Hello!

Happy Mother's Day, to all of the Mothers of Prose.

"A stately Angel

With a form that is full of grace,

But a tired, and toil-worn mother

With a grave and tender face.

Thinking back upon the years of my life when I have reached the threshold of life itself, your mother might well say in the words of the poet:

'My body fed your body, son,

But birth's a swift thing,

Compared to one and twenty years

Of feeding you with Spirit's tears.

I could not make your mind and soul,

But m glad hands have kept you whole.

Your groping hands

Bound me to life with ruthless bands.

And all my living became a prayer,

While all my days built up a stair

For your young feet that trod behind,

That you an aspiring way should find.

Think you that life can give you pain

Which does not stab in me again?

Think you that life can give you shame

Which does not make my pride go lame?

And you can do no evil thing

Which sears not me with poisoned sting.

Because of all that I have done,

Remember me in life, O Son.

Leep that body fine and fair, My life is monumented there.

For my life make no woman weep,

For my life hold no woman cheap,

And see you give no woman scorn

For that dark night when you were born.'

These flowers which you see on my altar are symbols of that mother-love - the site, the love of the mother who has gone - and the red, the mother who still lives to bless your life.

Far in the dim recesses of her heart

Where all is hushed and still

She keeps a shrine.

'Tis here she kneels in prayer

While from above long shafts of light upon her shrine.

Her heart is flower fragrant as she prays.

Aquiver like a candle flame,

each prayer takes wing

To bless the world she works among,

To leave the radiance of the candles there.

We want each of you to take a flower from this Altar. If your mother has passed over to the other shore, you will choose a white flower and keep it always sacred to her memory. May the sight of it always quicken every tender memory of her and strengthen you anew in your efforts to be worth of her hopes and aspirations for you. If your mother is living, choose a red flower. When you go home tonight, give it to your mother. Tell her it is our recognition of her best gift to a child - their mother's love. Take her in your arms and say - 'Mother, I've learned a great lesson tonight. The memories have helped me realize more fully how much you really mean to me. I'm going to try to show you daily how much I appreciate the sacrifices you have made and the love and care you give me.'

Someday, you'll find that flower, I know not where, perhaps in her prayer book or some other sacred place, a silent witness to what this night has meant to the one whose love for you, her child, is beyond the comprehension of any son. My friends, each of you will please take a red or white flower from the Altar, and show your mother what doesn't go unnoticed.