Plymouth Congregational Church

God for All


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A week well spent, if I do say myself. A week devoted to Moms. Moms who spend 12 months, 52 weeks, 356 days, 8,766 hours, 525,949 minutes, or 31 556 926 seconds each year focused on her kids, her husband, her family and her friends. Though we all have our moments of complaining if asked not a single one of us devoted women would do anything differently. It is in our family that we find the greatest amount of pride, our greatest strengths, and our most debilitating weaknesses. 

Thank you for allowing me the luxury to spoil these amazing women.

Pastor Bill,  Psalm 22: 8 “He trusted in the LORD, let Him rescue Him; Let Him deliver Him, since He delights in Him!”9 But You are He who took Me out of the womb; You made Me trust while on My mother’s breasts. 10 I was cast upon You from birth. From My mother’s womb You have been My God.In our mother’s arms is a sweet place because we hear the heart we first heard when our own heart started beating.”

Born to Be Somebody – Justin Bieber (trust me, it has a great message!)

In conclusion I want to share what Jan read to the congregation. All the readings brought meaning, laughter, and thoughtfulness. This one, this one is special. As Jan stood up front and read, Sam said to me, “That is so sad.” For Sam to make the connection, at 13, well, leaves me silent. Who knows, maybe some of my efforts are starting to pay off.

Thank you to everyone who made today special. The husbands, the fathers, Pastor Bill, the congregation, our own mothers, our friends, our family, the congregation, our grandmother’s, and God.


This Is For The Mothers

This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping
up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, “It’s okay honey,
Mommy’s here.”

Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can’t be

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains
on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.
And all the mothers who DON’T.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they’ll never see. And the mothers who
took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator

And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer
games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars, so that when their kids
asked, “Did you see me, Mom?” they could say, “Of course, I wouldn’t have missed it for
the world,” and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in
despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream before dinner.

And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about
making babies. And for all the (grand) mothers who wanted to, but just couldn’t find
the words.

This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat.

For all the mothers who read “Goodnight, Moon” twice a night for a year. And then read
it again. “Just one more time.”

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they
started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a
jump shot.

This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls “Mom?”
in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home — or even away at

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring
them they’d be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an
hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can’t find the words to reach

For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their
hair green.

For all the mothers of the victims of recent school shootings, and the mothers of those
who did the shooting.

For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror,
hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they
come home safely from a war.

What makes a good Mother anyway?

Is it patience?


Broad hips?

The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same

Or is it in her heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street,
walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand
on the back of a sleeping baby?

The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when you just want to hear their key
in the door and know they are safe again in your home?

Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a
fire, a car accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for young
mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation…

And mature mothers learning to let go.

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.

Single mothers and married mothers..

Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all. For all of us.

Hang in there. In the end we can only do the best we can. Tell them every day that we
love them. And pray.


Author: bkbites

Stay at home Mom of 3 boys, 1 goofy dog, 2 wickedly crazy cats, and a traveling husband. Ah, what can be better? It's a full life without a doubt.

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