It Doesn't Matter

It Doesn't Matter

Canto I 1987

She nurtured me through cradle time, I babbled -- she replied.
She held me in her arms and rocked to soothe me when I cried.
She fed and bathed and dressed me warm; she watched me stand in fall;
And as I learned to say her name, she came when I would call.

It doesn't matter who she was -- queen or president.
What matters is my memory of the mother Heaven sent.

He held me nights when I was sick, and blessed me to be strong.
As audience, he listened to my simple, piano songs.
He led us in a family prayer both morning and at night --
And when I made mistakes, he helped me see with keener sight.

It doesn't matter who he is -- king or president.
What matters is my memory of the father Heaven sent.

She drove me to activities. She taught in Primary.
She helped me to love books and took me to the library.
She sewed my costumes for the plays she came to sit and watch.
She gave me time when she had none -- I'll never know how much.

It doesn't matter who she was -- queen or president.
What matters is my memory of the mother Heaven sent.

From carpet tubes, he made lights for a dance he chaperoned.
I learned to shun the practices that he did not condone.
He wrote me letters when I left to try a college life.
He sent me love and courage and he helped me love the light.

It doesn't matter who he is -- king or president.
What matters is my memory of the father Heaven sent.

She came to see me graduate. She sewed my wedding dress.
When Meg was born, she came to love and clean a baby's mess.
She sang with me. We played our flutes. We talked of future fears.
She brought me gifts and tender care and comforts, still, my tears.

It doesn't matter who she was -- queen or president.
What matters is my memory of the mother Heaven sent.

He offers timely, sound advice and gives a father's blessing.
And he listens calmly, when his patience I am testing.
He brags about my children and about the things I do.
He loves me lots, I hope he knows how much I love him, too.

It doesn't matter who he is -- king or president.
What matters is my memory of the father Heaven sent.

Canto II 2009

Today I think about the children Heaven sent to me --
How we read books and cared for pets and climbed up tall, tall trees.
Do they recall the walks, we took? And scriptures that we read?
And how each night I heard them talk as they were tucked in bed?

It doesn't matter who I am, queen or president.
What matters are the memories of the children Heaven sent.

When they stand before the Lord, and all their lives review --
Will I, as mother, be revealed as one who loved them true?
Will they be glad they knew me? Did they want to be near me --
Because within my eyes they saw their own divinity?

It doesn't matter who I am, queen or president.
What matters are the memories of the children Heaven sent.