THE POWER OF HER SMILE

Her smile — my mother’s smile — wasn’t loud. It didn’t demand attention or fill a room. But it had a quiet power, the kind that could soften a hard day or steady a trembling heart. I remember one morning, after a sleepless night filled with worry, she walked into the kitchen, barefoot and humming, and smiled at me like nothing was broken. And somehow, for a moment, nothing was.

That smile held more than joy — it held strength, forgiveness, and a kind of hope I hadn’t felt in weeks. It made me feel loved, seen, and safe. Even on the hardest days, her smile shone through like a ray of light. “Keep believing in yourself and smile through the storm,” she would say. And I did. Her smile became the light I needed — a quiet beacon in the midst of uncertainty.

I remember when I lost my job and everything felt like it was unraveling. I walked for hours into town, searching for work, trying to survive. There was no taxi fare, just heat, hunger, and hope. When I finally got home, my mother greeted me with a warm smile and asked, “How was your day?” I wanted to cry. I said, “It was fine,” and she smiled again and said, “I saved something for you to eat.” That moment — her smile, her presence — reminded me that tomorrow could still hold something good.

She taught me that no matter what you’re going through, you must stay kind, stay open, and wear a smile. During the pandemic, I sold masks. People were tense, guarded. But I remembered her lesson: greet people with warmth. And it worked. A smile could lift someone’s spirit, even if just for a moment. I embraced each day with that intention — to be a small light in someone else’s storm.

Her smile lives in me now. It taught me that joy doesn’t always come from big things — sometimes, it’s found in the quiet strength of a woman who chooses to smile through the storm. Let your smile light up the room. Let it be your strength.

A warm smile is strangely contagious. It might take a split second to offer, and then be forgotten — yet for someone who needed it, it can last a lifetime. When my mother smiled at me, it felt like a silent embrace.

I’ve learned to be a happy smiler. It unsettles the negative and encourages the good. With our traditions, our resilience, and our shared humanity, we have so much to smile about. I smiled yesterday. I am smiling today. And I will smile tomorrow — because life is too short to cry over what will pass.

When I see smiles in a busy place, I realize there is still so much goodness in this world. A smile is a sign of gratefulness, a gesture of appreciation for life and all we have. So many people have lost everything. Some lie in hospital beds, their hope fading. Others battle loneliness, waiting for someone with a kind heart and a joyful smile to remind them they’re not alone.

Let us keep smiling and be better people — so that others can look at us and say, “That person went through storms and still carries light.” Because sometimes, the most powerful thing you can wear is a smile.

I often sit in silence and think back to how my mother raised six children and cared for her husband, always trying to be the best mother and a good wife. And when you asked how she was doing, she’d smile and say, “I’m fine, thank you.” She wore her smile like armor — not to hide her pain, but to protect our peace.

Now, when I meet family or strangers, I smile. It makes me feel like a better version of myself. Even if someone responds coldly, I keep smiling. One day, that same person might return — and thank me for the warmth I offered. A smile is good medicine. It lifts the spirit. It brings comfort.

I think back to when I was a child — how she carried me, made me laugh, and showed me love. Her smile was her strength. And now, it’s mine.

Martha Hagemann: I’m a Christian writer and mother based in Namibia, passionate about storytelling that reflects faith, resilience, and the beauty of everyday life. My work often explores themes of parenting, spiritual growth, and emotional honesty. Though my roots are in Namibia, my family now spans continents and I write with a heart that bridges both worlds.