The Pieta

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Mary, mother of Jesus, my mother. At last Jesus is laid in your arms. Agony of all agony, for a mother to see her son died and embrace Him with your last embrace. Your heart is torn to a thousand pieces. Who can console your sorrow. Mother of all sorrow? Your clothes is stained with His blood. Your son is lifeless and cold. Mother how you loved Jesus, each cry, each smile, each moment you see Him live fills your heart with so much joy. Having a Son, so loving and caring. You go wherever He goes. You washed His body and prepares for His burial. It was night and the long journey of Good Friday exhauted your strenght, how many times along the road you fainted but kept your courage to the end and stood at the foot of the cross. Mary, my mother give me strenght when my hands aches and become feeble. Remind me of your desire to love even when it hurts and when your body has lost everything to hold on to life. I know as I take this sacrifice to go with you to Golgotha I am bless and given more strenght to accept life filled with thorns.