A Mother’s Prayer

 O Lord,

I need your help today.
I want to care
for those you’ve sent into my life,
to help them develop the special gifts
you’ve given them.

But I also want to free them
to follow their own paths
and to bring their loving wisdom
to the world.

Help me
to embrace them without clutching,
to support them without suffocating,
to correct them without crushing.

And help me
to live joyfully and playfully, myself,
so they can see your life in me
and find their way to you.
Amen.

"PRINSESANG ANGHEL"

a poem for rochelle de jesus from her mother (written before her wedding day)

Kaytagal kong hinintay

Na may prinsesang dumating

Upang kakulangan sa buhay ko’y mapunan din

December 4, 1987 prinsesa ko’y nasilayan

Araw at gabi’y akin syang tinitignan

Salamat sa AMA angel ko’y isinilang

Prinsesang Anghel  dulot ay kasiyahan

Sa bawat sandaling lungkot ay maramdaman

Siya ang tagagamot sa puso kong sugatan

Ang aking akala sa piling ko’y tatagal

Ang no’oy munting anghel ng aking buhay

Na ang puso nya ngayo’y natutong magmahal

Goodbye mommy ko! Ikaw ay iiwan

Sapagkat ang prinsipe sa aki’y naghihintay

Doon sa palasyong aming tatahanan

written by: Dina de Jesus

WHAT MOTHERHOOD IS ALL ABOUT

Do you want to know what motherhood is all about? Listen to the words of a

mother. From an anonymous source her words surely offers great encouragement.
Listen carefully.

We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her
husband are thinking of “starting a family.” “We’re taking a
survey,” she says, half-joking. “Do you think I should have a
baby?” “It will change your life,” I say, carefully keeping my tone
neutral. “I know,” she says, “no more sleeping in on weekends,
no more spontaneous vacations….” But that is not what I meant at all. I
look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what
she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the
physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will
leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable. I
consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking,
“What if that had been MY child?” That every plane crash, every house
fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will
wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die. I look at her
carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how
sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level
of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of “Mom!” will
cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in
her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might
arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business
meeting and she will think of her baby’s sweet smell. She will have to use
every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her
baby is all right. I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no
longer be routine. That a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room
rather than the women’s at McDonald’s will become a major dilemma. That right
there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of
independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a
child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at
the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my
attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the
pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her
life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That
she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to
hope for more years - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child
accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny
stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter’s relationship with her
husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand
how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his
child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for
reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout
history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she
will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become
temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children’s
future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child
learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who
is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to
taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts. My daughter’s quizzical look
makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. “You’ll never regret
it,” I finally say.

Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter’s
hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere
mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This
blessed gift from God . . . that of being a Mother.