My Moment With Mary

Mother Mary still standing after a fire erupted during Hurricane Sandy in Breezy Point, Queens, NY.  October 2012

  I wrote this a year ago..... It's taken me this long to find the courage to post it....... I've added 'Being Catholic' to my labels on the right-hand column. Being Catholic in this society is a battle for me- The world says one thing, and Christ says another. It's a constant battle and it's hard to write about it without thinking you're going to offend someone. I'm tired of hiding my faith because the media/society paints an ugly picture of it. I know the truth, and that's all that matters.

  I didn't grow up praying to Mary or any of the Saints. I know....I'm Catholic, that's what we supposedly do, but quite honestly, I don't remember ever being told to pray to them.  I mean I prayed the Hail Mary a thousand times, but I don't think I actually knew what I was doing. I remember choosing Saint Monica for my Patron Saint at my Confirmation because it was my mother's Patron Saint. Only until recently, did I look it up to see what she is the Patron Saint of( I couldn't remember)....Come to find out she is the Patron Saint of mothers, married women, and alcoholics......I had to laugh out loud at that one..... Yep, that makes perfect sense; being a married woman and a mother will most definitely drive you to drink!! HA!

  I grew up in a very sheltered Catholic life, by that I mean I grew up in the same Catholic parish most of my life. My best friends were Catholic, and if I were to speak about religion, it was with other Catholics. It wasn't until I moved to Germany in 2010 when we first joined the Catholic parish on post. We have always belong to parishes outside of post. If you have never been to a military chapel, it is quite interesting. There are about five different denominations that share one chapel. After Mass we have to cover the Stations of the Cross on the walls, rotate the crucifix so Jesus isn't showing anymore, and we have to hide the statues of Mary and Joesph in the sacristy. It's very bizarre and feels wrong when you have been born and raised in a Catholic church.

  After Eli was diagnosed with autism, I ran straight to God. I knew I wasn't going to survive this unless God was ever present in my life. I have always felt close to Christ, but I needed him in my face 24/7. You know what I'm saying??? I started going to PWOC(Protestant Women of the Chapel) in the fall of 2011 because the Catholics didn't have a bible study at the time. They knew I was Catholic, but said I could still come anyways. Lovely ladies, but it wasn't until then, did I realize what some non-Catholics(Protestants) thought of us Catholics. I had no idea about all the myths of the Catholic church that some Protestants truly believed. I was completely set back. What in the world are they saying??? I don't worship Mary?! I ended up not finishing the second bible study in the spring. I suddenly had become parched for my own faith and realized there was so much about my own Catholic faith that I wanted to know more about. I found a fantastic group of Catholic women in our parish, and we started our journey to getting to know our faith together.

In May, our parish went on a pilgrimage to Lourdes, France. I would have done anything to escape my own reality and jump on that bus with my friends. I so desperately wanted to give Eli a bath in the water where true miracles had happen. I didn't know much about Saint Bernadette, but I knew I wanted to be close to Mary. I remember that Friday before Mother's Day, I went to go pray the rosary in the little daily chapel hidden in the back of the main chapel. The rosary is a whole new world to me. I've always been nervous to pray it because I was always afraid I was doing it wrong. So I was there, trying to pray the rosary, but I kept thinking about my friends in Lourdes and how jealous I was that they were there, and I wasn't..... I only got to the second decade before I dropped to my knees and started crying. It was one of those cries where your throat goes dry and you can barely breath. I looked up through my tears, and there was Mary. The most beautiful statue of her was looking down upon me, with the sun coming through the glass stained window behind her. She was smiling gently, and softly whispered to me, "Give it to God. My son has this one, and you don't have to carry this weight on your shoulders anymore-He's got this....It's okay...... I totally understand your fears....You can let it go."

Okay, maybe she didn't say "totally".

I knew God had been trying to tell me this all along, but I wouldn't listen. He had to send his mother down to get me to listen. It's just like when Flyboy asks me why I believe my mom when she tells me the same thing he did, but I don't ever believe him. Sometimes it just takes a mom.

I don't worship Mary, I listen to her, and pray to her. She is love, patience and comfort that only a mother knows. It's always about Jesus, but sometimes Mary and the Saints are there to help.

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.