Wednesday we awoke to snow. At times it was driving side ways and clouded our view and other times the flakes hung suspended in the air, holding their breaths as they fell to the earth. And it was cold.  

But we were signed up for an hour of prayer at Cathedral to pray for the protection of the unborn so we bundled and hustled and stamped and shushed our way out of the house, through the parking lot, and into the chapel. It wasn’t until we were all squeezed into the pew and had peeled off our coats that I had the fleeting thought that this hour over lunchtime might not have been the best idea.  Lulu woke up hungry, the rosaries were clanking and clattering, Gemma decided she didn’t WANT to be quiet, and I heard Ellie praying the meal blessing prayer.

“Ugh.  Lord!  I am so sorry.” I rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth internally.  I resolved to white knuckle it through the next 60 minutes the best that I could and just offer it up.  What had I been thinking, anyway?

Then I heard Ellie say the meal blessing again.

Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts that we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ Our Lord.”

Everything went still.

Here we were, praying for the protection of the unborn and for mother’s to choose life and I was at wits end with my children. Oh, the irony.  These gifts, MY gifts were those little fingers on noisy beads, eager, enthusiastic voices and misplaced prayers from rosy lips. I was less than receptive to that bounty and I was embarrassed when I recognized it.  I looked with new eyes on the orderly chaos all around me and murmured thankful praises for the gentle reminder.

God is good like that.



41 years. 55 million lives aborted.  Pray for the protection of the unborn.