Poemas Cristiano Para Las Madres Mga Nobela at Kwento

Her words were fervent, charged with the depth of her desperation and hope. The room seemed to hold its breath with her, the gentle rustle of the herbal plants at the windows and the soft light bathing the idol adding to the sacred atmosphere. She continued her prayer, pouring all her fears and hopes into each word, seeking solace in the divine presence before her. The idol's serene smile offered a quiet reassurance, and she clung to that as she prayed, her heart reaching out for any sign that her mother would be alright.

But in our infinite trouble In our heart melting like the oil from a candle wax There lies the one, the king, the mother of all mothers The father of all fathers Him and him alone took us in There walked the king of kings The God of gods Him and him alone took us in Shelters us, fed us and clothed us. There smiled the love of all loves Saying, I will never leave you nor forsake you We are Ejima We cried, We screeched, we screamed, and the God of gods answered. Cause the sun to rise The heart that weeps shall sing The womb that was barren has given birth to the child of promise

I pray that Our mothers will live long to eat the fruits of their labour and I'm deeply sorry for those whose mothers are no more, you are strong! VOTE AND COMMENT.

It's more than beautiful, that I had ever expected. I realised how much beautiful a thing motherhood is! I feel so proud to carry another tiny life into me. I can't describe the feeling to myself too. The word Beautiful is also very small in front of this feeling. It's definitely the most undefined feeling in the world. Christian leans down to me and kisses my forehead while holding my hand. I look into his eyes. His million-dollar smile is enough for me to cherish this feeling more. I have never seen him so happy. His eyes are also filling. It happens only when he is too much happy and he can't describe that in words.

Brad recoiled and withdrew his hand before leaving with the others in resentment. I stood there in silence, clutching Mom's funeral portrait, fighting to keep the tears from spilling. I had endured hardships my whole life. I had slept on construction sites and gotten my skin burned under the sun; I had delivered food until dawn and survived accidents. Through all of it, I had never once broken down, clinging to the belief that men should never cry. But Mom's death had me breaking down countless times.

It always made my chest tighten whenever I looked at it for too long. Beside me, another sister knelt, her head bowed deeply in prayer. “Hail Mary, full of grace…” she whispered softly. “The Lord is with thee…” I continued, my voice calm, steady. “Blessed art thou among women…” “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” Our voices blended together, low and reverent, filling the empty chapel with a quiet rhythm. “Holy Mary, Mother of God…” “Pray for us sinners…” “Now and at the hour of our death…”