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August 23, 2019
Sometimes I feel guilty about a poem I wrote for another blog, where my name is God's princess when I proclaim His Word at Mass. Yesterday I felt that way. It's because it's my turn to proclaim at Mass. But God, who loves us so much, reminded me of something. Some time ago, I read on Facebook the true story of a girl who asked a priest if the Virgin Mary was actually our mother. The priest said yes. She asked again, "Is she a queen?" The priest replied, "Yes." At that moment, the girl smiled and said to her mother, "It's true, it's true, I am a princess!" Then God made me feel better; every woman is a princess of God!
There are memories that often come to us with the help of images, sounds, words, or scents. Experiences that remain etched in our memory, waiting for something to awaken them.
Remembering God in the diary of our lives may seem difficult for those who don't initially believe in Him, but for those who do, it's enough to wake up, to open our eyes. God is the creator of all things, and everything we have is thanks to Him, beginning with life itself. Still, sometimes I feel the need to see God, something that reminds me of Him, that makes me feel His presence, and I wish I had some religious image nearby. And then I wonder, what is God the Father like? And I remember Jesus' words when he says that whoever has seen Him has seen the Father. And they are one true God, together with the Holy Spirit. And God in His simplicity is Love, pure, divine Love, as the priest told us this Sunday, Agape: Love of understanding. And then comes my other memory, an image that I have engraved in my memory with everything and the feeling it awakens in me, of feeling cherished and loved by God. It's an illustration from the catechism I studied for my First Communion. In this drawing, we see a large circle like a host, but in gold, yellow, and white. From this circle, a hand extends to a girl who stands in front of Him and who, to me, also seems to be leaning her hands toward this divine hand. Obviously, it represents the hand of God, who is always there to help us, who never leaves us, and to whom we say the now.
As Saint John Paul II says, we must draw near not only in prayer of petition, but also in praise, in contemplation, in joy and in sorrow. Recalling this image reminds me, in turn, of the presence of Christ in the Consecrated Host, and how He, God, is always there, always.
This is the image:
On the lawn of a public garden, in the warm spring sun, amidst the tender grass, the robust, toothed leaves of dandelions had sprouted.
One of them displayed a magnificent yellow flower, innocent, golden and serene like a May sunset.
After a while, the flower turned into a "showerhead": a light sphere, embroidered with feather crowns attached to seeds that were tightly packed in the center of the showerhead.
And how many conjectures the tiny seeds made. How many dreams the breeze made at dusk, when the first timid crickets sang their serenade.
"Where are we going to germinate?"
"Who knows?" Yes.
"Only the wind knows."
One morning, the showerhead was grabbed by the invisible and strong fingers of the wind.
The seeds were attached to their small parachute and flew away, caught by the air current.
"Goodbye... goodbye," the little seeds greeted each other.
While most landed on the good soil of orchards and meadows, one, the smallest of all, made a very short flight and ended up in a crack in the cement of a sidewalk.
There was a hint of dust deposited by the wind and rain, so small compared to the good, fat soil of the meadow.
"But it's all mine!" the seed said to itself.
Without a second thought, he snuggled up tight and got to work on the roots.
In front of the crack in the cement was a leaning, scribbled-on bench. A young man often sat on that very bench. He was a young man with a tormented face and a restless gaze.
Dark clouds weighed on his heart and his hands were always clenched into fists.
When he saw two jagged, tender green leaves pushing their way through the cement, he laughed bitterly: "You won't make it! You're just like me!" and stepped on them with his foot.
But the next day he saw that the leaves had risen and become four. From that moment on, he couldn't take his eyes off the stubborn and brave little plant. After a few days, the flower appeared, bright yellow, like a cry of happiness.
For the first time in a long time, the grieving young man felt the resentment and bitterness weighing on his heart begin to melt.
He raised his head and took a deep breath. He slammed his fist on the back of the bench and shouted, "Of course! We can do this!"
She felt like crying and laughing. She touched the small yellow flower head with her fingers.
Plants feel the love and kindness of humans. For the brave little Dandelion, the young man's caress was the most beautiful thing in life.
Don't ask the Wind why it brought you here.
Even if you're drowning in cement, work from your roots and live.
You are the message.
- Bruno Ferrero -
From: "Solo il Vento lo Sa", by Bruno Ferrero, Ed. Elledici.
Look, oh Christian, at the precious plant
when touching the ground with its stem
It grows, grows and rises
as if it wanted to rise to heaven.
Look in its nest at the shy chick
when it can barely flap its wings
but it grows and grows until one day
dares to challenge the clouds with its flight.
See how it is born, calm and noisy
the crystalline and placid stream
that becomes passing through the ground
in a powerful and fast-flowing river.
Watch the sun rise in the East
with a weak light, radiant, beautiful
that changes its star glow
in a brilliant, diamond-like light.
And you who have such a holy vocation
to live next to God up there in heaven
you have to grow like the plant
you have to grow like a chick.
YOU have, like the sun, to be fiery,
illuminating the world with your light
like the stream in the deep sea
turned into a river it drains gently.
Grow Christian, grow, it is your task,
watch all nature grow;
you have to reach the height
of the immense Rabbi of Galilee.
José María Castillo.
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