Mothers Sermon Illustrations

Mothers Sermon Illustrations

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Showing Love for Mother

"I love you, Mother," said little John;
Then, forgetting his work, his cap went on
And he was off to the garden swing
And she had the wood and water to bring.

"I love you, Mother," said rosy Nell;
"I love you more than tongue can tell."
Then she teased and pouted half the day,
Till her mother was glad when she went to play.

"I love you, Mother," said little Nan;
"Today I'll help you all I can;
My doll and playthings I know will keep!"
Then she rocked the baby fast asleep.

Then, stepping softly, she brought the broom,
And swept the floor and tidied the room;
Busy and happy all day was she,
Helpful and good as a child could be.

"I love you, Mother," again they said,
Three little children going to bed.
How do you think the mother guessed
Which of them really loved her best?Olive Plants.

Always Welcome

Moody used to tell the story of a Scotch girl who wandered away from God and from her father's instruction and her mother's counsel, and went deeply into sin. One night in a wild frenzy in the city of Edinburgh, she concluded that she would commit suicide, but before doing so she could go out and look once more on the home where she was born and spent her youth. When in the middle of the night she came into the neighborhood again, and finally up to the mother's gate, it was dark, and so she lifted the latch and stole in. As she walked up the path she came to the door of the cottage. To her surprise she found the door wide open. In fear lest some harm might have come to the old mother, she called, and mother answered. The girl said, "Mother, I found the door open." And the old Scotch mother got up and came down and said, "Maggie, it is many a long day since you went away, but always the prayer has been in my heart, `Lord, send her home.' And I said, `Whether she come by night or day, I want her to see an open door and know she is welcome."'

And that night the girl was clasped in her mother's arms of love and forgiveness, and it all suggested the divine love and the possibility of divine pardon. So by the open door of mother's cottage she found her way back to the open door of Christ, the way into divine love and pardon and cleansing. Yes, the door is open, inviting, appealing, entreating, enticing, welcoming, wooing and, thank God, winning.

"There is a gate that stands ajar,
And through its portals gleaming,
A radiance from the Cross afar,
The Saviour's love revealing.

"Oh, depth of mercy! can it be
That gate was left ajar for me?
For me. . . . for me?
Was left ajar for me?"Gospel Herald.

Precious Memories

Dwight L. Moody once wrote of his boyhood:
"Dad died when mother was forty-one. What a struggle she had with us; six besides myself, and then the twins were born after father's death. Only three books in the place, and yet they were enough—the family Bible, the catechism, and a book of family devotions. How the spruce log fire sparkled as we sat on the mat on the cold Sunday nights when church was impossible. I can hear mother now, solemnly adjuring us to walk in the ways of God, as she read from the big Bible to us. After father died, mother wept herself to sleep every night, sister said, and yet we younger ones who slept soundly in our blissful innocence, knew it not. She was always cheerful to us. Brave old mum! Her motto was, `Give others the sunshine, tell Jesus the rest.'"—Christianity Today.

Like a hope divine in this troubled world
Is the thought of a Mother's care .. .
No payment is asked for its giving,
No selfishness prompts its prayer.

Shared, it increases in richness,
Divided, 'tis full in each part.
For God has hidden a love like His own
In the depths of the Mother heart!War Cry.

Hope Hangs a Star

Hope hangs a star over every cradle. It is given to mothers to plant the angel in men.

When Richard Cecil was a youth, he tried his utmost to be an infidel; but there was one argument he could never answer; it was the beautiful, eloquent Christian life of his mother. That held him fast.

Dr. Newman Hall had a similar experience. Against all the solicitations and seductions of infidelity there stood the holy life of his mother. He could not get away from that.—Selected.

Mother's Reward

Down in the mountains of Georgia lived a poor widow. She had a few acres of ground where she raised berries and one thing and another and made a little money keeping chickens and selling eggs. She also took in washing and did other humble work for a living. God gave her a bright son. He, too, surpassed everyone in the district school. The mother worked hard to get the money to send him to Emory College. The son worked hard to get himself through the college. He graduated with high honors and won a gold medal for special excellence in study. When it came time for him to graduate he went up to the mountain home for his mother, and said, "Mother, you must come down and see me graduate." "No," said his mother, "I have nothing fit to wear, and you would be ashamed of your poor old mother before all those grand people." "Ashamed of you!" he said, with eyes filled with filial love. "Ashamed of you, Mother, never! I owe everything I am to you and you must come down. What is more, I will not graduate unless you come." Finally she yielded. He brought her to the town. When the graduating day came she went to the commencement exercises in her plain calico dress with her neat but faded shawl and simple mountain bonnet. He tried to take her down the middle aisle where the richest people of the town, friends of the graduating class, sat, but this she refused and insisted on sitting way off under the gallery. The son went up on the platform and delivered his graduating address. He was handed his diploma and received his medal. No sooner had he received the gold medal than he walked down from the platform and away to where his mother sat off under the gallery and pinned the gold medal on her faded shawl and said, "Mother, that belongs to you; you earned it!"—R. A. Torrey.

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