Whether you are one, have one, or are married to one, mothers affect every person in the world.
My eight siblings and I have been blessed with a very gentle mother who simply and genuinely reflects many of the same characteristics of Our Blessed Mother.
My earliest memory of my mom was when I was “helping” her bake a cake by moving the small plastic containers of decorative sprinkles from one side of the kitchen to the other.
Every Lent — thanks to an idea I found years ago on a Catholic blog listed below — we set up a crown of thorns in our living room. It’s just a small brown vine wreath covered with toothpicks, but it has a very specific purpose.
Each time one of my children performs a small sacrifice, or does something nice for someone else, he or she gets to pull a thorn from the crown of thorns.
One by one, the number of thorns dwindles, leaving the vine wreath bare. On Easter morning, the crown of thorns, now void of toothpicks, is covered with beautiful flowers, a symbol of how God took away our hurtful sins and replaced them with beauty of eternal life.
Before embarking on any trip, in my family it is a common custom for my husband or myself to ask, “Is everyone wearing shoes?” before we start the car.
This custom developed after I drove to the grocery store one day and discovered one of our children clad only in bare feet.
Recently, as my husband asked this customary question of our four children in the car, he decided to test their attentiveness as well.
What does sitting down and playing the preschool game Hungry Hungry Hippos have to do with your spiritual life? Living in the moment and keeping the presence of God, if you are the parent of young children.
That’s what I figured out one day while considering the laundry piling up, all the cleanouts and projects I had put on hold due to Christmas preparations, a growing pile of dishes in the sink, floors and carpets that needed cleaning, plus impending chores of offering homework help after school and policing and transporting children to basketball practice.
In addition, I was just feeling a bit down after all the hub-bub of the holidays.
Not long ago, dear friends of ours tragically had to lay their tiny precious baby, Maria, to rest.
At her funeral, Maria’s brothers helped carry her small white casket and her sister followed with a bouquet of roses. My friends and their toddler walked behind, supporting each other through tears.
At 32 weeks, Maria had unexpectedly died in the womb. Since then, my friends have been shouldering unimaginable suffering, wondering if they will ever again be free of the incomparable grief of parents who lose a child.
My six-year-old daughter clutched her daddy’s hand as they walked side by side through the woods one day.
Suddenly, a black and yellow snake slithered across their path, startling my daughter. She gasped in fear and squeezed her daddy’s hand.
Her daddy, my husband, patted her hand gently and said, “Don’t worry. Garter snakes won’t bite you. They’re just looking for crickets to eat.”
Today I found a marble while doing the laundry. There it was, blue and shiny among the grey folds of my son’s sweatshirt.
My heart leaped as I picked it up and admired its beauty, thinking about how Michael would smile when I showed him his lost treasure.
But just as suddenly as I found it, the marble slipped from my fingers and bounced into the dusty unknown beneath the hot water heater. Sighing in defeat after peering into the darkness, I shrugged and continued with my work.
