February 25, 2018
Prayer of Saint Francis
Lord, make us instruments of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let us sow love;
where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there’s despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there’s sadness, joy.
Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
I once wrote of my mother’s peaceful death—a tender flow from her earthly life and the lingering of her spirit in the doorway of the care facility where she died. And now, as I read the words of this beautiful hymn, I recall the mercurial gushing channel of her love that filled the lives of her 10 children on a daily basis.
My mother didn’t know how to hate. My dad, on the contrary, was a sensitive artist. He never forgot the slightest offense someone caused him. I can remember him conjuring up a conversation with my mother about one of these hapless “enemies.” My mother listened patiently, and then calmly stated, “I know we’re supposed to hate him, but I don’t remember why.” I still chuckle when I remember that conversation. Injury, not even acknowledged, was summarily pardoned.
My mother gave us faith in ourselves even, and especially when, we doubted our own abilities. She posted a large sign above the door. It simply stated in big bold letters: THROUGH THIS DOOR PASS THE MOST WONDERFUL CHILDEN IN THE WORLD.
Where there was doubt, faith!
Hardly a year passed in my childhood when one of us didn’t bring home a friend or acquaintance who had fallen on hard times—those who were kicked out of their homes, were mentally unstable, or who merely wanted some fun, fellowship and food—all of which were in abundance with our big rambunctious family. Mom welcomed all with warmth, kindness, and laughter.
Where there was despair, she brought hope; where sadness, the joy of belonging. Mom tolerated neither idle gossip nor mean-spirited aspersion about others. She would fix us with a baleful gaze, and a stern warning that “you don’t know what’s in a person’s heart and why they talk/act like that.” ….not so much to be understood as to understand.
My mother was not a peerless paragon of virtue. She was, like us all, a flawed human being. But the gifts she gave us—laughter, acceptance of others, generosity, and, above all, unconditional love—are still pulsating in my heart. As the years go by in my own life, I have only hoped that I can channel some of these gifts, with God’s help, into the lives of others.
Joanne T. Ehrlich
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