We've all been there before. You're sitting in sacrament meeting in some ward you've never been to before. You might be there to see your older sister's newest baby being blessed, you might be there because your cousin is getting the Holy Ghost, or you might be there for a good friend's missionary farewell. It doesn't matter why you're there though because we all end up doing the same thing - people watching. You see that deacon who's wearing a suit two sizes too big and try not to giggle; you notice the tie some guy is wearing and decide you have to ask him where he got it after the meeting is over; or my personal favorite, scouting out the attractive members of the opposite sex who might be available next Friday night.
This last Sunday I found myself in this same position once again. There I was all alone sitting in some ward I'd never been to before, and before I knew it, there I was people watching. The thing is my eyes weren't drawn to the nice tie their bishop was wearing or the beautiful young woman sitting up by the podium. I instead found myself focused on the young mother sitting in front of me with her young son. Now before you call me "creepy" or anything of the sort, hear me out. I was not scouting out an attractive member of the opposite sex in this situation. I had no intentions of ever uttering a word to this mother or her son and I never did, but the words that I felt the spirit uttering to me as I sat in that sacrament meeting and the thoughts/memories they provoked cannot be ignored.
I watched this mother and her son throughout the entire sacrament meeting. I watched as she helped him take the bread and water for the sacrament meeting; I watched him sit next to her and read a book; I watched her play peek-a-boo with him; and I watched them munch on cheddar goldfish together. The moment that I will never forget though came as I watched this mother slowly hold her son in her lap and kiss his forehead as the primary sang their annual Mothers' Day songs. The love I saw between these two radiated brighter than the sun on a warm summer day. Sitting right in front of me was an exhibition of the pure love a mother has for her child and the bond that is created between the two. A tear or two slowly rolled down my cheeks as I realized just why I had been drawn to this mother and her son.
Watching this mother and her son was like looking into the past for me. This mother chose to bring her young son with her to church even though she had to do it alone because she knew it was important that her son be raised in the church from a very early age. This mother was exactly like my mother. My mother knew it was important for me to be raised in the church from a very early age, so she brought me to church every Sunday even though she had to do it alone. I know that what my mother did and what this mother was doing right in front of me was not easy. There must be moments where they stumbled or roadblocks they thought they'd never get through, but they keep going. My mother kept going for me, and this mother kept going for her son too. The sacrifices women like these mothers make everyday can never truly be repaid. They gave us life. They give us food, shelter, and love; and then on top of all of that, they sacrifice everything they possibly can to make sure that the gospel is in our lives.
As I sat and watched this mother slowly hold her son in her lap and kiss his forehead as the primary sang their annual Mothers' Day songs, I realized just how much I truly owe my mother. What she did was not easy, but I would not be who I am today if she had not chosen to do that which was hard. You often hear people say that "the mission is harder on the missionary moms then it is on the missionaries." This couldn't be closer to the truth. Our mothers have sacrificed so much for us to get to this point, and what is their reward for all of the sacrifices they made? They have to let go of our hands, and let us go out on our own to some place most of us have never been to before. There we will stay for 2 YEARS trying to bring the gospel they worked so hard to instill in us to others who need it too.
As I think about how hard these sacrifices must be, I look back upon the end of that sacrament meeting last Sunday. At the end of the sacrament meeting, the mother I had been watching was called on to give the closing prayer. As she got up to walk to the pulpit and say the prayer, she entrusted the care of her son to the kind couple sitting next to her. I watched her son climb up on the chair and watch his mother as she walked to the podium. From the moment this mother left her son to the moment she returned to his side after saying the closer prayer, her son never took his eyes off of her. It was the perfect example of the inseparable bond between mother and child. I can see this bond in my own life as I envision my own mother carefully watching over me throughout the next two years of my life as I make my way to New York, and just like that mother's son, I know she will never quit watching out for me until I have safely returned back to her side.
I owe my mother a very special thank you and then some. I know that I would never be where I am today if it wasn't for her and the sacrifices she made to help me get here. I hope that I can go to New York and show people just how much I love this gospel that my mother sacrificed so much to give to me.
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