The week after Rory’s death, there were so many hard things.
One of the most painful was her viewing. Seeing my baby girl. Lifeless.
I took her precious hand between mine for the last time. Her hands that touch my cheeks. Her hands that picked up and loved baby chicks. Her hands that wrapped around my leg when she was scared. Her hands that wrote her name and mine.
But she was empty.
There was no light.
Her spirit was gone.
The girl that beamed and was full of life, was a shell.
But this is where we welcome the hope of Easter.
Our Savior was crucified and His body lay in a tomb.
His body, a shell of the amazing man He once was. His hands that performed miracles. His hands that washed disciples’ feet. His hands that held up children. His hands that brought people to Him. His hands used in service and love.
His hands that are still scarred from the sacrifice He made for me and you.
When Mary went to the tomb on Sunday morning, His body was gone.
When we would pray together as a family at night, many times we would stay in a circle, holding hands.
Lance or I would say, “Time to pray.”
Crickets.
Crickets.
No sound of feet running our way.
Then we would say, “Someone else is going to hold mom’s hand.”
Mass running.
Children falling over each other.
Hands grasping at mine.
If Rory didn’t get there first, tears would fall.
Until one of the boys relented. And they pretty much always did.
Rory was a spoiled princess. And it wasn’t just by Lance and me.
During our church’s conference today one of the leaders said the above quote. “Families that prays together, ARE together, even when they’re far apart.
What a wonderful thought.
Our Rory running to the room, racing to reach my hand.
I looked up the history of St. Patrick today. I wanted to learn more about the man we celebrate every year.
Among the things I learned, I ran across St. Patrick’s Breastplate. It’s a prayer. A beautiful prayer.
I love that it’s called a breastplate. The idea that our prayers are armor for us.
In the prayer, he repeats, “I arise today…”
Those words are poignant to me.
There are days that staying bed seems easier.
That getting out and facing the pain seems like too much.
But, I arise.
Everyday.
I arise.
And in the breastplate prayer, he details the ways he is given help.
“I arise today, through
The strength of heaven,
The light of the sun,
The radiance of the moon,
The splendor of fire,
The speed of lightning,
The swiftness of wind,
The depth of the sea,
The stability of the earth,
The firmness of rock.
I arise today, through
God’s strength to pilot me,
God’s might to uphold me,
God’s wisdom to guide me,
God’s eye to look before me,
God’s ear to hear me,
God’s word to speak for me,
God’s hand to guard me,
God’s shield to protect me.”
I have felt that.
I have felt my prayers and the prayers of others lift me. Guide me. Get me through days that were too painful to get through.
I’ve been inspired on how to help my boys.
I’m grateful that even during the times of my deepest despair, I have never felt utterly and completely alone.
Rory Ann Moore Foundation 