Moms, do you know “the mystique of crumbs under the table”?

What mother hasn’t sighed, trembled or blanched when Wednesday arrived? All these cavalcades, these arguments and these cries… One, climbed on a stool, grabbed a glass of milk. He has spilled everything on the ground and is wading there as in the sea. The other is crying. They broke his toy, the pretty little singing parrot. What a pity ! As long as we have our backs turned, the third has drawn on the notebook of his eldest, with a green pencil, a sled upside down. Do not think of Carmelites, poets or hermits. Here they are pulling their hair… Everyone wants the blue coat. And since this morning it’s been raining. How then to find the Good God in this tumultuous disorder? Our Lady herself does not know what these sweet treasures are: Wednesdays in the rain…

The wear and tear of the little things

But does the mother of God really ignore this death to herself worn out by the little nothings that are our poor maternity wards? ” There was, it is true, Our Lady, the visit of the angel, the joy of Elizabeth, the shepherds, the Magi and the wine of Cana “.

Oh, we would have liked to lay down our lives valiantly, climb the scaffold singing behind the superb martyrdoms of Compiègne, offer our death in place of another with Maximilien Kolbe. We would have liked a somewhat dazzling self-sacrifice… Like the whisper with a touch of irony the starets Zosime of Karamasov brothers : yes, to love until the end, provided that it does not last long, and provided that everyone looks at me and has tears in their eyes. ” Active love compared to the love of dreams is a cruel and frightening thing. “, adds the holy monk who knows about it.

Most of the time, we didn’t know while pronouncing our yes, all surrounded by tulle and rose petals, that our magnificent vocation to love would be to tirelessly pick up crumbs under the table. However, when the hour for Jesus strikes love yours to the end » (jn 13, 1), what does he do to manifest his absolute love? He gets up from the table, takes off his clothes, pours water into a basin, and begins to wash the feet of his disciples and wipe them (jn 13, 1-5).

The divine office of self-sacrifice

Margaret Thatcher, the famous English Prime Minister, dreaded dying with a sponge in her hand. Obviously, the Son of God did not blush that one of his last acts on earth was to rub on his knees feet worn and blackened by the dust of the road. More than that still, his love to the end was entirely contained in this ridiculous gesture.

The Son of God, Himself, did not blush that one of his last acts on Earth was to rub on his knees feet worn and blackened by the dust of the road.

This is the beautiful mystery of mothers and the One they encounter when they spend their days picking up toys, wiping away tears, plaiting their hair, tying shoes… The humble service of motherhood is indeed the divine office. of the gift of self, the splendid liturgy of love to the end.

But there was, Notre Dame, and for so many years, everyday life, the worries of all mothers, the work of all wives… “.

But there was, Our Lady, so much love: in so many humble services, in so many constantly repeated psalms, in so many gestures always to be repeated which prepared your offering at Calvary. “.

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Moms, do you know “the mystique of crumbs under the table”?

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