Inspiration from Cardinal Mindszenty’s beautiful work, The Mother:
The Most Beautiful Word
A number of children are tired of their game. They want to learn a new game. So they decide on this. “Everyone must try to find the most beautiful word in the world,” one suggests and continues: “When father comes home he will decide who has found it.” All agree.
Both boys and girls take pencil to paper, look for a quiet corner where no one can see what they write. They think and ponder and finally put down the chosen word. After the evening meal, father is to make the final decision. After a pause he says: “The most beautiful word is mother.” The little seven-year-old boy has won.
Tell me can you find a word,
replete with music and sound,
adorned with legend and song,
full of smiles and tear drops,
wrought of treasures and fine pearls,
bright with sun rays and moonbeams,
that reflects the sea, with the scent of roses,
yet full of tearful yearning and longing,
search the world, ne’er will you find another
word, as precious, fine and pure as, “mother.”
(Vitnyedi Nemeth Istvan)
This word has its own special sound in every language. It weeps and laments like a distant magic trumpet, it rejoices like the small golden bells in the chimes, and when we pronounce this word our heart is on our lips. There is in it the laughter of childhood, even when spoken by an old man. Is there a creature to whom we are bound more intimately, heart and soul, than mother? Is there another word that can move us more deeply? The longer we live, the more the world unfolds before us, the more we are overcome with the wonder of motherhood. The more we learn about life, the more beautiful and more replete with meaning is the word “Mother.” What is mother?
Thou art the source from which I sprang
Thou art the root from which I grew.
Thou, O mother, art the threshold
Over which I passed into life.
The mother – so I read – is the fire, the children are the light. By the brightness of the light, we know how great is the fire.
The mother is the vine, the children the branches. By the branches we judge the value of the vine.
The mother is the tree of life, the children the fruit. The Savior said: “By their fruits you shall know them.”
The mother is the clock, the children the hands. They point out the time.
The mother is the pen, the children the script. By the writing you recognize the writer.
The mother is the rudder, the children the boat. The boat goes wherever the rudder directs.
The mother is the queen, the children the subjects. Under the scepter of a wise mother, the children are satisfied and happy.
The mother is the great enigma and mystery. the happiness of mankind, the sufferings of mankind vibrate and tremble in that one word, Mother.
[Blessed is the Merciful Mother]
…Is there anyone who can look forward to the Last Judgement with more confidence than a mother? The crown of eternal glory is awaiting her. St. Paul, speaking of woman, says: “She shall be saved through childbearing.” 1 Tim. II, 15. Motherhood is not limited only to giving life of the body to the child; the mother also gives her child the life of the soul, by leading it to God and to Christ. She again becomes its mother by unfolding before her child’s mind the wonders of existence.
In the blessedness promised by St. Paul, we seem to hear the blessedness promised by Our Lord in his sermon on the mount when He said: “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall find mercy.” The hands of mother have brought music as from the registers of an organ, by all the spiritual and corporal works of mercy. She fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, clothed the poor, housed the stranger, visited and tended the sick. She admonished the sinner, counseled the doubtful, instructed the ignorant, consoled the sorrowful, was patient with the foolish and was incessant in prayer for the living and the dead.
The mother is God’s co-worker, the first and the best apostle of the Church. She is a ray of light from the Mother of Mercy.
“Mama’s beauty never dies”…and life on earth will be beautiful as long as there beats a mother’s heart.
– Passages above were borrowed from The Mother, by Cardinal Mindszenty.