When he graduated from high school,

his widowed mother said, “I can’t

afford to give you a gift,” so his

sister took him out for dinner.

 

His sister took his widowed mother

to see him in a major role in a college

play. Afterward his widowed mother

told him he still had makeup on his face.

 

When he graduated from college,

a first for the family, his sister bought

him a class ring and said it was

from his widowed mother and his

sister.

 

When he earned his master’s degree,

and his widowed mother told him that

the dean said he had a long way to

go, the dean actually said he would

go a long way.

 

When he earned his doctorate

his widowed mother simply said,

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

 

When he published articles and

his widowed mother’s neighbors

said, “Oh, you must be so

proud of your son,” his widowed

mother said nothing.

 

When he published a book, mercifully,

his widowed mother had gone on to her

eternal reward years before, at the ripe,

old age of almost ninety-three and he simply

but sadly said, “Thank you, Jesus.”