Oh the ache of empty arms
No one needing me
No quick smile lights up a face
Of baby seeing me.
Other women have the joy
Of being someone’s mom…
The one who nurtured life within
And still does…on and on.
Sleepless nights with fuzzy head
Nestled in their arm
Cries and fears are soothed away
As if by magic wand.
They hear little cooing calls,
Then gently pattering feet.
Arms outstretched for one quick hug
Or lengthy snuggling.
They are needed constantly
How could their life feel void?
A little life could be snuffed out
If they grew selfish, cold.
And yet – are there not children still
Whose mothers do not care?
They seek for money, fame or power
Or seek to be “fulfilled.”
And there are older ones as well,
Whose mothers know not Him,
And when they need a mother’s touch,
May I not fill that void?
If empty arms I sometimes feel,
Can’t I bear that for Him
Whose arms were outstretched on a cross
To call lost children Home?
He had nowhere to lay His head,
No wife, no family,
For my sake He a lonely Man
No one could understand.
Then lift those empty arms to Him
He cares with mother’s love.
And God was never debtor yet
To any of His own.
He’ll fill those arms with work for Him,
My work won’t be in vain,
And when some Day with Him I stand
I think I’ll hear Him say,
“Your many children are all safe,
(For they’ve been taught by Me)
Rejoice, thou barren, as thou seest
My plan fulfilled for thee.
For every corn of wheat must die,
If it would fruitful be.”