My Dearest Mother,
I scamper into your lap a lost little girl eager to feel
your loving arms around me. I long for
you and want so much to feel a mother whisper loving things to me and stroke my
hair. I need you so much, having never
had a mother who really wanted me. I
need you to need me and I need your love to soothe the battered areas of my
heart and soul.
I see your eyes in the sunrise and hear your whispers in the
leaves as they crisply rustle on the trees.
Soon they will be gone and I need you hear you in the night, when I am
most afraid. I need you to reassure me
that nothing will hurt me. I long to
have a night of beautiful rest, where my soul is rocked, held, and hears the
lullabies and humming of a mother who is reassuring her restless child that all
is peace and she can sleep.
Take me to the cross where love poured out its perfection in
the death of your precious son, our Lord and our God. Walk me there, holding my hand, and help me
see the price that was paid so I can appreciate more fully all that was given
for me to have eternal life. Help me see
how much deeper my love and commitments to God must be to fully live in God’s
will for me. Remind me that the cross is
not the end, but only the beginning of our salvation story and that death could
not hold our God. Let me wipe your
tears, dear mother, as you weep for the death of the little boy who brought you
flowers, and the one you rocked to sleep and snuggled. Let us keep vigil beneath his cross. I kept vigil on my living room floor when
Saint JP II died and I wasn’t even serving God or the Church. I cried my heart out for one who had touched
the world with the message of the love of God and the salvation won on the
cross. I will keep vigil at the cross
with you and play a song from my heart.
It will be a lament from my heart.
I want to play sad music because I usually beat myself up when I think
of the death of your Son. With you I can
let my heart be a sad violin, the notes hanging in the air, sad and floating on
the wind.
I stand at the crucifix in the church and tell your son how
much it hurts that each sin I commit adds to his burden. He then told me that it doesn’t add to his
burden because he already paid the price, the burden is for all sins for all
time. You know I cry about the burden my
illness and heart-wounds are to others who try to help me. I feel so bad that they often drive them
away. I feel they are a burden to you
and your son but then he told me, “They are not your burden. They are the burden of another. Leave that person to me. I will handle it.” Even at the cross, he still reaches out and
heals us. You took me to hear that.
I love you mother. I
long to sit and sip tea with you and eat lemon scones with lemon powdered sugar
on them. We can laugh with white sugared
lips and share all the loving moments you have been behind the scenes, giving
me the strength to live when I wanted to check out. You can help me with my own crosses and I
love you mother. I love you so
much.
Take me to your Son because I don’t feel worthy. I need Him and I need you. Love me and show me how to find Him. Show me I need not fear and embrace me in
your strong and loving arms now and always, Mama.
Your Daughter.
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