would go into my room after church on Sunday and draw pictures and sing and sing, until my mother came to the door to say, "Mary, please don't sing so loud in here. It's not that we don't like to know you are happy, honey, but you know you just can't carry a tune."

Singing was in my heart, though, and I would go up into the woods behind our house and run through the woods singing all the songs I wanted to: sad songs that broke my heart and I'd cry, and happy songs that made me feel so good I'd laugh out loud.

When I married and had my first child, I would sit and sing the loveliest songs to him. Songs I made up from my heart to tell him how much I loved him---how special he was to me. And he would smile and cuddle close to me and fall asleep in my arms as I sang my songs of joy.

Each child, then, received his or her own special song, made up just for that child, telling of my feelings and love for him. I sang only when there was no one around, for my husband agreed with my mother. "I'm sorry, honey, but you sound just awful when you sing."

The children didn't seem to mind my off-tune voice at all. In fact, we sang wonderful play songs together, laughing and playing and enjoying the sound of our voices. Many happy hours were spent sitting, marching, walking, and playing games with singsong instructions.

After having four wonderful children, I received my greatest joy---twin boys! What a blessing. How wonderful it was to sit and hold them in my arms for hours, singing of my love for them while they cuddled close to me and then fell asleep.

Because everyone had always told me that my singing voice left much to be desired, I hesitated to sing for anyone except the babies. In church, even though I knew the Lord loved to hear us sing, my "noise unto the Lord" was a very soft noise. And at home I always made sure the house was empty before I picked up my hymnbook to sing my favorites.

One evening after the children had all gone to bed and my husband had duty at the Navy base, I picked up my hymnbook and began to sing "How Gentle God's Commands." I sang and felt the great love of our Heavenly Father who loves us so much even though we disregard his gentle commands.

"O My Father," I sang, aching to go back to his home where I could be with him again.

"The Lord is My Light"---my favorite---I sang with all the love I felt in my heart for the guidance he had given me in my life.

Finishing my singing, I put my head in my arms and poured out my heart to my Heavenly Father, thanking him for the love he had for us, and for the great feeling of peace that came to me when I could sit and sing to him and talk to him, escaping from this mortal world for even a few minutes.

Then I turned out the lights and went upstairs to my room. I noticed a sheet of paper on the dressser that hadn't been there before. I picked it up and tears came to my eyes as I read:

Mom
I don't care what any one says about your singing voice. But I think it was so butiful the way you sang them songs. I was crying in my bed wile I was lisenning to you sing, and I love you very much.
Love from your daughter Barbara

I found her with tears in her eyes in her bed. "Oh, Barbie," I said, "you are the only person who has ever told me he likes my singing. Thank you, honey." She hugged me back and sobbed, "Mommie, I just couldn't let it go. I had to get out of bed and write that note to you. I was crying listening to your beautiful singing."

I thought later that if our Heavenly Father loves my voice so much he inspires my daughter to write me a lovely note and share her feelings with me, he must love to hear us sing more than I realize.

The next Sunday when we sang the opening song, I sang out just as loud as the rest of the people did. My Heavenly Father liked my voice and that was all that mattered to me!

This was long! I hope you made it through. There are a lot of angles in this piece, but motherhood is still the subject.