One mother's messages to God.

• Author: Quinlan, Mary Lou
• Position: Religion - Essay

IN FALL 2010, I wrote an essay about a discovery my family made after losing my mom. We found her God Box, in which she bad stowed dozens of tiny handwritten messages to God on our behalf. My father, brother, and I always knew Mom loved us and knew that she placed petitions for us in her God Box, but it was not until we found this treasure that we truly realized just how deeply and unselfishly she cared for so many years.

The groundswell of feedback in response to that essay took me by surprise. I heard from women who missed the mothers they had lost, as well as from those lucky enough to be close with their moms still. Some wrote that, despite being distant from their own parents, they had started the God Box tradition so that, someday, their own children would know how loved they were.

Their letters caused me to dig deeper into my mom's God Box. The more I reread what she had written, the more I realized that these notes filled with loving words were more than mementos. Fingering each slip of paper, I could reclaim her sparkle and common sense, her humor and optimism, and--above all--her enduring spirit. Ever my guardian angel, Mom would continue to teach me about myself even after her death. I began to notice that, since her passing, pieces of her personality and spirit were becoming part of me. Her influence showed gradually at first--a change of heart, a gesture of kindness--until at last I would come to understand that her greatest gift was not inside the God Box, but in the lessons she taught me that transformed my life for good.

Shortly before my father died, I told him that I was writing Mom's story for publication. Dad clapped his bands together and grinned from ear to ear. "Your mother would be so thrilled." He knew her so intimately that his permission was akin to getting hers and, as her daughter and confidante, I was careful to guard what I knew she would want kept secret and sacred.

Yet, sometimes we never know our parents' inner thoughts until it is too late. Despite our closeness, when Mom passed away, I still wished I knew more of what she held in her heart. By reading the contents of the Box, I would come to understand the unspoken pain and fear she shielded from us, the daily depth of her devotion to our family, the breadth of her empathy. The God Box would turn out to be our favorite heirloom, handmade by Mom herself. The slips of paper told the story of what mattered most to Mom, all in her signature candor and soulful...