*1 Kings 2:19*
Bathsheeba went to King Solomon to speak to him for Adonijah. And the king arose to meet her, bowed before her, and sat on his throne; then he had a throne set for the king's mother, and she sat on his right.
Of this passage, Piper writes:
Then they had their conversation. He rose for her. He bowed to her. And he called for a throne to be put beside his for their conversation. She was his mother. Even kings should stoop when their mothers enter the room.
Then they had their conversation. He rose for her. He bowed to her. And he called for a throne to be put beside his for their conversation. She was his mother. Even kings should stoop when their mothers enter the room.
I do as Solomon did: I keep my mother close. I bring her my joys as soon as they alight upon my heart, and weep openly at her feet when I can't keep my sadness at bay any longer. Because I know I will hear "It will pass," from someone who understands me deeply. I came from her womb. She is intimately entwined in my genetics; my thought patterns, my emotions; my personality. . . She has seen so much of life. What is offers. What it takes away. She listens. Attentively. Tuned in to the various plains of meaning I operate on. She offers wisdom, seeking to steer us away from the troubles that once ensnared her. Seeking to propel us towards Christ, the truest and most trustworthy advisor. She does not shy away from her duty to admonish, when admonishment is required, but she cushions it with love because it pains her deeply to see us hurt by her words, true as they might be. She is so quick to praise. To hold up her children, in words, as shiny, irreplaceable, treasures. And we take note, feeling warmed by the honour. She finds her way into my mothering. I see her show herself in so many corners and crevices of my efforts to be a good and loving and godly parent. She will never be shaken from those places. She will remain an eternal transformative presence in all of my ways. Because she is my mother. She was charged with the task of breathing love and wisdom into my young heart, and that is something that does not become dislodged with time. A mother remains in her children. Even once her children become mothers.
