I was but a youth and thoughtless,
As all youths are apt to be’
Thought I had a Christian mother
Who had taught me carefully.
Came a time when sinful pleasure
Of the world brought its allure,
And I no more sought the guidance
Of her love so good and pure.
But Mother would not yield her boy
To Satan’s sinful sway.
And thought I spurned her counsel
She knew a better way.
No more she tried to caution
Of ways she knew were vain,
And though I guessed her heartache
I could not know its pain.
She made my room an altar,
A place of secret prayer,
And there she took her burden
And it in His care.
Each morning, noon and evening
By that bedside bending low.
She sought the aid of Him
Who best can feel a mother’s woe
Still I went my way unheeding,
Careless of the life I led.
Until one day I noticed
Prints of elbows on my bed.
Then I saw that she had been there Praying
for her wayward boy,
Who for love of worldly pleasure
Would her peach of mind destroy.
While I wrestled with my conscience
Mother wrestled still in prayer, T
ill that little room seemed hallowed
Because oft she met Him there.
With her God she held the fortress
And though not a word she said,
My stubborn heart was broken
By those imprints on my bed.
Long the conflict raged within me,
Sin against my mother’s prayer.
Sin must yield, for Mother never,
While she daily met Him there.
And her constant love and patience
Were like coals upon my head,
Together with the imprints
Of her elbows on my bed.
A mother’s love and God’s love
Are a combination rare,
And one that can’t be beaten
If it’s sealed by earnest prayer.
And so at last the fight was won,
And I to Christ was led;
My mother won the victory
By her elbows on my bed.
~Author Unknown~
