Mothers are terrific. There’s almost nothing they can’t do—-certainly nothing they wouldn’t try to do in fulfilling their creative instincts. They wear many hats and change them at the drop of a hat.
My mother used to be an incurable hat wearer. She wore the pillbox hat, the tam, the straw bonnet, the broad-brimmed satin, the plumed hat, and the veiled hat. The hats I’m talking about, however, aren’t part of a fashion aficionado’s wardrobe. I’m referring to the hats that define the roles that moms play.
Mothers wear the cook’s hat. From baloney sandwiches to au gratin potatoes, Mom does it all. She can whip up a cake from scratch, make special fudge at Christmas time, and cook that turkey tender. She mixes, stirs, fries, bakes, grills, toasts, and browns—all without burning or scorching. She cans peaches, freezes corn, clips coupons and shops for all the groceries.
Mothers wear the homemaker’s hat. She arranges—and re-arranges—furniture, measures for curtains and carpet, hangs pictures, paints and papers the walls, and decorates for Christmases and birthdays. She color-coordinates the towels, plants flowers, buys shrubs for Dad to plant and picks up bug-spray for Dad to apply. She does almost all the shopping for household items and has been known to take back every single one of those items that she purchased and either replace them with the right color or size, or get a refund because she decided she didn’t need them.
Mothers wear the maid’s hat. She washes, dries and irons clothes, sews on buttons, makes beds, cleans toilets, defrosts freezers, washes dishes, scrubs pots and pans, dusts furniture, vacuums carpets, sweeps away cobwebs, mops and waxes floors, inspects the shoes of Dad and the kids before she lets them in the house, and has been known to raise her voice at messy rooms.
Mothers wear the nurse’s hat. She administers medicine, applies Band-Aids, washes out cuts and scrapes, kisses owies, takes temperatures, forces down cough syrup, calls doctors, fixes hot tea with lemon for sore throats, reminds kids to wear their hats, scarves, gloves, boots—and their retainers for the teeth from which the braces just came off that cost thousands of dollars . . . not to mention the THIRD PAIR OF LOST EYEGLASSES! She prescribes home remedies, sets out the vitamins, sends kids back to brush their teeth, and writes out excuses for sick kids—-or sends them on to school when she thinks they’re pulling her leg—and has the incredible wisdom to know the difference.
Mothers wear the policeman’s cap. She senses when something is wrong. She checks pockets, digs in back-packs, flips through books and rummages through purses. She demands to smell breath, inspect hair, rub cheeks, lips and eyebrows, and examine belt-lines, hemlines and necklines.
But, most importantly, Mother’s wear the prayer warrior’s hat. You might think Mom always knows and always has the answers. But, she knows she doesn’t. That’s why—late at night or early in the morning, and sometimes in the middle of the night—if you sneak into the family room or kitchen, you will see Mother in her most glorious hat, the hat of the prayer-warrior.
You see, sometimes Mothers don’t get the answers they want when they ask the questions. They worry about rashes, bumps and scrapes. They may not know what all the medical terms are, but they know when you just aren’t yourself. They worry about the older kids that come around their children, and what happens at school or the park.
When kids get older, Mothers are troubled by rebellious looks, hateful remarks, shifty eyes, strange words, reluctance to go to church and a resistance to do the right things that had never before arisen.
She knows kids are vulnerable as they enter changes in their lives. She sees the pain of peer rejection. She sees signs of spiritual struggle. She knows when they’re not around the altar. She worries about their relationships. Her children’s spiritual well-being is the single most important thing in her life.
And so, she prays. Sometimes, she feels like she just can’t get through. She can’t watch her kids all the time. She doesn’t know all of the influences they may be under. If the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much, you can double that for a mother. The very demons of hell tremble when a mother comes after them with intercessory prayer.
Mothers, you may be weary and distraught. Satan may have told you that you are fighting a losing battle. You may feel inadequate, outsmarted, helpless and hopeless. But, you’re none of these things if you can pray! Pray through the attack of Satan on your home and children. Pray through the clouds of darkness that try to suffocate you. Pray through the attempts of evil influence to destroy everything you’ve instilled in your kids. Pray—not with resignation, but with resolve! Pray first, pray last, and fill up the hours in between with whispered prayer. Find time, make time, take time to pray. Pray early, pray late, pray often. Pray softly, pray loudly, pray fervently.
No one can represent your children before the throne of God like you can. Let the mothers in Israel rise up! There is a mighty prayer army that moves the very throne of God.
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