26 Am I Not Your Mother? hundred years ago will never pass, because it is for yesterday, today, and all centuries. When the Mother of God placed the fragrant roses in Juan Diego’s coarse tilma with her immaculate hands, she forged the soul of our country and our race. And in that immortal soul she tenderly left her mother’s heart. Nothing and nobody can ever remove the divine treasure from our innermost heart, just as nobody can separate what Mary’s hands joined: the tilma, which is the symbol of our people; and her image, which is the emblem of her love. More than simply reciting an epic tale, we should sing a tender lyric on this day; or better yet, our glorious epic is a song of motherly love. May my stammering lips intone the glorious hymn! It is a word, but it is deep and very sweet because it is a word of love. It is an indescribable word. It is the only word which, since it is always being spoken, is never repeated. Mary pronounced it four centuries ago and has still not finished pronouncing it. We have said it to her throughout our history, and it still resonates on our lips as the prelude to an immortal hymn. You have wished, sweet Mother of Guadalupe, that my clumsy word should resound on this solemnity. You have wished that in your name I should tell your children the word of love that cannot be contained within
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