(This was written by my sister, Edna for my mom's birthday. Sorry about the spacing not being correct but this was how it copied & pasted.)
Tribute to Mom on her 95th birthday by Edna Toews
Mother’s lips spoke words of wisdom
Words
of encouragement
Words
of enlightenment and teaching
Praise for a job completed.
Her lips whispered prayers for her
children and grandchildren
Singing
hymns of her Saviour – songs to teach me:
“Hold fast to the right, wherever
your footsteps may lead”
And “Tell me the old, old story of
Jesus and His love”.
Her ears heard birds singing in the
treetops,
Bees buzzing in her flowers
Cows mooing from the barn
Children
laughing at play, and cries when they took a tumble.
She heard the putt-putt of the John
Deere and knew it was time to help gather bales
The distinct “Bak-Bak- be-GAK!” when
the hen laid an egg,
And
Major barking.
Mother’s eyes saw many sunsets,
puddles, rainbows and lovely flowers.
Fabric blocks laid in attractive
patterns.
Seed
packets – even one cent packets of unknown seed mixture for me to plant.
Rows and rows of jars in the pantry – pickles, corn, peas and even chicken and fish.
Watched
us say our poems at school and church concerts
Watched
her daughters leave with a trust-worthy date ( or was he?)
Then come down the aisle in gown of
white.
Mom
could see the end of a project and spur me on when I was getting weary.
She could see that teaching me to
persevere would be a valuable life lesson.
Mother’s feet have walked a million
miles
On
tile kitchen floor and rough linoleum
path to the chicken coop, along the nests where eggs were gathered
With a hoe along miles of beet rows
Through
the bush looking for saskatoons
vegetables in the garden.
Her feet have walked to the window to
check if her child is coming home yet
Followed
the coffin of her husband in a time of sorrow
And
gone on her knees for countless prayers.
Mother’s hands have cradled her
precious babies, later grandchildren and great grandchildren
Peeled
potatoes for supper, husked corn and stirred banana-rhubarb jam
hair and curled it
Pushed
fabric under the sewing machine needle to make dresses as she burned the
midnight oil
milked the cows and carried in buckets of milk
cream into butter
Made scrumptious strawberry shortcake
and Christmas candy
Handled
an axe, taking the chicken from coop t0 delicious meal.
Her hands were often raw from cold, sometimes
rough and bleeding from excema
But
the tenderness on a hot brow when I was ill brought comfort beyond belief.
Words
of encouragement
Words
of enlightenment and teaching
Praise for a job completed.
Her lips whispered prayers for her
children and grandchildren
Singing
hymns of her Saviour – songs to teach me:
“Hold fast to the right, wherever
your footsteps may lead”
And “Tell me the old, old story of
Jesus and His love”.
Her ears heard birds singing in the
treetops,
Bees buzzing in her flowers
Cows mooing from the barn
Children
laughing at play, and cries when they took a tumble.
She heard the putt-putt of the John
Deere and knew it was time to help gather bales
The distinct “Bak-Bak- be-GAK!” when
the hen laid an egg,
And
Major barking.
Mother’s eyes saw many sunsets,
puddles, rainbows and lovely flowers.
Fabric blocks laid in attractive
patterns.
Seed
packets – even one cent packets of unknown seed mixture for me to plant.
Rows and rows of jars in the pantry – pickles, corn, peas and even chicken and fish.
Watched
us say our poems at school and church concerts
Watched
her daughters leave with a trust-worthy date ( or was he?)
Then come down the aisle in gown of
white.
Mom
could see the end of a project and spur me on when I was getting weary.
She could see that teaching me to
persevere would be a valuable life lesson.
Mother’s feet have walked a million
miles
On
tile kitchen floor and rough linoleum
path to the chicken coop, along the nests where eggs were gathered
With a hoe along miles of beet rows
Through
the bush looking for saskatoons
vegetables in the garden.
Her feet have walked to the window to
check if her child is coming home yet
Followed
the coffin of her husband in a time of sorrow
And
gone on her knees for countless prayers.
Mother’s hands have cradled her
precious babies, later grandchildren and great grandchildren
Peeled
potatoes for supper, husked corn and stirred banana-rhubarb jam
hair and curled it
Pushed
fabric under the sewing machine needle to make dresses as she burned the
midnight oil
milked the cows and carried in buckets of milk
cream into butter
Made scrumptious strawberry shortcake
and Christmas candy
Handled
an axe, taking the chicken from coop t0 delicious meal.
Her hands were often raw from cold, sometimes
rough and bleeding from excema
But
the tenderness on a hot brow when I was ill brought comfort beyond belief.
