If I talk to my children about what is right and what is wrong, but I have not love, I am like a ringing doorbell or pots banging in the kitchen. And though I know what stages they will go through, and understanding their growing pains, and can answer all their questions about life, and believe myself to be a devoted mother, but I have not love, I have nothing.
If I give up the fulfillment of a career to make my children's lives better, and stay up all night sewing costumes or baking cookies at short notice, but grumble about lack of sleep, I have not love and accomplish nothing.
A loving mother is patient with her children's immaturity and kind even when they are not; a loving mother is not jealous of their youth nor does she hold it over their heads whenever she has sacrificed for them.
A loving mother believe in her children; she hopes in each one's individual ability to stand out as a light in a dark world; she endures every backache and hearthache to accomplish that.
A loving mother never really dies. As for home-baked bread, it will be consumed and forgotten: as for spotless floors, they will soon gather dust and heel marks. As for children, right now toys, friends and food are all-important to them. But when they grow up, it will be their mother's love that they will remember and pass on to others. In that way, she will live on.
So care, training and a loving mother reside in a home, these three but the greatest of these is a loving mother.
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