MARY'S ROSES My Story

The Story of me and Mary's Roses

I grew up in a simple country farm in Southeastern Indiana.

We used an outhouse & washed up at the kitchen sink until I was eleven years old, when at that time

an indoor toilet and bathtub was added.

Our once- a-week-Sunday-night bath began using about three inches of water and sharing the same

with my brother and sisters.  My dad did not want our spring fed well to run dry.

Afterwards we would watch Dennis the Menace and Bonanza on our black and white television with

us kids stretched out on mom's homemade comforter on the linoleum floor and then off to bed.

Prior to our indoor conveniences,  we would go to our Great uncles' house who had a cast-iron-claw

footed bathtub where us kids played  in a full tub of Mr. Bubbles.


In school,  I was mostly shy and backwards.  Towards my senior year,  I knew I would not stay in

our home town for the rest of my life.

I enlisted in the United States Marine Corps.  I loved the uniqueness as a Woman Marine.  Being

extremely  naive and trusting,  I discovered others are not always as good and kind and honest as

 my family.

Causing me to grow up fast and learning about life the hard way with a lot of  bumps

and bruises along my path.


My religious experience growing up was little,  despite mom's attempt to send us to church.

Her aim was simple;  For her children to become good citizens and not have too many babies.

My earliest memory of church was  going to a hell fire Southern Revival that my grandparents

 were attending  and we went with them.  The sermon was loud & scary and made me think I was

doomed no matter what.   I was the worst kid in the whole wide world as I was told so many times.


I remember sitting in the pew next to my mother,  seeing her nylons with lots of runners & her legs

unshaven.  And the stares from the better dressed parishioners.


Going to a regular church,  we wore our clean old clothes.  New clothes were bought at the start

of our school year.

In the early years,  mom washed our clothes using a wringer washer that was kept on the back porch

and hung the clothes outside,  winter included when she ironed the frozen stiff clothes dry.

For extra money mom took in some ironing.  In the summer she picked blackberries and sold them

in town.

We had a garden and mom canned green beans, tomatoes, pickles and made homemade ketchup.

We covered everything we ate with ketchup.  We stored bushels of our potatoes for the winter

in the cellar house.  Raising chickens,  our main meal of the week every Sunday was fried chicken,

mashed potatoes, gravy and green beans.

Dad worked at the local furniture factory.  And was tired when he came home.  He also did some

farming,  growing soybeans or a crop of corn and fattening some steers for the sale barn.


Years later,  I married, had 2 daughters and divorced after 7 years.  My little girls'  father would

not share custody & took them from me.  Searching for three and a half years,  I found them in

California.  I was not able to fight a court battle from Kentucky and had no financial means to do

so.

The authorities told me,  the state of California would put my little girls in the juvenile system

until the state decides.  I  could never do that to my daughters.  I had no choice but to let go.

My heart broke when my youngest daughter cried and wished she was cut in half.

My loss was unbearable.  I could not function.

Reading an article to place your despair and hurt in your hands and offer it to  Our Lord,

He will help.  On my knees before a crucifix of Jesus,  I tearfully placed my little girls in the palms of

my hands and asked Jesus to take them & protect them for me.  I could not but grieve.

Years later,  I repeated my request.  I heard as I prayed.  "You do not need to do this.  I have not let

them go."  They are still protected.

During my sorrow,  I found a beautiful portrait of Mary gazing upon Her young Son.  I knew She

would understand my suffering.  And began my devotion to Her.

A friend gave me one of Mary's Novenas and I went to Saint Henry's Church in

Erlanger,  Kentucky for this special prayer.

The last day of the Novena that night I had a dream.  I saw a beautiful white statue of Mary.

I heard heavenly music,  suddenly our Lady appeared in person.  I found myself on my knees before

Her.  With Her outstretched arms,  She took Her right hand and stood me up.

I touched Her fore arm.  It was warm and solid.  She had Her head tilted to one side.

Her veil covered Her dark slightly wavy hair and I saw Her very dark brown eyes.  This is all

I remember.


I met my second husband,  George in 1984.  His love for Mary only strengthened my own.

He was trying to promote and develop his medical health credit card.

However,  he became ill and died in 1999.

His desire was to give Mary Her Roses from the profits of his medical health credit card,  by

helping others to help themselves as gifts of Roses for Mary to dry Her Ocean of Tears.


During his illness and a little beforehand,  he became intuitively receptive.

The Holy Ones which included Our Lady and Jesus spoke through him in the manner called

channeling.

Lady Anne spoke to me on a daily basis and she let me call her "Granny."

They over shadowed his personality  and used his body as a vehicle to communicate

with me.  The visits was from 1986 to 1999.

I kept informal journals during those years,  as I do today.

Our Lady visited me 3-4 times a year.  When I asked,  "Why was I chosen?"

Our Lady answered,  "I asked the same question."

"For every Bernadette,  there are fifty unpublished ones."



The single message given to me to share:

Our Lady has shed an Ocean of Tears.

For every kindness given to Her earthly children as a Rose

will Dry One of Mary's Tears.

And will change the course of mankind. 

This Charity of Kindness will go a long way to change our world for the peace we desire.

Our Lady gave me a special prayer.

O Mary
My Mother
Queen of the Angels
Sweet Lady of the Rosary
Help me & come to my aid.

When I  stumble and fall
I can call upon Her even more.

s.garcia