Mary Mother & Red Lipstick
Posted: Tuesday, January 10, 2012
by Dawn Novotny
Dawn Novotny LCSW
The year was 1952; I was seven years old. I could feel my mother tingling with excitement as we entered the 5 & 10 cent department store. My mother had painstakingly put aside scarce household change in anticipation of this day. She was buying a Mother of God statue for her spiritually devout mother.I was privileged to witness her fidelity first hand having shared a bedroom with her. Each night she patiently smoked a cigarette while waiting for me to fall asleep. Feeling a sense of peacefulness, I often stole a look at her evening ritual. After blessing me with holy water, reading her bible by the Lady of Fatima night light, she raised her arms toward her sacred altar which held the Mary statue and the large crucifix which hung directly above Mary’s head. As if frozen in time, she remained in that precise position for what seemed like an eternity. I drifted off to sleep with a sense of the sacred. Not that at the age of seven I understood what sacred meant but I had the feeling of being sheltered.
After grandmother died my mother kept the altar in her bedroom in the exact manner as her mother had done. The statues, the Lady of Fatima night light, the holy water, the rosary beads, all remained in the same order as grandmother had placed them on her altar. Some thirty three years after grandmother’s death my mother died.
Enter Rose, a crusty, stubborn, mouth-like-a-sailor, no-nonsense kind of gal. She wore flashy clothes and bright red lipstick. Rose was in her late eighties. After mother’s funeral, Rose asked if she could “borrow” the Mary statue for her newly acquired altar. Seems that Rose had a falling out with her local church and she wanted to perform her own nightly service. She asked me if I could obtain holy water for her. I was happy to assist in her hallow endeavor obtaining "holy water" from our local Episcopal priest.
Seven years later when Rose passed away, I requested that the Mary statue be returned which her family graciously tendered. To my surprise and delight, the statue was covered in bright red lipstick where Rose must have kissed it as she completed her informal sacrament, made possible in Rose’s mind, by the blessing of the holy water.
Fifty-nine years have passed since that enchanting shopping day at the five and dime store with my mother. This special event celebrated with an extra bowl of watery potato soup and a glass of powdered milk. The atmosphere held the feel of Christmas. I cannot help but think of that day as sacramental, an example of sharing “our daily bread”; my mother’s excited anticipation of her mother’s joy, my grandmother’s tears of elation, my jubilation at participating in their happiness, my mother’s subsequent comfort gleaned from the inheritance of her mother’s sacred objects and Rose’s peace and reverence garnered from a statue that she perceived as holy. Lastly the many years of grace and sweetness bestowed upon me as I reflect on my good fortune to stand upon the shoulders of these privately devoted, albeit somewhat eccentric, women. Through their daily rituals, these women were gifted with the presence, anticipation and joy of living their lives sacramentally.
I now have my own altar complete with Rose’s holy water. The Mary statue herself has long ago faded from her original beautiful colors and she is now discolored, chipped, glued in several places and just plain old. But I believe in miracles, prayers and holy energies. Can you imagine the bountiful collection of Gods graces , the myriad of unending fruits, the sorrows, the gratitude’s, the comforts, and the peace held within the ancestry of this old statue.
One day when I pass on perhaps she will end up in a heap in some obscure place, but the comfort that her presence has bestowed on the young and old can never be diminished.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)What an outstanding article. I felt the warmth and comfort of when you were a little rug-rat under the covers feeling the shelter of your grandmother--lucky girl you were. I don't go much for statues and holy water and that sort of thing but I do go for what they can represent to people and to where it can take people, which is very real. Seems like you were lucky to have those women in your life. Again, loved this piece...thanks Dawn.How kind your words Steve.
I totally agree with you about statues and holy water intrinsically having no meaning while I also understand the power of ritual and the comfort these objects offer too many people.
Yes, I was a lucky little rug-rat.
Thank you, dawn
Dawn, this is a beautiful legacy from your mother and your grandmother. I can understand how your mother's ritual made you feel safe and how precious this statue is to you.
I believe in prayer but also agree with you and Steve that the statue itself is just a symbol. How I loved this story!
Hi Fran,
Thanks for stopping by. As I write this to you, I smile at the old Mary statue standing just a few feet away. She meant everything to my grandmother (who was raised in a convent) and for that reason alone I treasure the statue.
Blessings, dawn
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