With Mother’s Day coming this Sunday, I thought this wonderful tale by Laura E. Richards about the true guardian angels who watch over us from the moment we come into this world. In my mind, it is the perfect seasoning to prepare of our hearts for Mom’s official day of honor.
“Mother,” said the child, “are there really angels?”
“The Good Book says so,” replied the mother.
“Yes,” said the child. “I have seen the pictures. But have you ever seen one, Mother?”
“I think I have,” answered the mother, “but she was not dressed like the picture.”
“I an going to find one!” said the child. “I am going to run along the road, miles, and miles, and miles, until I find an angel.”
That sounds like a good plan, my son.” replied the mother, “And I shall accompany you, for you are still too little to travel all that distance alone.”
“I am not little anymore!” the child retorted. “I now wear trousers; I am big.”
“Of course, you are!” replied his mother. “I forgot. But it is such a fine day, I think I would enjoy accompanying you on your walk.”
“But, Mother, you walk too slowly, with your lame foot.”
“I can walk faster than you think, young man!” replied the mother.
So, they started out on their journey, the child leaping and running, and the mother stepping so briskly on her lame foot that the child soon forgot about it.
The child danced on ahead, and presently came upon a chariot coming towards him, drawn by prancing white horses. In the chariot sat a splendidly attired lady dressed in velvet and draped with furs, with white plumes waving above her dark hair. As she moved in her seat, she flashed jewels and gold, but her eyes were even brighter than her diamonds.
“Are you an angel? Asked the child, running up beside the chariot.
The lady made no reply but stared coldly at the child. Then she spoke a word to her coachman, and he flicked his whip, and the chariot rolled away swiftly in a cloud of dust and disappeared.
Dust filled the child’s eyes and mouth and made him choke and sneeze. He gasped for breath and rubbed his eyes. Noticing his distress, his mother rushed up and, using her blue gingham apron, she gently wiped away the dust from her son.
“That was not an angel!” the child stammered.
“No indeed!” replied his mother. “Nothing like one.”
The child danced on down the road again, leaping and running from side to side of the road, while the mother followed along staining to keep up as best she could.
By and by the child came upon a most beautiful maiden, clad in a white dress. Her eyes were like blue stars, and the blushes came and went in her face like roses peeking through snow.
“I am sure you must be an angel!” exclaimed the child.
The maiden blushed more sweetly than before. “You dear little child!” she cried. “Someone else said that, only last evening. Do I really look like an angel?”
You are an angel!” said the child.
The maiden took him up in her arms and kissed him and held him tenderly.
“You are the dearest little thing I ever saw!” she exclaimed. “Tell me what makes you think so!” But suddenly her face changed.
“Oh!” she cried. “There he is, coming to meet me! And you have soiled my white dress with your dusty shoes and pulled my hair all awry. Run away, child, and go home to your mother!”
She set the child down, not unkindly, but so hurriedly that he stumbled and fell; but she did not see that, for she was hastening forward to meet her lover, who was coming along the road. (Now if the maiden had only known, he thought her twice as lovely with the child in her arms; but she did not know.)
The child lay in the dusty road and sobbed, till his mother came hobbling along and picked him up and wiped away the tears with her blue gingham apron.
“I don’t believe that was an angel after all,” he said between sniffles.
“No!” replied his mother, “But she may be one someday. She is young yet.”
“I am tired!” said the child. “Will you carry me home, Mother?”
“Why, yes!” answered the mother. “That is what I came for.”
The child threw his arms around his mother’s neck, and she held him tight and trudged along the road singing the song he liked best.
Suddenly he looked up at her face.
“Mother,” he said, “I don’t suppose you could be an angel, could you?”
“Oh, what a foolish child!” answered the mother. “Who ever heard of an angel in a blue gingham apron?” And she went on singing and stepped out so bravely on her lame foot that no one would ever have known she was lame.
A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. –Washington Irving
Have an AWE-full Mother’s Day Weekend!
William “Bill” Bacque