Part 01: Rupert Nixon letters, 28 November 1914-2 October 1917 - Page 282
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[Page 282]
There is nobody just like her. For tenderness and patience, for longsuffering and understanding, for sure remembrance or, if need be, for quick forgetfulness, there's "only one Mother the whole world o'er". Every good woman reminds us of her. Every dimpled baby is a text for thoughts of her. Violets and cello tones, pretty trinkets and soft colors, gentle deeds and the silence of the House of Worship, all are messengers of God whispering: "Mother! Mother!"
Far, far away we said good-bye to her; but she would not be left behind: she is with us, always with us. "God could not be everywhere, so he gave us Mother". We had boasted to ourselves that we were men, no longer held by apron-strings; and now we find it true, for the strings are become chains, and we are proud of our shackles. Who would have guessed from knowing us that Mother sits throned in our hearts? But there she is, the one who knows us best, the one who counts upon us most, and by her very expectation makes us men such as we had not dreamed to be. Ay, God did a good thing when He gave us Mother.
Come then, let us appoint her this day in May an extra birthday, not to add to her years, but to add to her joys. Let us send her an extra note, an extra gift, an extra assurance of loving mindfulness; for nobody loves like her, and nobody else in all the world can be made so happy with so little if that little be from her boy. God bless our little Mother!