Recently I was asked if I had a devotion to Our Lady under a particular title and if I’d be willing to write a short piece about it. I was honoured by the request, but as I haven’t written much beyond cover letters for my childrens’ job applications in the last 20 years, I knew I wasn’t the right person for the job. However, the request made me ponder which particular title of Our Lady I was drawn to most and I couldn’t pick one, no matter how much I thought about it; which became the second reason I wasn’t the right person to write an article. The paradox of the situation made me wonder if I was supposed to try, even for my own benefit, but would you know it, every time I tried to write something, no matter how quiet the house was or how late it was, I would be constantly interrupted! But today, on the feast of the Holy Name of Mary I have been given the time and space to finish.

When a little girl quietly goes through her mother’s things she learns about some aspect to her mother she was unaware of which opens up a more complete picture of her mother to her. She goes through her mother’s costume jewellery and finds pretty trinkets she didn’t realise her mother enjoyed; she learns something different when she looks though her mother’s collection of holy pictures and discovers a new depth in her mother’s faith. Yet a new surprise when she looks at some drawings her mother did many years ago; another delight when she looks though her mother’s craft stash and sees the colours and textures her mother is drawn to, the projects she was working on, the hidden talents she has. All these things surprise the little girl as she realises there is so much more to her mother than what she sees on a day to day basis. I find the same with my Heavenly Mother, her different images, apparitions and titles.
My middle name is Maria and for my Confirmation I chose Regina, Our Lady Queen. I was unable to pick between my two favourite saints so I chose the Queen of them both. My husband and I were married on the feast of The Presentation in the Temple, Our Lady’s first sorrow and I left my bridal bouquet with her statue in the Church. Our daughters all have some aspect of Mary or her life in their names, as does one of our sons.

So many times in my life when all has felt lost there has been something to tell me she is still here watching over me and not to lose hope. A single lily blooming, not planted by me, in our unkempt garden, on a minor feast of Hers; an unexpected envelope in the mailbox with Her picture on it reminding me she is there; a big holy card of Her with a caption telling me to have confidence behind a broken washing machine in a flooded laundry!

Regularly I ask her something as basic as what to make for dinner because I don’t know. She always answers with an idea that is within my ability and the groceries on hand. Sometimes she has come up blank and I have asked so often that those moments confused me. Those days, my husband would later suggest we buy something for dinner. 

Our Lady is the reason I held on to the Faith; though I am a cradle Catholic with strong, practicing parents, the love of my Heavenly Father, having a relationship with Jesus or learning to listen to His Holy Spirit wasn’t passed on, but I was very blessed to have an understanding of the love of my Heavenly Mother. An understanding which came from my own mother. Seeing Mary as my mother helped correct my misguided expectations of my own mother as an adult which has caused bitterness and resentment in the past. Instead, it has made us sisters with the same mother.

As a child, a picture of Our Lady sheltering people under her mantle was one of my favourites because that’s where I wanted to be. I felt safe going to sleep holding a plastic glow in the dark statue of Mary or with a rosary wrapped around my wrist at night. As an adult, I still do, especially during times of distress; then I am once more a child going to sleep holding my mother’s hand. Again, as a child, during times of great anxiety with my father’s unpredictable illness, I would hold in the tears and pray Hail Marys.

I loved to read short stories of people who had lived lives of sin and in their last moments found salvation due to some small devotion to Mary, past or present; something as simple as saluting her statue, keeping a medal or a saying small prayer in Her honour. What hope, how could I ever be lost with her?

I love her at the Annunciation because of her complete fiat. A priest was explaining that one thing the devil hates most about Our Lady is that she never counted the cost. Why do I count the cost so much? It doesn’t bring me peace. She bore the heaviest cross a creature could bear and still had peace and complete trust in the depths of her soul.

I love her at the Presentation during her first sorrow when she was told a sword would pierce her heart. I remember a homily where the priest mentioned that a more correct translation for that sword was not something with a straight edge making a clean wound, as we see in images, but a hooked, curved, cruel sword taking with it a chunk of flesh. Our own sufferings often feel much more in line with the latter and make me feel much more appreciation for the love and suffering of my Heavenly Mother.

I love her at the Nativity, gazing on the face of baby Jesus and inviting me to do so as well. I feel very little, comfortable, safe and loved there.

I love her holding Jesus as she rode on a donkey to Egypt. I see myself as a small child, sitting on the donkey with her, under her protection.

I love her at Nazareth, spinning and weaving, growing herbs, caring for others but always putting Jesus and Joseph first. I want Her to teach me those things too and I want to live there hidden with Her in that peace and simplicity. 

I love her searching for Her lost Son, helping me to keep searching for Him. We really can come to Jesus through Mary.

I love her at the foot of the cross, unwavering; I love that Jesus, in His last agony, knew how much we needed a mother and gave us His, even though we are so undeserving of such a mother and often treat her with such a lack of gratitude. 

I always wondered how Mary felt after Jesus was placed in the tomb and she had to go home. What desolation! But no, she didn’t go home alone, she took me home with her to take care of and to love.

I love her Litany, every invocation brings beautiful images to mind, each one is a mediation by itself.

I love her image on the Miraculous Medal, with rings on her fingers; some streaming with graces to us and some without and I remember that those without are the ones we are not asking for. It reminds me she wants me to ask and open up my heart to her with all those unspoken requests.

I love that Mary Help of Christians is Patroness of Australia; we are such a sinful, godless nation, but her protection fills me with hope.

I love depictions of Mary from other cultures, Japan, South America, Africa; we are all children in the same family with the same loving Mother.

In every way that I love Mary, I feel like her small child; being hers is glorious and I know that she has been given the power to make us as little children to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Totus Tuus, Maria.

~ Written by a friend of Anima