Mary is told in this mystery that a sword will pierce your own soul so that the secret thoughts of many maybe laid bare. Mary pondered these words of Simeon in her heart. What can this mean, what am I facing in the future? I know the Lord is with me, but what is this sword? This prophesy will be fulfilled at Calvary when the Lord Jesus will say to his Mother, “Woman behold your son,” referring to St. John. Here Mary’s heart will be finally opened. Mary will watch her beloved child die on the cross thus piercing her heart, but she will be given a new-born, St. John who represents us. This mystery of the presentation is overshadowed by the Calvary but the cross too is overshadowed by Easter light. Every day we may face new trails, and in a blink of an eye the shadow of the cross may fall on our happiness. We are asked always to keep in mind the glory of Easter morning. Nothing we have or own is permanent, and as Christians we must always seek the light even when the shadowy clouds block out the sun for a time. The sun is always shining behind the daily clouds. This cloud on Mary’s joy at the presentation will take the form in time of a sword that pierces, but it will strike a fountain on Calvary. A fountain of maternal mercy, love and compassion for her future children.

In this mystery we hear Mary’s song of thanksgiving, the Magnificat. “For he who is mighty has done great things for me,” Mary sings in the presence of her cousin Elizabeth. In the ups and downs of life, we can get tired and wonder what life is really about. Have you today thanked God for the ability to breath and to see? When we arose from our beds this morning, did you thank God for the ability to sleep well and arise alone from your bed? Have you ever thanked God for the ability to dress yourself alone, to walk from your bedroom to your kitchen? To be able to take that fresh glass of water or cup of tea. To feel the warmth of central heating or the simplicity of running hot water in able to wash. Many people this morning may not wake from sleep, may not be able to see, not walk for the first time, or make that little journey to the bathroom or kitchen. Many may not even be able to see the dull wintry morning from their window. God is good and has been good to us, he has done great things for me. Be thankful this day for the small things with Mary.

As you know I am Catholic. Recently a friend of mine asked me why I, and Catholics in general, say the rosary. It seems like such a boring prayer. I gave her a simple answer, simple and inadequate. And then I said to her I’d think more about it and answer her again in a better way.

So I have been thinking about this and a day or so ago, suddenly, like a curtain opening, I knew exactly what I was going to say. An insight I had from an angle I’d never even thought of before. As usual, I’m going to tell you a story but first a little background.

If you are Catholic I hope this rings true and if you are not Catholic, or not Christian, I invite you to read on for the next few minutes and maybe glean some understanding into this Catholic custom.

I can fully understand how people think the rosary is a boring repetitive prayer, more suitable as a cure for insomnia than anything else. Hail Mary … Holy Mary … Hail Mary … over and over again, the same thing every day….

It has always been there in my life. As a child it was a cue for giggling misbehaviour; just make sure you knelt out of swiping distance of the long arm of the parental law. As a teenager something to be more or less abandoned until exam time when out of desperation it would be resorted to in the hopes that Mary would put a good word in for us in the ear of her son that he would overlook our laziness and procrastination and all those TV shows that filled our study hours … Hail Mary … Holy Mary … Pray for us … I promise I’ll be good forever … now and at the hour….

As a young couple we prayed more fervently, every day together, again and again, praying for help to overcome all the seemingly huge obstacles which stood between us and our longed for wedding day. Mother of God … Pray for us….

And then children come along and it’s an ideal we so often fell far short of. A hit or miss in the hustle and bustle of nappies and laundry and copy books. We’d fit in shortened versions, look out helpful tools for the children and try our best to make this prayer a part of our family life and all too often long-fingering it till bedtime and closing eyelids … Mum and Dad, Husband and Wife, Me and John praying in half sleep and promising that tomorrow we’d do better.

However I cannot say I ever really understood this repetitive prayer. I knew it, I loved it and could see the palpable differences it made to my young family whenever it was part of our family life. But understand it? Not really.

Now you know the story of our little girl and her diagnosis and all that went with it. I’m not planning to drag the rear end out of that tale but it is a story that has so many facets to it, many of which are only unfolding with the passing of time. This story is one of those things which completely passed me by when it was actually happening.

So back we go to a few years ago. A little girl, not quite three, is in distress … my own little girl, back on the ward after her very big operation. Her ragged little heart has just been stopped and restarted, patched, shunted, stitched and changed. Her bones have been wired back together, she has three painful drains coming out of her little body, machines and monitors are attached to her small limbs and her chest. Every vein has been exhausted from blood being drawn.

I have a little camp bed set up beside her with a sleeping bag which is calling me because I am exhausted. But I’m not as exhausted and worn out and wretched as the little girl beside me. I am her mother and that gives me all the energy I need to stay awake.

I am longing to do something for this suffering child who cannot sleep though she needs to. All night she reaches for me to hold her hot little hand in mine. All night she whimpers:

“Mommiee”

“What, Baby?”

“I want you”

“I’m here, Baby”

“Mommiee”

“What, Baby?”

“I want you“

“I’m here, Baby”

“Mommiee”

“What, Baby?”

“I want you”

“I’m here, Baby”

All night long, over and over and over again “… I want you … Mommy … I want you … I’m here Baby.”

A hundred times, a thousand times and then the sun starts to rise and she wakes up from her fifteen minute sleep….

“Mommiee”

“What, Baby?”

“I want you”

“I’m here, Baby”

All day and all the next night. What could I do but hold that little hand and stroke it and assure her I’m here … I’m here. That’s all she wanted. She could say nothing else, a little child who clung to her Mommy in her time of distress.

Was I bored of this little conversation repeated incessantly? What do you think? No I wasn’t bored. I wasn’t bored because it wasn’t boring. Every time she uttered those sorrowful words “I want you” my heart filled to overflowing, it’s capacity increasing with every little whimper. Of course I wasn’t bored and it was an honour to be able to say “I’m here, Baby” to be the one who was able to give that longed for comfort. The assurance that her mother who loved her was watching her and was never going to let go that feverish little hand.

And THAT my dear is why I will never not say the rosary till the day I die. Mary is not bored of our repetitive plea Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners. She’s not bored, because it’s not boring. She has no intention of letting go of our worn out and wretched hand. She is awake because she is the mother who loves her child and loves us all the more when we turn to her and say over and over and over again

“Mommy … I want you.” How The Whimper Of A Sick Child Is Like The Rosary

Jennifer Kehoe

Jennifer is a young mother of six, living in Co. Kildare. She runs a blog ‘Raindrops on my Head,’ at http://jenniferkehoe.blogspot.ie