Put Them All Together They Spell Mother

Maryn sings in the children's choir at church, and today they did two songs, the second of which was a song for mothers.  When they went up to the front and stood on the stairs, they all stretched their arms out to make sure there was enough room for the hand motions.
M is for the million things she gave me.
O is only that she's growing old.  (Ouch!)
T is for the tears she shed to save me.
H is for her heart of purest gold.
E is for her eyes with lovelight shining.
R is right, and right she'll always be.
Put them all together they spell mother, a word that means the world to me.

When they finished, the remainder of the kids joined them at the front for the children's chat.  During the chat, they were asked if any of them could name something that makes their mother special.  An arm shot up from the back row, and it was attached to Maryn's body.  Without hesitation and with the utmost confidence and clear speech, she said into a microphone, "She's nice."  I'll admit there was probably a largening of my pupils, undetectable to the naked eye, as I waited to hear what she would say, but when she said, "She's nice," I merely had to agree.  I am nice, but seeing that she was immediately willing to risk going out on a very long, narrow limb to declare that to the world, now that was really special.

To all those of you who call me mom or fill a large space in my heart and would make me proud to call you my own, thanks for a wonderful Mother's Day.