Read this very slowly - you should be crying before you finish it: "He saith to the disciple:  "Behold thy Mother."  John 19:27     To tell of her at whose side our infant days were passed is one of life's keenest joys and Christ our Lord is like us in this sweet trait.  Like us, He wants His Mother to be known and loved by all, and as we kneel before Him, He speaks to us as we would tell a friend of all the loveliness of her who guided our youngest ways.  He tells us of how He planned from unbeginning ages to enrich His Mother with the countless treasures of His grace, of her wondrous virtues from her earliest years, of her growth in age and grace and holiness before the eyes of God and men.  He brings us to Nazareth when the Angel stood and saluted her, to Zachary's home when the Magnificat first trembled jubilant upon her lips, and then across the hills to Bethlehem, what time the Virgin Mother first bent in adoration to her blessed Babe.  He will whisper of all her love in darkened Egypt and then in the years in far off Galilee, tell of her kindly care for her infant God and of her gentle guiding hand as she taught the Child of eternal years to walk upon the earth He had long since made. He will show us a Mother's valiant love as she stands beneath the Cross beyond the walls.  Then with swiftest change, He brings us up to Heaven itself, on through the choiring Angel bands, on beyond Cherubim and Seraphim until we kneel before the throne of Heaven's Queen.  That Son could not await the coming of the end of all to have His Mother with Him and so He brought her quickly home to reign with Him.   Then as we kneel in breathless awe, Christ Jesus will pause awhile and we shall find Him gazing full upon us, and we shall wonder at His gaze.  For His eyes are all aglow with love and His voice is rich with the deep affection of His strong Heart.  How that look speeds us back two thousand years until we stand beside the Cross and gaze up into the dimming eyes and watch the quivering of the bruised form!  The thorn-crowned head is bent down low and across the parched and burning lips comes the wondrous voice asking that we love His blessed Mother.  "Son, behold thy Mother.  Mine, yes, but yours too now.  Oh!  love that Mother whom I give you as My dying gift.  Love her because she is Mine, love her because she is thine." The voice is stilled, the weary head droops lower yet, expectant of our answer. O Jesus, my God, I have loved the earthly mother You have given me, loved her in all her goodness, loved her because of all her love for me.  And now I shall love my other Mother too, love her with all my heart, with a child's own simple love.  She is Yours, but she is mine too.  Like John of old, I shall take her to my own and hold her for my Mother.  Thanks, dear Lord Jesus, thanks for Mother Mary.  Thanks for all her love these years that are no more.  Oh, make me know and love my Mother!