My daughter came in dressed with a robe and a blue plastic tubing halo, carrying a stuffed bear and a dolly. "I'm Mary!" she announced. "You are a lovely Mary," I said as she presented the bear for a hug. "This is my bear," she said solemnly, then presented the dolly. "This is my baby." I hugged both with all due ceremony. "And this must be Jesus!" I said while handing back the doll. "No," she replied, looking at me as if she doubted my grasp of reality. "Your baby isn't Jesus?" I clarified, a bit confused. She settled the bear and baby firmly into her robes and marched off to some further mission. "No," she called over her shoulder, "This is just some kid."
|Who do you say that I am?|
Speaking of Mary, I heard this wonderful bit of insight from St. Louis de Montfort. It is an explanation as to why someone might appeal to her as an intercessor. Like all things Marion, it is done for love of God. "Any good our soul could produce is of less value to God our Father, in winning his friendship and favour, than a worm-eaten apple would be in the sight of a king, when presented by a poor peasant to his royal master as payment for the rent of his farm. But what would the peasant do if he were wise and if he enjoyed the esteem of the queen? Would he not present his apple first to her, and would she not, out of kindness to the poor man and out of respect for the king, remove from the apple all that was maggoty and spoilt, place it on a golden dish, and surround it with flowers? Could the king then refuse the apple? Would he not accept it most willingly from the hands of his queen who showed such loving concern for that poor man?"
It hardly seems that two weeks could have gone by since my grandmother's death, but time goes on. Pretty soon I will stop marking it in weeks, but in months. I and all my cousins have a few odds and ends to remember her by: mine include end tables, a lamp, a few pieces of jewelry, some pictures, and a candy dish. Strangely enough her pot scrubber was tucked inside the candy dish. I suspect she may have kept it there to keep it out of sight. Being practical, I ran it through the dishwasher and put it to use. It is becoming sentimental. Although it is the most humble of inheritances, it is the one I find myself contemplating most often. I put into my hands what was daily in her hands. There is something very womanly and sweet in this, but I can't quite put my fingers on it. I am closer to her then, through her servant's heart, than at any other times. I suspect that I am being very silly, but it's a comforting silly.
It's soup night! Every Friday during Lent we are going to our little church for Mass, Stations of the Cross, homemade soup and bread, and then a Renew Bible Study with the Youth Group. Tonight we are having vegetable noodle soup. I couldn't find a recipe that matched what we had on hand, so I'm making it up as we go along. I hope it's good!
Did I mention they put me in charge of the Youth Group? Never ever say things like "I really think a youth group should..." or "Youth groups need to..." around a Catholic pastor, because you sound like an expert. Experts are going to be put in charge of things. Fair warning.
I want to see October Baby. I just saw this review and a preview over at A Catholic View. Go hither and see for yourself.
How many takes was it again? Seven...I think writing one like this would be cheating. This one really can't count, can it? Surely not. Please disregard this and pretend I actually wrote something.
P.S. The soup was pretty good tonight.
Thanks to Jennifer Fulwiler, a fellow Texan, for hosting
7 Quick Takes Friday
over at Conversion Diary.com