I have a new mother.
I’ve been amazed how quickly Mary has become real and dear to me. Six months ago, she was a collection of doctrines. Six months before that, a stumbling block.
Now, I know her.
I am almost protective her. She is gentle and kind and good. She sits with me and holds my hand as I pray. She wants me to know her Son more and to love Him more.
I was afraid that somehow, if I made space for her, I would have less for Jesus; that he was recede into the background, become more distant and fearsome. I remembered theorising why Catholics loved her. It was because they were afraid of Jesus so they needed someone to hear their prayers and take their sorrows to heart.
She was the ersatz-Jesus.
Now I smile and shake my head at such thoughts. And she smiles with me.
If I could explain it, I would. I would shout it from the rooftops and try to ram it down your throat. I would probably cry when you told me that I couldn’t love her and still love Jesus. I would demand you hear me out and get angry when you still couldn’t see.
So instead, I “treasure up all these things in [my] heart.” (Luke 2:51)
I take my baby steps, just beginning to believe that my Jesus would give me His mother too.
I whisper that I am getting to know her and did He know that she is wonderful? And kind and splendid and good?
He laughs. Yes, He knows.
He made her too and loves her more than I do.
And I smile with her.