Journey To a Mother's Heart - Meant to be

How many forms of birth control existed half a century ago is not a fact I know. What I do know is my mom couldn’t get her fitted diaphragm to fit. They already had two children and a poodle. The age gap was perfectly two years and two months apart appropriately dating sufficiently more than nine months after matrimony. My mother, the home economics teacher, who manicured her lawn with scissors along the fence line, had a perfect life. She had achieved so much as a first-generation German born in 1933. Married to her successful husband meant never more would she sleep with mice running across her face or hear slurs about her wartime heritage. The poverty of her past had been packed away in her own mother’s steamer trunk.

Mom had escaped old maid status, tempting fate on a blind date with a handsome man in a convertible. That night nestled quietly between Christmas and New Year’s, however, redirected that pristine energy, surrendering to the unknown. Mom and Dad had recently dedicated their lives to a new path. They had been born again into the Baptist church, marking a major transition in the trajectory of their lives together. It only made sense that her birth control wouldn’t work on this night, the night I was conceived.

Many times, I heard her reminisce about how she knew. Like Mary’s Magnificat, Mom always finished with her words of acceptance, “Lord, glorify yourself in my body.” While Mom never really taught about the birds and the bees, she did not hesitate to tell me about the second miraculous Christmas baby that showed up nine months later in September - me. I took pride in knowing that God wanted me, and that He was to be glorified in my life. My child’s understanding meant I was special.

But being special in the eyes of God and being special in the eyes of men didn’t run parallel paths. I was and am attuned to how far I fall from the ideals of perfection. Mary, however, felt perfect. She found favor with God. She glorified God with her life. Her choices went against the societal pressure of having a child out of wedlock. She didn’t resist but found strength in the outpouring of her heart.

Mary, however, didn’t blindly accept what Gabriel presented to her. She considered his salutation,” Greetings favored one! The Lord is with you.” She replied in a perplexed state. Luke says, “(she) pondered what sort of greeting this might be, “Mary’s full response included a moment to consider the immense impossibility of Gabriel’s words. Her fullest sense of human tendency to fail was on the line. This was the foretold prophecy of the ages. This announcement answered the fall set in motion from the beginning of time. She questioned, “How can this be, since I am a virgin.” This miracle is where my Protestant upbringing had focused my attention. The miracle belonged fully to God and Mary was just in the right place at the right time. She was an instrument for God’s glory and nothing more.

As I came closer to Mary in my Catholic journey, the focus shifted from the miracle to the character modeling of Mary’s response. This shift did not reduce the act of God, in fact, Mary’s response heightened the union of God and fallen humanity. Mary became the human conductor uniting God’s promise to redeem us. Her instinctual response was, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

Personally, I know that I was born from the acceptance of fates out of my mother’s control. I like the idea of thinking that like Mary, I am open and receptive to God’s will in my life. But if I am to be truly honest, Mary’s acceptance was not my own. When the path God granted me began to get rocky, I began to complain or sink just like Peter walking on the water. The distractions intensified and snuffed my resolve to pursue holiness. This pattern of falling short highlights the magnitude of Mary’s acceptance.

My understanding of Mary changed from her as a tool towards her as a role model, but even a role model is harmless and can be taken or left behind. There was a force within Mary, however, that caused me to reconsider what precisely her position entailed for my faith. Mary could no longer be packed away with the nativity scene. She held the key to something more, but I didn’t understand what that something meant. To unite with the Holy Spirit meant she needed to be more than physically pure. Yet if she is perfection, I cannot begin to relate to her. Somewhere between sinless and sainthood I needed to understand the heart of the woman called to be blessed among women.