By Sister Violet Ann, O.P.

"You’re nothing but a round, chunky piece of wood. And, what’s more you have a hole right through you!" That was the statement of the long and slender toothpick. I couldn’t deny the truth. It was right in its description of me. It made me angry, frustrated, and hurt. We all had been hewn from the same tree; why wasn’t I among the fortunate few who made a splendid appearance?

"Don’t pay any attention," said my friend, "A toothpick hasn’t much substance anyway." And so, life went on around my round companions: sometimes good, sometimes not so good, but always with a hope towards a bright future.

One day we found ourselves being scooped up and placed into plastic bags. It was an exciting adventure, for none of us knew why were being packaged. It was a little crowded and we squeezed up beside each other, but it was nonetheless cozy to be with your friends. We discussed the possibilities of where we might be going and the use we could have in the world of men.

We arrived at our destination in a large container. As the box was split open, light once more filtered onto us. Gentle hands lifted each bundle with great care. One package, damaged in shipment, burst in two and scattered its contents onto the floor. I watched with delight as my friends scurried in every which way. Each bead was rounded up by searching hands and laughing hearts. Not one was left behind or forgotten. I knew then, that I was definitely going to like it here.

Not long afterward my plastic surrounding was ripped away and I tumbled out along with my companions. What were we to become? My being thrilled within as I beheld the scene. One by one we were lifted by gifted fingers and placed so lovingly on a strong white cord. "So that was the reason each of us was hollow!" My turn came next. The harm hand cradled me in its grasp and I left myself slip down the cord and land with a soft "klink" next to my fellow bead. When the project was completed and the last knot tied, we, indeed, looked beautiful - each bead on its own or in groups of tens with a shining cross at the head of the procession. I thought, "If only that toothpick could see us now!" But, I didn’t dwell on this, for my new existence held an awe and dignity about it, and the glimmering cross once again captured my attention.

I can hardly remember when it happened, but a day dawned when I realized we were being "used." Fingers caressed our hand, wood shells and lips murmured words of whispered love. Sometimes we were handled with a soft relaxing touch, at other times barely touched at all, but there were those occasions when it hurt to be "used" as the fingers dug into us with anxious devotion.

Eventually, our outward appearance changed. We faded as each year passed and our cord was becoming thread-bare. Even the glittering cross tarnished and didn’t sparkle in the candlelight as it had previously. But these things didn’t matter, because we the love we felt everytime we were pressed into service, gave us an assurance that we would always be needed.

Finally, the day came when I thought I could no longer bear such love. I heard with distinct clarity the words which I had never fully comprehended. The mystery was revealed.

The hands that had held us for so long, were now knotted, wrinkled, and not as supple as they had been. They reached for us and enfolded us in a very young set of hands. The young lips formed the words which the elder spoke. When my turn came, I heard: "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.".. and the prayer continued and each successive bead re-echoed its song of beauty.

One week later, we were gathered up and arranged in hands familiar to us but with a strangeness that made us wonder. They were cold and we hung limp among the motionless fingers. For the first time in many years a deep sadness overcame me. I knew it was the end. As I pondered about the significance of this event, a large tear bathed me in its warmness. Its mist clouded my vision. Suddenly, was it possible? The cold hands were becoming noticeably warmer. I heard the voice again whisper with great devotion, "Holy Mary, Mother of God!"

Other hands reached for us and as their tenderness went through me I no longer felt the cord that had bound me in love for so many years. I was whole, without a trace of emptiness that once pierced through my being. My round shape became faceted and I, along with my friends, were set into a glorious crown and laid upon the head of her who had so faithfully loved us through life. And then, brilliant Light appeared...

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