A Story About My Mother, Our Lady of Guadalupe

Let me tell you a little story about my mother...

Today, while clearing out untitled google docs, I clicked on one, and all it contained was this link. It's a link to an article over at Catholic Exchange, about Our Lady of Guadalupe. Although I don't remember it, I apparently had copied the link to the doc and saved it, on March 20, 2018,* in the midst of a painful struggle I was having three months after my seventh baby was born. 

The day she was born was a miraculous day. It was the day I almost died, and it also happened to be the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. With her very tangible intercession, God kept me here instead. 

While I was still recovering from all of the physical and emotional things of that time, I felt so broken. I didn't know if I'd ever feel whole again. I didn't know if God desired my brokenness to be permanent, or if it was just temporary. I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other, care for my new baby and my other six children, and try to remember who I was. That was around the time I must have found that article, gleaned something from it, and saved it for another rainy day. 

Hang onto that, because I'll come back to it.

My mother interceded for me in another way 

At another point in the months that followed my experience close to death, when I was in tears over the endless cycle of illness and grief in which I seemed to be drowning, my mother interceded for me in another way- 

One night, I randomly came across the words that Our Lady spoke to Juan Diego when she appeared to him in the year 1531: 

"Am I not here, I, who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need anything more? Let nothing else worry you, disturb you." 

Instantly I had had peace. It was a reminder to me how God allows His mother to be my mother, and not just on the traumatic day my little baby was born, but in those moments of grief and emptiness out of which I could not climb afterward. 

And every day of my life, if I want her.

A message I needed to hear in this moment 

For months now, I've often found myself frustrated, fretfully wondering how I'm going to get back to "normal." How all the broken pieces of me would be restored, as I continue to sift through the shards of life created by the destruction of this past year+. How can I trust people again? How can I ever allow anyone close to our family, close to my children, close to me?  How can I get back to the way I used to be- The way I was before we moved the first time? The person I desperately tried to keep hold of when we moved again? The person I lost sight of as we were moving twice more, heartache and betrayal marring the already-withering landscape of our dreams? How do I heal from one betrayal that traumatized my family in such a profound way? 

How do I reclaim my old self from what feels like an illness I have yet to name, much less heal? 

It's been a long, dark struggle, during which I've frequently cried out to God for answers. 

Today has been a particularly difficult day. 

So when I rediscovered that link, over eight years after I had saved it (and then promptly forgot about it), and I once again read the article by Maura Roan McKeegan, peace seeped in, along with some conviction. The story of a broken statue which she writes so beautifully, conveys a message I needed to hear in this moment of my recovery: 

"Let go of worrying about how the broken pieces of life will fit together again. Instead, simply hold onto to Mary and love her. Then, God will have room to take the shattered shards that seemed hopeless, and from the hollow He can make me whole." 

Although I know God is with me, and that His path for me has already been trodden by His divine feet, I still find it hard sometimes to just keep going without having knowledge of what's up ahead. To not be privy to His plan for how He will restore me sometimes leaves me feeling a little bit anxious. But children do not think like this. Children just keep moving, and in innocent trust, they don't need to know the details. 

This is why Mary's motherhood and intercession in my life is such a beautiful gift to me. It was so random to come across that link which I saved so long ago, on a day when I have felt particularly hollow...  I am always amazed at how much God allows His mother to be my mother. To be with me in moments of despair, darkness and grief. She is so loving and gentle, especially when I am such a baby. She draws me up into her arms, safe within her mantle, so to carry me to the feet of Jesus.  

He gave to us His mother as a gift

When Jesus was dying on the cross, He gave to us His mother as a gift. In His divine wisdom, He knew we needed her, and He knew no one could ever love her more than He did. He allowed her to intercede for us, much like she had for the people at Cana. I cannot ignore the many times she has shown up for me over the last eight years especially, particularly in her title of Our Lady of Guadalupe. God has allowed her apparitions to draw people to Him, the way He converted 9+ million Aztec people to Catholicism through her, in the decade following her apparitions to St. Juan Diego. 

She is our mother, gifted to us by God Himself. If we become like little children, she will take our hands in hers, and gently lead us Home.   

 

*You may notice that the date on the linked article says 12/12/24. I confirmed with the editor that the article was originally printed on 3/8/18 (shortly before I first discovered it), and then reprinted 12/12/24 for the Feast of OLOG.

Safe and Sound

There are moments in life that suck the oxygen from your lungs, no matter how strong your faith is. I remember such a moment when we were driving home from Hershey one evening, when my 7th baby was just 6 months old, and my husband turned on the radio. A song came on: Safe and Sound, by Capital Cities. As I felt the air leave my chest, I was instantly transported back to when I was still pregnant, and we were at a Hershey Bears game: That same song came over the stadium speakers, and my baby danced wildly inside my womb. It was the only time through the whole game that she did so, despite there being other songs played.

Fast forward to just a few weeks later, when I ended up being induced 3.5 weeks early due to pre-E and subsequently, HELLP syndrome. My sweet baby girl was born the next day, on the feast of our Lady of Guadalupe, but within an hour after her birth, I crashed, and very nearly died. The details of our life afterward are a bit hazy, but for several months, I was very sick, and constantly worried that if I moved too much or got too stressed out, I’d have seizures or a heart attack. Slowly, I got better, though life never returned to “normal” for me.

But we were indeed safe and sound.

A few short months ago, I was walking barefoot in the cool Spring grass with that same baby girl, now 4 ½ years old, and all of the sudden she stopped and turned to me with her hand outstretched. So sweetly, she said, “take my hand, mommy, and we’ll be safe and sound,” as she led me over to the swing to sit beneath the burgundy foliage of the smoke tree. Again, the oxygen left my lungs, and a lump caught in my throat. I looked into her innocent face, realizing she had no idea what that phrase meant to me in light of our experience when she was born.

Our family had just been through a really stressful 6 month period. We had also just moved to a new house, but we weren’t sure what our path was, if we’d stay here, how things would work out. Even as I wandered in the sunshine in our new yard, laughing and playing with her, the clenching grasp of that anxiety was upon me. Her, stretching out her little hand to me, assuring me we would be safe and sound if I just put my hand in hers, was balm to my soul.

Over the years, I myself have heard that song very rarely, as I don’t listen to the radio much at all. I’m not really a fan of most secular music (or Christian music, for that matter). But I realized I’d hear this song at times when I’ve been especially worried about my children, or my health, or about life in general. It’s interesting. I think about the one line of the song which goes, “even if we’re six feet underground, I know that we’ll be safe and sound.” It makes me pause sometimes. After all, nearly dying after the birth of a child who, just weeks before, had randomly and frantically danced in my womb to this song specifically, has left me with a little suspicion that perhaps this was God’s unconventional way of reminding me that if I stick with Him, no matter what is happening to me, I will be safe and sound. Maybe precisely for the fact that I don’t listen to secular music often was how He knew it would hit me the right way. It’s little odd things like this that remind me of His perfect love and provision. Deo Gratias!