HOUSEWIVES MUST PRAY AS WELL AS WORK

 

Luky:

WOULD you describe yourself as a Martha or a Mary type of person?

Years ago I tried to get someone to promise to pray the rosary daily with her family. A friend and I obtained such pledges on behalf of the World Rosary Crusade for Peace. 

When I had used up all the arguments in favor of the rosary I could think of, the person tersely said: "You pray! I work!"

Balance needed

What the Marthas of the world don't always seem to realize, however, is that working and caring for the home are just not enough; you've got to pray a little too.

"You tell me", another housewife said, "Do I drop everything at the busiest time of the day to recite my rosary with the family? What about my cooking, dishes, the children's baths? Which would you like me to skip?"

I was amazed to hear myself answering: "None. You see to everything, but make sure our Lord gets His share too."

Why?

For what purpose are we washing nappies, serving meals, cleaning dishes, pulling out weeds, or playing chauffeur, chef and nanny, if these and our other daily chores are not backed by a meaning? Would you want to continue living if you truly believed that life were one continuous effort, terminating in the grave?

Only prayer and meditation can give meaning to these seemingly meaningless tasks.

Like all other human beings, the housewife has a contemplative side to her nature, although it may seem to sit ill on one wearing an apron, holding a baby and a broom or a duster. It isn't strange, when you think about it, because she has been used as an instrument in the miracle of creation, and that should make anyone thoughtful.

When she hears words like: "My soul is thirsting for the Lord; when shall I see Him face to face?", the housewife may be moved to tears of longing. But then again, if her doctor told her she had a fatal disease, she'd make straight for the church, light a candle and pray for the joy of seeing the Lord face to face to be deferred till her children were off her hands.

I don't meditate

I read with interest the exchange in the letter columns about meditation on the rosary, and have come to the horrible conclusion that I don't meditate properly, either on the mysteries or on the words of the Our Father and the Hail Mary.

I try to, honestly, but I fail time and time again. I've been tempted to leave off reciting the rosary, but can't because of my pledge.

Fortunately God knows I've a lot on my plate, so I continued rounding up the family for the rosary. Maybe one day I'll learn to meditate properly as I pray.

Simply beautiful

And yet I wonder if perfection is what God demands of His children as much as the desire to become perfect. One of my children used to bring me a bedraggled bunch of veld flowers, picked daily on the way from school. The smile on the child's face would be so devastating that I'd arrange the flowers in a good vase, where they would flop gracelessly.

I suppose my rosary, when it reaches Mary's feet, looks as bedraggled as those veld flowers. But I hope and believe that when she in her turn presents my bouquet to Jesus, it will look beautiful.

Catherine Nicolette

Ah, the rosary - what a blessed prayer. If you would like to join the Rosary Crusade for peace, click in the link

https://www.mdrevelation.org/rosary-crusade-for-peace/

If you do not know how to pray the rosary, and would like to do so, click in the following link

https://www.praytherosary.org/how-to-pray

If you wish to join worldwide prayer of the rosary, this is made possible in the following link

https://www.comepraytherosary.org/

With thanks to mdrevelation.org, praytherosary.or and comepraytherosary.org

Clip art with thanks to free clipart-library.com

MOM WENT TO HEAVEN

 

Requiescat in pace

Lucia Antonia Whittle

21 May 1940, Amsterdam

7 December 2021, Kroonstad

Dear Readers,

Our dear Mom went to Heaven on 7th December of last year. Words cannot describe the loss. Mom bequeathed to me her literary writings, and had asked me to ensure that articles, manuscripts and books she left ready, continue to put on the blogs which she treasured so much. This I consider an honour to do.

Please remember Mom in prayer.

Blessings,

Catherine Nicolette

How Coffee Break began

https://lumierecharitycoffeebreak.blogspot.com/2011/12/how-coffee-break-began.html

Marian Praise

http://lumierecharitymarian.blogspot.com/

Quilt of Memories - My Dappled Life

https://quiltofmemories.blogspot.com/

Lumiere Charity English Academy

http://lumierecharity.blogspot.com/

Koinonia Academic Journal

https://koinoniajournal.blogspot.com/

TREES OF FAITH

 

Catherine Nicolette:

And so I have a story to tell. This photo is such an evocative one. Lush greenery of great beauty making a verdant landscape; and I was there at the beginning . . . 

When we moved to the mining town of Welkom in the Free State when I was a very little girl, the landscape was very sandy and we experienced frequent dust-storms. The heat could be oppressive at times, and I remember that one heatwave was so blistering that some of the neighbourhood teenagers fried an egg on the bonnet of their car. A bird dropped dead from a tree in front of me from heatstroke. 

Water resources literally dried up, and we used to line up at the municipality tankers to receive a weekly ration of water. I used to walk to and fro from school, and on the way back it would be so hot that I hung my blazer over my head to prevent sunburn.

The school was beautiful, newly built. Long cloisters hearking back to missionary cloisters kept us cool, while mole-hills dotted the large erf. The Sisters built rockeries from hewn stones, and only bristle-thorned cacti and vygies could grow in the arid heat. The front erf was a sandy desert, and we longed for shade where there was none.

One day, a Sister came to call me to help her. "I think you would be interested, " she told me. We went out to the rockeries, and Sister showed me how to plant twig like branches. "What are we planting, Sister?" I asked. Sister twirled around with her arms in the air. "Look around you," she told me. "See all the trees and greenery!" 

Puzzled, I looked about Sister. There was no greenery to be seen at all. She pealed with laughter at my face. "Yes, many trees and plants are there, but you must see them with the eyes of faith. They are in the future," Sister said. "One day when I'm dead and gone, and no-one will remember me, you will come and see the beautiful trees that we planted today. Then you will remember me and the beauty that we planted. That is faith," she said very seriously as she looked at me, "We plant today that others may reap. We may never sit in the shade of the trees we planted, but many in the future will. God will take these small branches and make them grow. He always blesses our efforts!" 

I looked at the small twigs in that vast expanse of sandy desert. There was not a hope, I thought, that they would ever grow. But I wanted Sister to feel happy, so I merely nodded quietly.

Well, I was at that school until I graduated, and we had arid heat and sand with thin little branches that struggled to grow. After my graduation, I moved on with life. A few years ago, I went with my brother for a walk down memory lane. We went back to my old convent school, and I marvelled as I walked down verdant avenues. I had never thought of that conversation again: I had been too young to realize the depth of the truth that Sister had taught me. Indeed, she had never enjoyed the fruits of our planting. Sand and dust-storms had been her lot. Now the greenery grew lush and cool, and I remembered that I had been part of it all.

Dear reader, it is so true. That wonderful missionary Sister who had come from the wooded glades of her youth to minister in a newly developed mining town heavy with sand had explained a deep truth to me. We sow that others may reap. We plant in faith that others may benefit. And we look to the future to see how God brings forth faith and eternal life from the lessons of faith we pass on to younger generations.

 As I stood quietly under the trees which you had helped me to push into rocky ground, I watched students walk quietly past, cool under the sheltering leaves.

Sister, I salute you.