I'm a mother of 5, no longer my children and now my decendents. I have one adored grandson and praying for more. I have been happily married to Bryan for 20 years, second time round and truly blessed. I seem to be busier than ever now I am retired but my wish is to write something meaningful and share my faith in a way that will help me strengthen my own. I am a team member of the Ministry of Divine Healing in St Anne's Cathedral in Belfast. I live in a little place called Holywood in Co Down and look out onto Belfast Lough. Our other house is on Malin Head in Donegal looking straight out onto the Atlantic. Funny thing is I can't swim and I'm scared of water! We have 3 dogs, one big one and 2 little ones who we adore.
Just a few minutes more
Just a few minutes more
She walked towards me looking small and fragile but with a serene smile on her face. I indicated to her to sit down but she looked dismayed as she saw the chair. 'Isn't this the bishop's chair?' she whispered but I assured her, with a smile, that he was not there and it was available just to her. She accepted graciously and sat back into the chair which dwarfed her small frame. The Cathedral is always cold, summer or winter and I always long to make people feel more cosy as they settle down to tell us the reason for their prayer request. She gathered her rose pink fleece jacket closely to her and as she pulled the collar closer to her face I noticed her hands, knarled and worn from years of work and longevity, but surprisingly, the nails delicately long and shaped. Her face had the look of an aristocrat which contrasted with the work worn hands. She wore an engagement ring of three diamonds above a broad wedding band, like herself worn with age. Her cheek bones were high and her nose small but aquiline. Her eyes, now pale must once have been her strongest feature and still they were beautiful, blue and misty. Her silver hair was simply cut tucked behind her ears which were adorned with milky white pearl earrings.
We introduced ourselves and she told me her name was Mary. She apologised for having to lie back in the chair and explained it was because of arthritis in her back. 'All those years at the loom,' she told me. It seems to me so amazing that all those years after the mills have closed, those strong women still bear the scars. 'I have so many to ask for, but I promise I will limit it to a few,' she said in an accent which, although distinctly Belfast, still held a hint of a soft Irish brogue. 'There's two daughters I need prayer for. Should I start with the oldest or the youngest?' she asked, looking at me earnestly. 'Whoever needs most,' I told her and I instinctly sat down on the chair beside her, knowing this would be a long list. As she began telling me, I observed her tiny feet in their sensible shoes, shift from left to right, perhaps in an endeavour to keep warm or just from habit, for this lady did not look like someone who sat down a lot. Her worries and concerns were many, for one daughter's marriage, for another who had problems with her family, for a grand daughter in a childless marriage, for a son who had turned away from his faith. For a much loved grandson that he might pass his exams and get away to university, for one who was already there and that he would not be involved with drink or drugs. For a neighbour with very bad feet and a dear friend with cancer. 'Is that too much?' she asked, giving me an apologetic look.'for every one is special to me and there would be more if only there was a few minutes more. 'Let's start at the beginning and see how we get along,' I suggested. 'And you just remind me when I've forgotten someone,' I added.
In repose, her face took on a look of serenity which seemed so apt amongst the stained glass windows above depicting the saints of old. She held my hand as I prayed and I found myself asking God to reward the faith of this great lady in a mighty fashion. Somehow or other I got through all of them, even remembering the names of quite a few. All the while she kept the gentle smile on her face and as I ended the prayer, thanking God and saying Amen, the smile became broader as she placed her hand on top of mine and thanked me so warmly for what I had done. 'Do you know, I just have the greatest feeling that God heard the lot,' she told me earnestly. 'To tell you the truth I never wanted you to stop. Now wasn't that very selfish of me and you with so many more to pray for.' I looked down the aisle and saw that there were not too many still waiting and we had a large team on board that night. 'Not a bit of it,' I assured her. 'But Mary, you asked me to pray for all those people but you never mentioned yourself. Don't you ever have time for you?
'Daughter dear,' she said, tilting her head to the side and looking at me almost mischievously, 'this is it, this is my time. There's nothing more precious to me than time in prayer and you made those prayers tonight very special for me and for that I have to thank you.'
'Believe me, it was a privelege,' I assured her, 'and I hope Mary, you and I will meet often in the same place.' She leant forward in the seat as though she had something special to say. 'I will pray for you dear Elaine, when I get home tonight.' And I knew that she would and I felt all the better for it.
The singer that night sang alone with only her guitar to accompany her. Her voice was pure and clear and unobtrustive. I had been aware of it all that night, but now, as the evening grew to a close, she switched from hymns of past and present and sang her own version of 'Forever Friend.' Mary and I looked at each other and she winked. 'Voice of an angel,' she said, indicating the singer, 'and a good place to use it,' she laughed.
Isn't it the most amazing thing that you can know a person for years and not feel really linked and yet you can meet someone so special for just a few minutes and feel such sharing, such joy. I have a feeling I will see more of Mary and I look forward to every minute of it. As she joined her friend who was waiting for her, she linked her arm and began to walk down the aisle. But before she left she turned round to wave her hand to me and I so happily waved back. Dear Mary, I hope all your prayers are answered.
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She's not heavy, she's my daughter!She's not heavy, she's my daughter!
This morning as I drove over to my daughter's house to pick up my little grandson as I do every Tuesday, I deliberately drove the road past our local primary school. I don't know why but it lifts me heart to see those little ones and takes me back to those busy mornings years ago when I walked my own little ones to their school. I love to see the little P1's, little taller than their schoolbags, as they toddle across with the Lollipop man.
The traffic moves slowly as cars stop to let out their children and others pull out, their duty done, so I have time to observe. This morning I saw something which really touched my heart and made me think. Walking up the road I saw a young man holding the hand of a little girl who I judged to be 5 or 6. He was walking on a stick, slowly and painfully and his right leg was bent at a horrible angle so that he had to lead with his left leg and swing the bad leg over. His progress was slow and painful but his face was animated as he spoke to the child. Over his shoulder he carried her school bag and it struck me that he was carrying her burden even though his own burden was greater. He was her dad and he was trying to make her load lighter.
I don't know what caused his handicap. A road accident? I have no idea. Holywood, the town where I live has always been a garrison town so that young man could be from the army barracks. What I do know is he was fulfilling his role as parent in the most special way and he certainly touched my heart.
Further round the corner I had to stop as a lorry with a trailer negotiated to reverse into a driveway and traffic came to a halt. I saw a shiny, black Porsche pull up and a very smart looking business man get out from the driver's seat. He walked round to the other side of the car and helped his passenger out onto the pavement. The little boy who got out reached up for his father's hand and as I watched from my wing mirror, the two walked along sharing secrets we will know nothing about. The thing I did notice is that that little boy's foot was pointing away from his body. He was wearing a special shoe but he was walking with confidence. His dad had him by the hand. Had I met the man in the smart suit getting out of his luxury car I would probably have imagined him to be a high flyer, a man with his eye on the top. Instead I was allowed to see him as a loving and tender father with his eye on his son.
As I drove on I thought just how valuable a lesson being a parent is. We have to forget about our own problems and concentrate on theirs. It isn't a bad lesson for life, teaching us to put other's needs first. And no matter how heavy our burden, how bulky our load, we all have a Father who loves us unconditionally and is there for us no matter what has happened or what time of day it is. Isn't that an amazing thought?
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 | Post by blue-eyed girl at 5:23 AM on 04/17/08
I loved this. You have such a wonderful heart to see the beauty in what you are seeing in front of you... |
| Post by TryingDaily at 1:54 AM on 04/17/08
Thank you Gidget. Now that I have the time I try to write something every day just to keep my brain ticking over. |
 | Post by gidget at 4:33 PM on 04/16/08
Unconditional love how wonderful. I enjoyed reading this post. You have a great eye for detail and your writing skills are pretty good also. |
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