The Peace of Home
Dedicated to my mother
When I was young, I often marveled
That the world could torment and trouble,
But when I arrived home all was peace,
As if I’d curled up in a blanket of fleece.
I always took that peace for granted,
As if for free it had been planted…
But not for free, but a mother’s work
Created this peace apart from a world gone berserk.
And now that I’ve become a father,
I’m still confused. I wonder. I ponder.
Is there some magic code to release,
That special, loving feeling--feeling of peace?
So it can permeate in my home,
And call to my children when they’re gone,
“Here is a place free from worldly cares.
Come, be refreshed. Here is peace, free of briars.”
And it dawns on me, there is a key,
A Christ centered man I need to be,
Like my mother; full of love, quick to pray,
Bearing all things, giving kind service each day.
If I can exemplify these traits
In my children’s eyes--I will be great.
Not because of me, no I’m not the one,
Just love God, as my mother also has done.
Billy Wardle
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