Although the late Temple Bailey never married or bore children, she was the talented American novelist who gave sons and daughters one of the more poignant gifts in honoring motherhood.
Hers was the creative publication of “A Little Parable for Mothers” in 1933 for Good Housekeeping Magazine, which withstood the test of time in describing a mother’s journey through life.
Temple Bailey penned the parable with heart from beginning to end in telling the story of a mother’s love and devotion to rearing her two children in every step of their lives, and with a mother’s assurances she forever would be with them.
Being a mother isn’t just one job. It’s a million. They are our providers and caretakers. They teach us how to navigate the world, and help us become better people. They are our encouragers, our cheerleaders, our protectors and our listening ears when life’s challenges come our way. They soothe our tears of disappointment. They celebrate our successes, and for so many of us, they are those proverbial winds beneath our wings when we soar toward and achieve our dreams.
Temple Bailey took us 92 years ago on a touching and heartfelt mother’s journey with her children, from a mother’s youth until her final hill to climb in a feeble and fragile farewell, but with the joy in knowing that the end of the journey was better than the beginning.
On this Mother’s Day, if you will, allow me to share Temple Bailey’s parable in honor and memory of God’s gift of mothers present and past.
‘A Little Parable for Mothers’
The young mother set her foot on the path of life. “Is the way long?” she said. And her guide said: “Yes, and the way is hard. And you will be old before you reach the end of it. But the end will be better than the beginning.”
But the young mother was happy, and she would not believe that anything could be better than these years. So she played with her children, and gathered flowers for them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams; and the sun shone on them, and life was good, and the young mother cried, “Nothing will ever be lovelier than this.”
Then night came, and the storm, and the path was dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said, “Oh, Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and we know no harm can come.”
And the Mother said, “This is better than the brightness of the day, for I have taught my children courage.”
And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and the children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary, but at all times she said to the children, “A little patience, and we are there.” So the children climbed, and when they reached the top, they said, “We could not have done it without you, Mother.” And the mother, when she lay down that night, looked up at the stars and said: “This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness. Yesterday I gave them courage. Today I have given them strength.”
And the next day came strange clouds which darkened the earth – clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped and stumbled, and the mother said: “Look up. Lift your eyes to the light.” And the children looked and saw above the clouds an everlasting glory, and it guided them beyond the darkness. And that night the mother said, “This is the best day of all, for I have shown my children God.”
And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and the years, and the mother grew old, and she was little and bent. But her children were tall and strong, and walked with courage. And when the way was hard, they helped their mother; and when the way was rough, they lifted her, for she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill, and beyond the hill they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide.
And the mother said: “I have reached the end of my journey. And now I know that the end is better than the beginning, for my children can walk alone, and their children after them.” And the children said: “You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates.”
And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates closed after her. And they said: “We cannot see her, but she is with us still. A mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a living presence.”
Mothers present and past
On this day, I see a mother gently placing a shawl over a daughter’s shoulders as a daughter recovers from a heart transplant. On this day, I see John Matlack reaching into a China cabinet for cups beyond a mother’s reach. On this day, I see a new bride nursing her newborn, and their journey together is just beginning. On this day, I see the flower arrangement on a mother’s dining room table, because two daughters and a son are what they have become because of the mother she was and continues to be.
On this day, I see the old home of the late Mary Stewart Johnson Gillis, where the Gillis boys will tell you every day was Mother’s Day along Gillis Hill Road. On this day, I see Fayetteville lawyer Mike Williford never missing a morning of coffee with his late mother. On this day, I see the love of Patty Koonce and Beth Spence, and their late mothers they adored. On this day, I still see the heartbreak when the Rev. Keith Smith said goodbye to the mother he cherished. On this day, I see the Highland Village home of Evelyn Fay Spicer and the love of a son and a daughter for a mother, and where the porch light still shines in the night.
Epilogue
On this day, I miss the lilt in my Mama’s laugh. I miss hearing her stories of growing up in her hometown of Vass, and her love and respect for her mother and father. I miss being with Mama at Cypress Springs Presbyterian Church on a Sunday homecoming, and where we always were the last to leave. I miss watching her write letters and thank you notes to her friends, and writing up the margins because there was something else Mama wanted you to know. I miss driving her to her doctor’s appointment. I miss taking her to “get my hair done.” I miss knowing Mama’s not here when I come home at day’s end.
For those of us who have known and felt the heartbreak of watching our mothers climb that final hill and with God’s golden gates in wait, may we take solace in Temple Bailey’s parable.
“You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates. We cannot see her, but she is with us still. A mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a living presence.”
Bill Kirby Jr. can be reached at billkirby49@gmail.com or 910-624-1961.
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