Journey to a Mother's Heart chap 1

The pink line darkened, solidifying the pregnancy test’s prophecy. Parent, more specifically mother would be my new name. What did my husband and I do? We wrote a note for his family in case we didn’t return, loaded the Honda CBX 750, and rode to Paris from Prague. We slept behind a hops field, in a small tent, behind a chateau, in a small field, wherever the road took us. Free and open to the air, we saw mountains and believed we could touch the sky. We drove over stone bridges and under cascading pots of flowers. We feasted on fresh baguettes and aged cheese. We were awash in the church bells, and the daily greetings in the villages. We rode out of the main gates at the palace of Versailles like the carriages of old. We found our way until finally we rode down Champs de Elysee and parked near Notre Dame. We lived by the call of the road, embraced adventure with zeal by traveling over 1000 miles; however, I was newly pregnant and on a motorcycle for two weeks.

My hormones explored maternal instincts that were not so instinctual. Straddling the Honda heightened my panic at being hungry, trapped inside a helmet, not able to eat as desired. The strain of would I be a good mother motivated every tension and argument. While our last freedom trek across Europe became the memory to hold us sane through the mundane of diapers and all things baby, the actual taking of the trip tested our flexibility and enjoyment of each other’s company. I felt I needed to protect the life growing inside. I felt a surging sense of my body. I felt a growing sense of insecurity. How could I be what this baby needs? I couldn’t even eat when I needed. How could I be enough?

My journey into motherhood parallels my journey into understanding the role and love of Mother Mary in my faith. One of my first impressions of Mary frames her behind a tiny manger, beside a tired donkey, and in front of a little picture of a starry sky glued onto the back of the little stable. Every year we took her out of the box and returned her when the Christmas setting had worn too long. Mary, the mother of Jesus, knelt passively, hands folded on her chest, the epitome of peace, staring at a baby with adult hair and features. I remember being drawn to her serenity. She certainly looked at home in the stable. As I rode the motorcycle across Germany and France, I began to connect to the donkey heading towards Bethlehem and the unknown. I began to recognize that Mary didn’t have a home. She had answered more than just a call of the road.

My new concept of Mary, trapped on a beast of burden for eight or more hours a day appealed to me. While the Bible does not actually say she rode a donkey, she did travel, fully pregnant for at least a week across arid terrain with an enlarged belly and sensitivity to high temperatures. The Bible doesn’t comment on whether she complained or if tension arose between her and Joseph. There’s no mention of hunger, swollen legs or her heavy abdomen jostling a back fatigued from the weight of two. We can conclude the young expectant family met many people on the road. Possibly traffic jams resulted in lines for food. The only commentary we have allows us to infer that life was full scale demanding, out of her control, and her prophesied child would soon arrive with literally no room at the inn. Mary needed complete reliance on her husband and her God.

Here in this scene of humanity, my journey of seeking Mary’s role in my life begins. So many questions had to occupy her thoughts as she moved closer to destiny. Her maternal instincts had to be engaging natural fears and typical questions, wondering about the care and safety of her unborn child. The worry of the unknown must have plagued her thoughts just as any first-time mother experiences, facing the daunting task of delivering a baby. Mary was human. She laughed. She cried; therefore, she worried and wondered. Mary as pregnant produced a bridge of humanity to identify what Mary and I shared. I wanted to see what she saw. What kept Mary focused on grace through her challenges of motherhood?

While my initiation into becoming a mother began on a motorcycle and her pregnancy finale had her riding a donkey, we both knew we needed more than just ourselves to succeed. Mary, the handmaiden of God, did not have What to Expect When You’re Expecting. She did have Jesus, who stayed with her in the middle of her chaos. He didn’t come when life was convenient. He stayed with her through the heat and dirt of being uprooted by forces beyond her control. He didn’t wait until she looked like a perfect woman. He created a way through the obstacles of kings and the Roman empire. Stability wasn’t an accessory in Mary’s diaper bag. Jesus, however, never once left her through all the frustration of imperfections. God trusted Mary; Mary trusted God; and in a triangle of faith between Jesus, and God, she found herself filled with grace of the Holy Spirit. She became blessed among women. This Mary, traveling to the prophesied birthplace of our Lord, speaks deeply to me through the pressures and whys of life as a mother both during the Christmas season as well as times walking on the tightrope of motherhood.

The Mary of my parent’s nativity looked serene, unharried, and pure. She portrayed exactly what I failed to achieve. I was more frazzled, tense, and alone. Her contentment separated me from understanding her as more than a passive ornamentation. Mary stayed confined to this one station in my life for many years. Not until a family crisis brought the need for honesty in my life did I begin asking the questions I needed to know. The mother of God must be more than a figurine of unattainable acceptance. She alone had been found worthy. She had high stakes in this game. Ultimately what I desired to understand was how the mother of God embodied the strength of a woman’s heart I so desperately needed. My discovery of the girl within the stable was born from the isolated scars of my own mother’s heart. My journey started with a simple whispered why followed by an even more secretive how.