Dear Mother Teresa,
I miss you today, ten years after you slipped the surly bonds of earth. But it was more than ten years ago when I stood by a pond and cried, grieving your passing a year or two before you actually did. You had suffered a heart attack that day, from which you recovered. Yet that was when I knew it would not be long until you would be with us no more. And then I cried.
The lines of your pen were as jagged as the lines on your face. And I love both. And the words you wrote and your dear face were beautiful, always.
Here are some more of your words:
Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think
that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person
who has nothing to eat.
Each one of them is Jesus in disguise.
Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary.
What we need is to love without getting tired.
Keep the joy of loving God in your heart and share this joy with all you meet especially your family.
A sacrifice to be real must cost, must hurt, must empty ourselves. The fruit of silence is prayer, the fruit of prayer is faith, the fruit of faith is love, the fruit of love is service, the fruit of service is peace.
You and I, we are the Church, no? We have to share with our people. Suffering today is because people are hoarding, not giving, not sharing. Jesus made it very clear. Whatever you do to the least of my brethren, you do it to me. Give a glass of water, you give it to me. Receive a little child, you receive me.
It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the doing.
It is not how much we give, but how much love we put in the giving.
Yesterday is gone.
Tomorrow has not yet come.
We have only today.
Let us begin.
Yes, your words are beautiful, your life was beautiful, your face was beautiful. Oh, how I wish, I looked like you.
Missing you still,
Betsy
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3 comments:
I imagine you've heard the reports of Mother Teresa's letters and life of doubts. I'm curious to know your reaction to these reports. For me it doesn't even raise questions about her fidelity . . . but it did sort of shatter my perceptions of what it means to be a saint, and what it means to doubt.
I am not able to answer fully right now, but I do think that the critical word here is doubt. Doubt is not disbelief. Doubt is a catalyst for thinking for searching. It is a recognition of our own human fallibility. It is not the opposite of faith. One can be filled with faith and with doubt at the same time. I read a book many years ago that provoked much thought within my mind and soul. It was titled, The Faith to Doubt.
I haven't read the book of Teresa's letters yet, but I would like to. It doesn't surprise me that she was tormented at times.
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