A Tale of Two Sparrows

Luky;
Many years ago I received a letter from a mother whose son was critically ill. 
It was not a complaining letter; on the contrary, the illness was mentioned almost dispassionately and in passing, yet there was such a thread of sadness running through the letter that it still haunts my mind.

I've been to Lourdes twice, and I often feel I'd never really lived until I went there the first time. 
If you've been there yourself you'll know what I mean, and if not, you can take my word for it.

Clarification
Kneeling before the grotto I found that many things I had found puzzling before about my life in general and my religion in particular suddenly became clear. 
I cried a lot that time, although I had previously scorned tears as belonging only to the weak. It was all immensely relieving, I must confess.

The second time I went things were different. 
This time it was no longer an emotional experience, and most of the time I was too busy encouraging other pilgrims to think much about myself.
Sorry to keep saying "I", but how else can one explain?

This time I cried only twice. Once was in the Piscines where we bathed daily. 
One morning an Intalian woman brought in a most adorable baby boy who had water on the brain. 
He was dressed in a red plastic suit with hood and laceup boots.
The child did not want to be bathed and screamed in terror. 
The more he screamed the more I wept.
Eventually he went so rigid that he banged his head hard against the side of the bath.
The look of suffering on his mother's face was as hard to bear as her baby's crying.

The second time I dissolved was in the underground basilica. 
A small bird had flown in and its mother was trying to steer it back to safety.
As it was Holy Week I had been thinking about the role Mary of Nazareth played when her Son was crucified.
What puzzled me about this was that she has gone on record as having taken this silently without pleading with the soldiers as another mother would have done.

Showing how
The little mother bird kept flying down to her baby. 
She'd stand on the ground beside him, then fly on to an empty pew to demonstrate how easy it was.
He'd fly up too and followed by him she flew on a little farther each time.
When it came to the final flight to freedom, however, exhaustion took over and he flopped down.
Immediately his mother anxiously hovered down beside him and recommenced her lifesaving lessons.

Too quick
At first I tried to catch the baby bird but he was much too quick for me.
Then I desisted, remembering having been told that once a baby bird has been touched by human hands its parents reject it.
How I cried, for here I was being shown by two little birds that there was nothing more a mother can do for her suffering children than to stand by them in their grief.

Poignant
Thinking about it now, however, I've come to the conclusion that the most poignant sorrow in the world is not the pain felt by a mother for her child. 
What would be unbearably sad would be for us to deliberately turn our backs on God and the help and graces He gives.

*Lourdes is a place of pilgrimage and peace. See the link
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lourdes
With thanks to Wikipedia

*Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette in beautiful Amsterdam - why not visit?