Abide

It takes a person with a vision to stand steadfast when the storms of life are raging around them. Such people stand still as they abide within the framework of  knowledge and wisdom they have received in accordance with their vision.  They are unlikely to swerve to the left or to the right. They become unshakeable as they learn to abide and remain in a restful state that causes them to exercise patience, trust and faith as they wait on the outcome.

When we abide,

We wake up with expectancy:

We climb over our hindrances:

We tackle our procrastination:

We move out of the realm of self-pity:

We become unconquerable.

Abiding gives us the willingness to place ourselves in the hands of God

That are more knowledgeable than we are,

That are more competent than we ever could be.

 

“So,” said the child. “I’m ready to leave this place?”

“You’re not quite there,” the Prophet answered.

“But I am tired of this place, we have been here a long time. What are you waiting on?”

“On you.”

“On me? But I am ready.”

“No, you’re not. You’re abiding.”

“This abiding is old, and I am tired of it. Can’t we move on to something new?”

“We are moving.”

“No, we’re not. I don’t feel a thing.”

“But you’re moving.”

“How do I know I’m moving? You keep on telling me to abide, abide, but abide in what? Why am I abiding?”

“I thought you wanted to see what happens if you continued to abide here.”

“But nothing is happening. That is just the case. I don’t see anything taking place. We have been abiding here for days, and all I see is the same old storm, on the same old spot, doing the same old thing.”

“Because you don’t see it, you think nothing has happened?”

“Well, I surely don’t see any changes,” the Child replied, sarcastically.

The Prophet chuckled as he waved his hand over the child’s face. Behind the storm, it caught a glimpse of something, felt the movement of the water and with awe realized they were moving.

“We’re moving,” the Child cried out. “We’re moving.”

“Sure we are,” replied the Prophet. “Did you think you were standing still?”

“I thought we were abiding until………”

"You are abiding. When you have finished abiding, we'll be there."

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

But It's Mother's Day

What do you hear,” the child asked the Prophet, curious to know what was happening below the heavenly atmosphere they lived in, "What do you hear?"

"I hear mothers mourning over the lost of their young."

“But it’s Mother’s Day,” the child replied.

“Oh, how well I know that," answered the Prophet.

"So tell me what do you hear, Prophet? What do you hear?"  The child in its naivety thought the earth had gotten better.

"Silence, child, I hear a faint rumbling coming up from a far."

"All right, I won't let out one peeps, but promise me you'll tell me what you hear?" And the child dance around the Prophet with joyous expectations.

"You have my promise. I will only tell you what I hear."

Suddenly, the Prophet covered his ears. "Oh the rumble, it’s terrible,” shouted the Prophet. “It gets louder and louder."

"Surely, it is the sound of  the people on earth celebrating and cheering as they honor their mothers," the Child said.

"Shh, now, I hear it clearly," The Prophet commanded.

"What is it?" The Child asked.

"It sounds like gunfire going off in schools, at homes, on streets––children killing children."

"But it's Mother's Day."

“Oh, How well I know that." The Prophet mumbled

.

"So tell me something good. Tell me of the songs you hear, or the flowers you see, or children honoring their mothers with surprises on this beautiful Mother's Day."

"Wait!" Said the Prophet. "Be still. I hear another cry."

"Oh, goodie. It's about time you heard a beautiful cry."

The prophet began to cry before the child, and he began to beat his hands against his breast.

What wrong, Prophet, what's wrong? Tell me, what did you hear?”

"Like Rachel crying for her young ones over two thousand years ago, I hear mothers wailing; painful moans, no man can ever imagine, coming up out of the heart of women: mothers wailing for the lost of their young.”

"But it's Mother's Day, Prophet.”

“Oh, how well I know that,” the Prophet answered.

“So, what do you see on this beautiful day for mothers everywhere,” the child asked, hoping the Prophet would report about the presents that made mommies happy on their special day. Maybe, just maybe,  the child thought, the Prophet will let me look down and see the celebrations.

“Shall I tell you what I hear? Maybe then you’ll understand what I’m saying,” the Prophet asked.

“All right.  Tell me, what do you hear, Prophet?  What do you hear?”

“I hear mothers wailing for the lost of their young;

Children, whose lives have been cut off by drunken drivers;

Children, whose lives are stopped short by guns in the hands of distorted minds;   

Children, whose lives are prematurely ended by the scalpel;

Children, whose lives are snuffed out by bombs as they sleep; 

Children, whose lives have been contaminated––destroyed by chemicals dropped from the air as man fights against man.

I see little people, like you, child, who have no voice

To speak out,

To protest,

To vote;

Their lives have been taken away without their consent.”

“But it’s Mother’s Day, Prophet. It’s Mother’s Day.

“Oh, how well I know that!” The Prophet answered.

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

A Special Mother's Day Tribute and the Introduction to the Article, But It's Mother's Day

This year's Mother's Day article, But It's Mother's Day, is a tribute to all those mothers who have lived through the agony of having a child precede them in death.  No mother expects to see her child leave this earth before she does: it is the mother's heart that dreams of life–long life– for her children even before they are born.

I would also like to salute two women whom I have come to love, respect, and admire.

Micki Peluso, author of And The Whippoorwill Sang,[1] whose daughter's life was cut off by a drunken driver.  Micki tells Noelle's story, and therefore her own story with heart. Full of humor and wit, And The Whippoorwill Sang draws you into the Peluso family: it also takes you through a gamut of emotions from anger to hatred, to laughter, to tears that will force you to support a zero tolerance for people who drink and drive.  

Linda Halpin is the author of an upcoming book about her son, Louie, who was shot down in New York City. As a mother, she was suddenly thrown into the woes of lost.  Louie was a child with a promise, a future boxer whose future stopped on a fatal afternoon as he innocently visited his friends. Linda's book is expected to be release sometime this year.   

Each of these women has gone through the dark night of their souls, and they have come through it with renewed strength to step up to the plate and speak out against violence that has been done, not only against their children, but against children all over the world.  

Happy Mother's Day!

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

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[1] Peluso, Micki,  And The Whippoorwill Sang,