Mother, how long is it now since Tim has
been to Mass or to confession?"
"I do not like to think, child; it's a pretty long time. I can't
understand what has come over him. He used to be such a good boy, such a
help and comfort to me, and now he is slowly breaking my heart. I've had
trials enough, trials enough, as you know, but I never complained. I
never murmured till now. I was always ready to say: 'God's will be
done.' But this, this is different. Long ago, when you and Tim were
children, and the twins upstairs were but a few weeks old, and your
father met with that accident that crippled him for life, I only said:
'God's will be done.' All through the years he lingered in sickness and
suffering and I had to work day and night, day and night to support you
all, I still said only: 'God's will be done.' All through that long,
hard fight to keep starvation from the door, when I saw my little
children crying at times with cold and hunger, and watched my husband
slowly dying and was unable to give him any of those little comforts and
luxuries which the sick require, my only words were: 'His holy will be
done.' But in this, the worst of all the trials that have come to me,
when I see my boy drifting away from us all, turning his back on God and
his religion and wandering away night after night with careless, jovial
companions, intent only on the pursuits of pleasure and folly; God help
me, I simply cannot bow my head and say: 'God's will be done'"; and
tears streamed unheeded from the mother's eyes.
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