Mother of the Church
Many, many years ago, when I was merely 4 years old, I had an experience of my mother’s protection and love that still fills my eyes with tears today.
My mother had a soft, lamb’s wool bath robe that was salmon in color. When I was sick, or frightened, or just in need in some loving, my mother would wrap me in her arms under the folds of this soft robe. She would rock me and hum folk songs of Ireland that her mother had taught her. I never learned the words to these songs, but their melody hummed through her lips, as well as the softness of her robe, always brought me consolation. As I grew, this magical robe became the means through which I would defend the world from the attacks of an evil dragon, as joyfully played by my brother.
