The Love of a Mother

I remember the first time I had a personal encounter with role of Mary Mother of God in my prayer life. It was back in 2010 when I was desperately trying to convince a 14-year-old that there was a way out of her bondage as a victim of trafficking. Things had been going well up until this point, but we seemed to have hit a wall and try as I might there was no way through. She turned to ice at my fingertips and a dark spirit was nearly palpable. I had tried everything, prayed till I didn’t know what to pray anymore. And that’s when my childhood Catechism rhetoric came back. I didn’t know how to fight this battle anymore and I didn’t have any words for this 14-year-old in front of me but who became someone I had never known that day. Desperate for help, I closed my eyes and said, “God, I got nothing. What do I do?” And the words came back to me. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”  With my eyes still I closed, I repeated it without effort or thought, like it was a part of me. I didn’t know what I was doing or why I was even praying it. I said a decade, which felt like more than enough at that time when I thought Catholics were way too crazy about Mary; then, I opened my eyes. I was shocked at what I saw. I wish I could have recorded it. I wish I could have even watched it for myself. But something happened unseen in the timespan it took me to pray one decade of the rosary. The dark mask that had overtaken the 14-year-old had disappeared. Her skin was lighter and there was life in her eyes again. She looked at me as if I was the crazy one and took my hand saying, “Come on, let's go.” The ice had melted. Like a snap of a finger. That’s the first time I wondered…maybe these crazy Catholics know something I don’t know.

Now to be clear, I was Catholic. But I had my concerns. And Mary was one of them. Why did it seem like they worshipped her? I wasn’t for that. At all. And I didn’t like repetitive prayer, like the rosary, as it somehow felt unholy and certainly not personal. Yet, I couldn’t explain away the power of praying even one decade of the rosary. It took me about ten years from then to learn and understand what I now know.

Having to learn how to navigate spiritual warfare I never knew existed and encountering demons (yes, they’re real), I learned real quick I needed spiritual assistance. When the body of a frail 16-year-old becomes stronger than four grown women and one grown man put together, you know the battle isn’t again flesh and blood but against the powers of darkness. [No, it’s not a mental illness (we have those ones, too), it’s the Satanic cult she confessed to giving her soul to.] It was like the line between the physical realm and spiritual realm became so thin, I could see the battle between angels and demons. (Yes, angels are real, too.) And Mary is the Queen of angels. If we believe in angels (and demons), then why is it so hard to believe Mary is also on the front lines of our battles as our Spiritual Mother? What I experienced with that 16-year-old was remarkable. When we had been praying for almost two hours, I finally fell to my knees and started praying the rosary. A vision unfolded as I prayed, and I saw this glorious Mother come to me and wrap me in her arms, and then she absorbed me. She became me in the vision, kneeling and praying for this 16-year-old like it was her very own daughter. At that very moment, the aggressive spirits vanished, the chaos subdued, the violence ended, and the 16-year-old crawled onto my lap as I still knelt in the midst of this vision, and the moment she touched me, she started weeping and returned to consciousness. (Someday, I’ll write a book of all these encounters, because honestly there is so much more to tell, but we’ll wait for the right time.) Ah, the love of a Mother, especially when this girl never experienced love from hers.

What I came to appreciate deeply about the Catholic faith is not that they worship Mary (that would be idolatry) but I came to appreciate God the Father so much more for giving us a Spiritual Mother. Not an idol; a gift! A mother on the front lines of our spiritual battles, the prophecy over her that “a sword shall pierce your soul, too” referring not just to Jesus her son, but us, her spiritual children, if indeed we are “heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17).

So, in lieu of Mother’s Day that recently passed and today’s celebration of Mother of the Church, I want to thank our incredible Father who in His genius plan gave us His Son through a woman, a mother. Where Eve, who was the “mother of all the living” (Gen 3:20) failed, Mary, the virgin betrothed to Joseph became the new Eve, the Mother of Christ, our mother, too. “How does it happen to me that the Mother of my Lord should come to me?” (Luke 1:43). Is it really that outrageous to repeat the words of Scripture when the angel Gabriel came to Mary saying, “Hail Mary, full of grace! The Lord is with you!” and Elizabeth, who being filled with the Holy Spirit said, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” (Luke 1:28,42)?

They say that experience is life’s greatest teacher. And my experiences have taught me that giving honor to our Blessed Mother does not diminish the ministry of Jesus, it magnifies it! So, Jesus, I, too, will follow your instructions to the Apostle John, “Behold your mother” (John 19:27).

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.

Image by: Sr. Grace Remington, Mary and Eve, 2005

Interview of the artist: Mary Consoles Eve by Sr. Grace Remington and Joy Clarkson (plough.com)

Take Me Down

 “Will you let Me hang, or take Me down?”

Overwhelmed by the beauty of St. Peter’s Basilica encapsulating me, I gazed as if meeting stars face to face. There was so much art, so much beauty, so much to look at, and it captivated me. But one image froze me in the middle of a walkway. Not noticing I became like the pillar near me, immobile as people had to walk around me, I stood, head cocked sideways, mesmerized with a strange image of an upside down cross.

As I gazed further, I noticed three women hovering around the head of the cross as it was upside down, and they were taking Jesus off the cross. His arms had been released of their nails and one woman held his head and shoulders while the others still tried to get the rest of His Body off the cross by taking out the nail through His feet.

Apparently, I was too stunned to take a picture, and I wish so badly I would have because I didn’t understand its impact on me at that moment, but overnight, the image became alive again. At first impression, I was drawn to the women. Strong, brave, compassionate, tender-hearted, intentional, unwavering love for Jesus. They took Him down. I almost felt Jesus whisper to me in that moment, “Will you, too, take Me down?” But caught back up in the movements of people I around me, I walked on to enjoy the rest of the Basilica without registering it.

Later that night, as I processed all I had seen in Rome, a pressing, emotional wave of conviction hit me. I had previously forgiven her, them, but it was because it’s what I was supposed to do, not because it was from the heart. Truth be told, I was heavy, carrying burdens that were not mine to carry but confused as to how to actually lay them down. I was, in actuality, a little bitter and a lot unhappy. I’ve entertained this question more times since 2024 started than in all my ten years: Can I keep doing this? Will I have enough energy to continue? Will I have anything left of my heart to give?

Runaways and I’ll-leave-you-anyways. Left behind and definitely last choice. No matter how you put it (it’s just the stage they’re in; they’ll come back; you gotta let them go; you can’t measure up with their biological family), it hurts. To be the one to raise them, welcome them when they were abandoned, hold them when they were betrayed, walk with them through the darkest valleys, just to watch them walk away once they reach the hilltop. As if none of it happened. As if the dark valley never existed, which means I didn’t exist either. And the people who betrayed them, abused them, abandoned them have suddenly, miraculously changed and are “safe” people because well, after all, blood is their real family. They want to belong to their blood, and I understand it’s our biological nature, but since I don’t share their blood, I am quickly forgotten. And however we want to explain it away, you can’t explain away the pain of giving every piece of your heart to someone who would trade it the first chance they get.

And so I realized, I’m not just hurt by the girls who leave and run and pretend I’m not their mom, I’m bitter at the families who use them and treat me like I was an ATM machine for them since they didn't want to take care of their own kid. Heavy with conflicting emotions of the whole scenario of having to raise children who are not “mine” but loving them with every fiber of my being, as if I carried themself. So, I’ve been hurt and unhappy. It happens every year, and I thought it’d be different by now. But it’s not. A new face, same story. Lord, it feels unforgiveable. What she’s done is unforgiveable. How am I supposed to look at her the same? Don’t I get a break?

My Father being a God of Perfect Time, gave me just what I needed during my two-week European tour. And I didn’t know how much I really needed it until the upside down cross.

You see, I’ve had it upside down. I thought I was a forgiving person, but I was bitter, not merciful. I needed to release the anger and hurt from the families and from certain girls, but I was holding onto “justice” in the sense that I wanted them to “pay” for their own choices. Afterall, I am a mother and have to teach my kids about consequences deserving of actions, right? But to withhold mercy? But Lord, she has to “pay” for her sins – she has to face her consequences. She burned the bridge down, let her be the one to put in the work to build it.

“But, Kate, I Am the bridge.”

And I remembered a Gospel demonstration of one person on the side of the cliff with no way across, stranded for their sins, and the picture next to it where the cross is placed as a bridge from the cliff to the other side. Jesus paid for my sins, and He already paid for hers, too.    

“Will you let me hang, Kate, or take me down?”

I processed this question with a surge of tears and a deep conviction and thought immediately of one of my girls. She’s hanging. She’s not okay. Will you let her hang or take her down? What you do for the least of My people, you do for Me.

Moved by a deep desire to be the woman in the powerful image taking Jesus off the cross, I started crying, releasing the hurt and anger teardrop by teardrop. I told this to my friend Hannah and when we finished our conversation, I felt a deep healing and peace that I haven’t felt in awhile. “Will you take Me down," My Savior asked. And so I did. I took down the walls of my heart, the anxiety of self-protection, of loving based on condition and wanting others to hurt for their own sins. Yes, sometimes motherhood brings out the sin in me. It’s easy to point at theirs as if it’s my job, but what about mine?

Maybe you’ve experienced this too. Maybe there is somebody in your life that doesn’t deserve your mercy or your compassion. Maybe they are hanging for their sins. But maybe they desperately need a Savior, and maybe you’re the one who can bring Him to them. So, maybe it’s time for you, too, to answer Jesus’ question, “Will you let me hang, or take Me down?”