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Beautiful

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How beautiful it is,

That we can raise our eyes up to Heaven.

That our sufferings, both big and small,

Every toil of our hands and every sweat of our brow,

We can offer them as sacrifices to God.

With this reality, life becomes bearable.

With this belief, we know Heaven awaits us.

But on the other side,

How sad it is,

When we forget this truth.

And without this faith,

Life becomes heavier,

The heart goes back and forth searching,

‘What’s the purpose of life?’ becomes the question.

I know a woman,

She raised five feeble boys into five young gentlemen,

With her own bare hands, she cradled their world,

And now these men rule the world as wholesome fathers,

One day, a surprise came when she said:

‘All life’s struggles and then you die.’

Oh how I want to hug her and utter words of comfort!

‘You’ve raised men with no vices and who respect women,

How many mother could make that same offering to God?’

Another woman I know,

Quite successful in life and career,

She could travel anywhere she wants to,

But her unmarried soul seeks a beloved,

She seems really weary and tired.

One day, she asked the same sad question,

‘Live, study, work, work, work, and then you die?’

I know of a woman,

And she is myself,

She’s tired and lonely,

She feels no one understands her pain,

Her patience runs flat just as her cookie doughs,

And she loses hope five times more she washes dishes in a day.

But how beautiful it is,

That there is Heaven that she can look up to,

Who sees and appreciates her motherly sorrows.

How wonderful it is,

That she can go to the Cross,

To stand beside the Mother,

And offer her pain and tears,

As an offering to the King crucified.

How amazing it is,

That her children always thinks she is the best mother in the world,

And they don’t care if the dirty is floor,

Or if the piggy bank is not fat,

Or if the toys are old,

Or if the food is not caviar.

Her children just wants her,

Heaven sees her.

How beautiful is that.

And she exhorts that you do the same,

Raise your eyes up to Heaven,

Offer your labours to God no matter how little,

Work in small things but love in big ways,

There’s nothing too small in the eyes of God.

All life’s tiresome details too shall pass,

But your love won’t,

And that’s what God only needs.

How beautiful is that.

In the end, we will all be judged on how much we love.
St. John of the Cross
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