When I was a very little boy and had fallen down and hurt myself, I would run into the house and find my mother. She would not bother to ask me what in the world I had been doing to bruise myself that way; or scold me for not being more careful. She would take me in her arms and hold me until I was through with my weeping, and everything was all right again. Perhaps my skinned knee still hurt, but I could bear it now. You see, my mother was always definitely on my side, no matter how I came by my mishaps.
Of course, Demetrius was drawing a similarity between his mom's love, and that of Jesus. But still, I think it's a rather fitting description of a mother's love. Don't you?
