Feast of the Immaculate Conception

Dear Diary, 

This morning at St. Mary’s, everything felt extra quiet and holy. Father LeRoy read a poem by William Wordsworth called The Virgin. He told us Mary was the one person God made completely pure—so pure that not even the tiniest shadow of sin ever touched her. That’s what the poem meant when it said her heart was “uncrost with the least shade of thought to sin.”

Father added something that surprised me. He said William Wordsworth was actually a Protestant, but in his time many Protestants still held a deep love and respect for Mary, following the devotion that had always been part of the first Church. Father said this shows how Mary’s beauty and goodness can touch any heart, no matter where a person comes from.

The line that stayed with me most was when Father said Mary is “our tainted nature’s solitary boast.” Even though we all have faults, Mary is God’s perfect flower—His way of showing how beautiful a soul can be when it belongs completely to Him. The poet said nothing on earth is as pure as she is, not even ocean foam or the moon before it begins to wane.

Father reminded us that people kneel before Mary because she is our Mother in Heaven, and her heart is always turned toward us. She brings heaven close to earth just by loving God so perfectly.

When we stepped outside, the cold air sparkled, and Mini hopped into the pickup like she knew it was a special feast day.

My Daily Resolution:

Today I will give Mary a small gift by keeping my thoughts kind and gentle, and whispering a Hail Mary each time I think of her.

Love,

Kathy

The Virgin

by William Wordsworth

Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
With the least shade of thought to sin allied.
Woman! above all women glorified,
Our tainted nature’s solitary boast;
Purer than foam on central ocean tost;
Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon
Before her wane begins on heaven’s blue coast;
Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,
Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,
As to a visible Power, in which did blend
All that was mixed and reconciled in thee
Of mother’s love with maiden purity,
Of high with low, celestial with terrene!