My precious child,
I have watched the years of your life unfold, and I recognize, in you, something I once carried within my own heart: a longing to understand God and marvel before His mystery.
When the angel came to me, I did not feel powerful. I certainly did not feel ready. But I felt seen. That alone was enough to stir both wonder and fear. I was so young, unknown, and my life was very simple. Yet God chose to enter the world through that simplicity. I did not fully understand what I was agreeing to. Even now, I would tell you: I did not say yes because I had certainty. I said yes because I trusted the One who asked.
You may think that holiness requires clarity, but often it begins in obscurity. When I spoke my “yes,” I stepped into a path I could not map. There were moments of joy so deep they felt like heaven had already touched the earth: holding my Son for the first time, watching His eyes open to the world His Father had made. But there were also long nights of confusion and questions I could not answer. I had an ache that kept growing deeper as I began to understand that love would ask everything of me.
I learned to treasure what I did not understand.
There were things I carried in my heart because there was nowhere else to place them. When the shepherds came with their strange and beautiful story, when Simeon spoke of a sword that would pierce my soul, when my Son spoke words that reached beyond me, I held them all. I did not rush to resolve them. I allowed God to unfold them in His time.
You, too, will encounter moments that resist explanation. Do not be afraid of them. Our faith does not demand that you grasp everything; it invites you to remain.
I remember the journey to Bethlehem—the weariness and the uncertainty. There was no place prepared for us, no comfort as the world would define it. And yet, in that poverty, heaven came so close that I could feel its breath. I held Jesus in my arms, not as a king, but as one who just needs to be held. In that moment, I understood something that the world often forgets: God does not force His way into your life. He comes gently, vulnerably, waiting to be received.
Will you receive Him?
There were years of quiet after that, years that no one writes about. We lived, we worked, we prayed. Holiness didn’t just grow in great moments, but in the ordinary rhythm of days. I watched my baby boy grow, knowing and not knowing who He fully was. Even then, I had to trust that God was at work in ways hidden from my sight.
Do not despise the hidden parts of your life. God does some of His most beautiful work there.
When His mission began, I felt the distance grow. Not a distance of love, but of mystery. He didn’t just belong to me now, but to the world. At Cana, I saw a glimpse of what was to come. I brought Him a simple need, like any mother would, and yet I knew I was standing at the edge of something greater. When I told the servants, “Do whatever He tells you,” I was speaking from a place of surrender I had been learning my whole life.
Listen to Him, even when His words lead you somewhere unexpected.
And then, the Cross.
There are no words that can fully carry that moment. I stood there, in my weakness—fully exposed to agony because love would not allow me to leave. Everything I had been promised seemed to unravel before my eyes. The child I once held was now wounded, rejected, lifted up in suffering. The sword Simeon spoke of pierced my heart seven times.
If you ever find yourself standing before something that breaks your heart, know this: God is not absent in that suffering. I did not understand how redemption could come through such pain, but I trusted that it would. Sometimes faith is nothing more, and nothing less, than staying.
Even there, He gave me to you.
When He said, “Behold your mother,” His words were not only for John, but for all who would follow Him. From that moment, I became your mother, too. And so I remain near you so I can always lead you to Him.
I see your struggles, your doubts, your desire to be faithful even when it feels difficult. I do not turn away from these things. I hold them, as I once held so many things, and I bring them to my Son.
You are not asked to understand everything. You are asked to trust.
Say your “yes,” even if it trembles. Say it again when it is tested. Say it in joy, and say it in sorrow. God does not require perfection; He desires your willingness.
If you let Him, He will do more in your life than you can imagine.
And I will be with you, quietly, faithfully, as I have always been, pointing you to Him.
My child, do whatever He tells you.
Your loving mother, Mary