This darker path into the heart of pain
Was also hers whose love enfolded him
In flesh and wove him in her womb. Again
The sword is piercing. She, who cradled him
And gentled and protected her young son
Must stand and watch the cruelty that mars
Her maiden making. Waves of pain that stun
And sicken pass across his face and hers
As their eyes meet. Now she enfolds the world
He loves in prayer; the mothers of the disappeared
Who know her pain, all bodies bowed and curled
In desperation on this road of tears,
All the grief-stricken in their last despair,
Are folded in the mantle of her prayer.
~Malcolm Guite, Station IV Jesus meets His Mother~
"Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death."
I'm thinking today of Mary.
And I'm thinking today of motherhood.
I learned yesterday that a dear little girl is dying. I've been praying for her and for her family for a while now. I made a prayer shawl for her, in fact. Each stitch was one made in prayer, and when I sent it to her I stamped it with prayer.
And now, what has become of those prayers? All those hours spent at the throne of God interceding on behalf of this precious child... was it a waste? What of the prayers of her family? Did you hear those prayers, O God? Did it matter that we cried out to you?
I'm thinking today of Mary.
And Teresa.
Bobbie.
Mary Catherine.
Donna.
Dawn.
Autumn...
Mothers who have loved so deeply.
Mothers who have prayed for a miracle for their children.
Mothers who have hurt.
What is there to say in the wake of a dying child? How does one make sense of cancer wreaking havoc in the body of a little girl? What prayer can be offered to the God who claims to save?
Perhaps there aren't easy answers. Perhaps there are questions that must remain as such. Perhaps there is a pain that cannot be eased, only recognized.
I'm thinking today of Mary.
How she hurt so badly. How it felt as if a sword was piercing her own soul as she watched her baby die. The one whom she carried and nursed. The one who laid his head in her lap. The one who kissed her cheek. The one who had proven time and again that there was Love and Goodness behind those eyes that beheld her.
Today I'm thinking of Mary, and I know that Mary stands in the gap for all mothers who have lost their babies. Mary enfolds this broken, heartsick world in prayer, and we partner our own prayers with her.
Sometimes things don't make sense. Thank God we have advocates who have stood at the foot of the cross, witnessing death, and now stand in the glory of resurrection. May our prayers rise up to you, O Christ.