Happy Mothers Day

Virgin Mary Consoles EveArtist – Sr. Grace Remington, OCSO

POWERFUL PRAYER TO THE MOTHER OF GOD O Glorious Queen of Heaven and Earth, Virgin Most Powerful, thou who hast the power to crush the head of the ancient serpent with thy heel, come and exercise this power flowing from the grace of thine Immaculate Conception. Shield us under the mantle of thy purity and love, draw us into the sweet abode of thy heart and annihilate and render impotent the forces bent on destroying us. Come Most Sovereign Mistress of the Holy Angels and Mistress of the Most Holy Rosary, thou who from the very beginning hast received from God the power and the mission to crush the head of Satan. Send forth thy holy legions, we humbly beseech thee, that under thy command and by thy power they may pursue the evil spirits, counter them on every side, resist their bold attacks and drive them far from us, harming no one on the way, binding them to the foot of the Cross to be judged and sentenced by Jesus Christ Thy Son and to be disposed of by Him as He wills.

Mother’s Day Reflection

Crayon and pencil by Sr. Grace Remington, OCSO Copyright 2005, Sisters of the Mississippi Abbey

Mother Eve, waiting long,
Your bones resting in the earth,
At Adam’s side,
From which you were taken,
Waiting, waiting for the Woman.

Sustained in weary life by a Promise.
Enduring the grave,
Counting the centuries,
Waiting for Good News.
The Virgin is with Child. Rejoice!

©2011 Joann Nelander All rights reserved

For more on Mother’s Day reflection visit Week 35 at Poetic Picnic

On Mother’s Day

On Mother’s Day all mothers hold a special place in the heart of God, especially those who have lost their children. I, especially, grieve with mothers who have aborted their babies.  Daily I pray that I be permitted to spiritually baptize all the children dying in any form of abortion with the Living Water that gushed from the open side of Jesus.  These holy innocents are victims, too young to will, but not too young to suffer and die. Knowing God desires to bring good forth from evil, I widen my prayer to include their  mothers and fathers, and all in their lineage, back to Adam and Eve, and to the end of time. I pray that God release from purgatory many of those in the lineage to accompany them to heaven in holy celebration, so that family always surrounds them.  One day I hope to rejoice with all these children and those saved by the mystery of their short lives and deaths united to the Will of God.

Invisible Mother

This is one of those emails with an invisible author to credit, but worth passing on.

The Invisible Mother……

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response,
the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone
and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, ‘Can’t you see
I’m on the phone?’

Obviously, not.

No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor,
or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me
at all. I’m invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair
of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? & Can you
open this?

Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a
clock to ask, ‘What time is it?’ I’m a satellite guide to answer,
‘What number is the Disney Channel?’ I’m a car to order, ‘Right around
5:30, please.’

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of
a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous
trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was
sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well.
It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling
pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped
package, and said, ‘I brought you this.’

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe I wasn’t exactly sure
why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: ‘To Charlotte ,
with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one
sees.’

In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book. And I would
discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after
which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great
cathedrals – we have no record of their names. These builders gave
their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made
great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their
building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the
cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a
tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man,
‘Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that
will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.’ And the workman
replied, ‘Because God sees.’

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was
almost as if I heard God whispering to me, ‘I see you, Charlotte. I
see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you
does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no
cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over.
You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what
it will become.’

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a
disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my
own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As
one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see
finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The
writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever
be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to
sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my daughter to tell the
friend she’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, ‘My Mom gets
up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand
bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the
table.’ That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I
just want her to want to come home. And then, if there is anything
more to say to her friend, to add, ‘you’re gonna love it there.’

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot see if we’re
doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will
marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has
been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Great Job, MOM!