About a month ago I called my mom desperate to be in someone’s presence. It was one of those mornings when life seemed too hard. Dean was at work, and I was home alone. I was scared, tired, and hurting. I got in my car before I even decided to call my mom. All I knew was that I could not be alone. I didn’t know who to call. Who could I have a breakdown in front of and not scare them off? Who would accept me as I am, broken and needy?
I am so blessed. I have since recognized many people in my circle of friends and family that fit this criteria. I still have fears each time I call on someone (even if I have called on them many times and they have never once given me reason to doubt them). But on this particular day I called my mom. I doubted she would be home, it wasn’t her day to work at the house. By God’s grace she had decided to take her home day a day early and she was home.
Let me try to explain to you the comfort I felt when she held me close as I sobbed into her shoulder. It wasn’t comfort from my anxiety and depression, those things were still very much there. It was the comfort of being loved regardless of my mess. Her love for me was so evident in the way she held me close despite the fountain of snot and tears that threatened to soak every inch of her right shoulder. She could not fix me, but she loved me.
We decided to pray a scriptural Rosary together, a practice that brings me peace during my most intense panic attacks. My mom didn’t tell me at the time because she didn’t understand exactly what she had experienced, but several weeks later she revealed to me a miracle.
We each sat in the corner of a couch, clutching our rosary beads, and whispering hail marys, when she suddenly felt the presence of someone new. She could not physically see her, but she knew it was Mary, the virgin mother. Mary came into the room, but did not approach any further. She remained standing at the front of the room. This confused my mom. How could a mother not run to comfort a hurting child? Why was Mary just standing there? Then my mom felt another presence, Jesus. Jesus did not merely stand in the front of the room, but sat beside me and held me as I prayed. Mary stood and watched, and Jesus comforted.
My mom kept this from me because she did not understand why Mary wouldn’t help comfort. She wanted some answers first. For weeks she prayed about it, and finally she understood. Mary knows her place. Just as Mary was used by God to bring Jesus into the world, she brought Jesus to me. She interceded for me. She knew it was not her place or in her power to comfort me, only Jesus could do that, so she did what she could: she brought Jesus to me.
This vision continues to bring me comfort each time I pray the rosary. I dwell on the miracle and know that Jesus is faithful and holding me close. I feel a protection from wickedness and evil. That doesn’t mean I don’t still sense those things around me, and feel their attacks. It just means that with Jesus by my side I know he will protect me.