A Mother’s Silent Prayer
About the Song
I have been blessed with three “mothers” in my lifetime: A grandmother, who taught me thrift, perseverance, hard work and the dubious joys of accordion music; a mother-in-law who (bless her!) raised a wonderful husband for me and who, during her lifetime, was one of my best friends; and my own mother who… well, what does one say about one’s own mother? One (this one anyway) mostly blubbers.
At 13, I was asked to play piano for Junior Sunday School. (Gasp… my age is showing again!) I could read treble clef–slowly. Bass clef was still a mystery, and keeping up with those energetic little voices was simply beyond my abilities. I came home distraught that first week, and many weeks thereafter, declaring, “I’m NEVER going back! I’m going to DIE of humiliation!!! I can’t DO it!!!!!!!!”
Mom listened to me patiently (undoubtedly repressing gales of laughter at the melodrama–I was a melodramatic kid) and said, “Yes you can.” I didn’t believe her, but she did persuade me to go back. Week after week she persuaded me to go back, and I did not die. I believe she prayed for me privately, but I know that beyond all possibility she scrounged up enough money somewhere to buy me an old piano so I could practice.
To me, that piano was the embodiment of a prayer. So was her encouragement as I began to take an interest in composing. So was all the time she spent in patient listening. Every loving, selfless thing my mother did for me was a prayer on my behalf.
Mom isn’t a musician–though she’s better than she thinks she is. Still, she’s one of those who laughs out loud when asked to join the choir. But the song of her heart expressed in other ways–her devotion to the Lord and service to her family–is nonetheless a prayer unto God.
She calls upon the Father of creation
With every act of kindness for our sake
She seeks his grace to guard and guide her children
To raise us up in righteousness and strengthen us in faith
And as each labor of her love becomes an offering
Gifts upon the altar of her home
He hears her silent prayer and labors with her there
To mold our hearts; to shape our very souls
Every selfless deed is her petition
That bears aloft a fervent wordless plea
And like a prayer ascending into heaven
Every quiet sacrifice entreats him silently
Each word of hope or counsel
Each sorrow that she shares
Each comfort that she offers
Is a mother’s silent prayer
Of high estate or poor and lowly station
‘mid mortal praise or by the world unknown
Every work of motherhood’s devotion
Rises up to plead for her before the Father’s throne
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