I stood at the kitchen window yesterday, wondering if ever the snow would melt…wondering if ever this Lent would end.
I miss you guys. I miss your comments.
I glanced at our salt dough crown of thorns and smiled to see its thorns half gone. So many sacrifices offered in love for Him! So many thorns tenderly plucked from His crown.
I did something, then, I’d never done before. I picked up the crown and pressed it against my forehead—gently, though, because it really hurt.
I mean, really hurt.
And then I called the kids over and one by one, I showed them. Instinctively they pulled away; they knew it would hurt and didn’t want the pain. “I will be very, very gentle,” I told them. “I just want you to see how much it would hurt.”
“The scalp is full of nerve endings,” I said. “Can you imagine how much it hurt?”
“Imagine someone who willingly and peacefully humbles himself till the end, who does not revolt before injury, whom mockery does not cause to wince, and who submits to all the abjections with a tranquil heart. Behold my Son and consider: are you truly one of his disciples, you for whom a look, a frown, a breath of suspicion suffices to wound deeply…”
(From The Way of the Cross with the Blessed Virgin by Mother Marie des Douleurs)
This, then, is what He did for us.
This is why I fight my pride.