The holy scriptures, the pages of history are replete with tender, moving, convincing accounts of “mother loved.” One, however, stands out supreme, above and beyond any other. The place is Jerusalem, the period known as the Meridian of Time. Assembled is a throng of Roman soldiers. Their helmets signify their loyalty to Caesar, their shields bear his emblem, their spears are crowned by Roman eagles. Assembled also are natives to the land of Jerusalem. Faded into the still night, and gone forever are the militant and rowdy cries, “Crucify him, crucify him.”

The hour has come. The personal earthly ministry of the Son of God moves swiftly to its dramatic conclusion. A certain loneliness is here. Nowhere to be found are the lame beggars who, because of this man, walk; the deaf who, because of this man, hear; the blind who, because of this man, see; the dead who, because of this man, live.

There remained yet a few faithful followers. From his tortured position on the cruel cross, he sees his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing by. He speaks: “… woman, behold thy son! Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! …” (John 19:26–27.)

From that awful night when time stood still, when the earth did quake and great mountains were brought down—yes, through the annals of history, over the centuries of years and beyond the span of time, there echoes his simple yet divine words, “Behold thy mother!”

-thus President Monson, in the Friday afternoon session of the October 1973 General Conference.

There is a lot of sentiment about motherhood.  But sentiment has its roots in  natural affection.  At natural affection has its roots in the base levels of reality.