Every Boy Needs a Woman to Give Flowers To

I’ve learned something about the hearts of little boys (and men in general) by watching my little niños here in Bolivia.

Every boy needs a woman to give flowers to.

I’m convinced it’s as fulfilling for the boy to give flowers as it is for the woman to receive them.

Here’s why I say that…

I never thought about it, but my childhood was full of little indications that a strong, gentle woman was watching out for me. My laundry was always clean, folded, and waiting for me on my bed. My pants were mended, my stomach filled, and my collar straightened (if not by Mom, then by another woman at church in the row behind me). These were little subconscious reminders that I was cared for and secure–that I had a mother.

Here at the children’s home, we struggle between the tension of wanting the boys to learn responsibility while not wanting to rob them of that special care and attention only a woman can give.

Is having them do things such as their own laundry (paltry amounts every day), a creative way to teach them responsibility and independence or are we taking away a seemingly insignificant but important woman’s touch in their lives?

Of course, Father figures (in this case, me and Levi) should be gentle and caring. The myth leftover from the 60s of masculinity being about Schwarzenegger muscles and brute power is absolute rubbish. True masculinity is gentle and caring. Still, for heaven’s sake, I can’t be a mother to these boys nor should I try to be.

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Mom

A mom is security, love and support;

She knows what you’re about, both inside and out.

You tell her the latest, the good and the bad,

And caringly she listens to the heart of the sad.

From childhood to grown up

She’s there in the midst.

She’s everything that matters

Like a precious jewel she sparkles and shimmers.

But you take her for granted.

Yet her love is not lessened,

Diminished or slanted—

It’s within her deeply planted.

And then,

You wake up and find,

The gem afore spoken

Sits there and is broken;

She’s moaning and groaning

And running out of time.

Oh what I would do,

Looking back with regret,

To whisper her name again and again.

To sing her sweet songs.

Oh how I do long

To shout with my life

I LOVE YOU, MOM!

I would tear down the sky

Just to say one last good-bye.

To hug her and kiss her

And let her see me cry.

The tears run so easy

Like never before,

She loved us so much—

Why didn’t I love her more?

But now she is gone,

Taken beyond,

To a land without shadow

A place that is hallow.

She’s traveled to Heaven

She’s taken to Jesus

And Jesus can love her

‘Cause He’s the true lover.

And though I can’t see it,

And hardly believe it:

I rest in this promise

For I know He will keep it.

C.D.