Mary Stood.

Oh man. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had a second to sit down and write. Literally the whole world has changed since I last posted. The things that made me an “Okayest” mother are less than hilarious while some of the things I never thought I’d joke about (a toilet paper shortage?) are wildly entertaining*.

But I’ve decided to venture out of hiding to talk about one of the moments that motherhood clicked for me.

Per my usual, I beg of you to hear me out as this will err on the side of religious and will then come out as a lovely, family-friendly tale of the time that I learned what it meant to be a better version of myself than I thought I was. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll purposefully not recommend this blog to friends. Whatever. Just keep reading.

My person (he’s pretty much my own personal Ron Swanson, so I’ll let him remain nameless for now) is aggressively Catholic. I call him aggressively Catholic because I was the Episcopalian at a Catholic grade school and I left that school with a chip on my shoulder and casually irritated with Catholicism.

So imagine me sitting in the “cry room” of the very church I swore I’d never step foot in again (and here’s the kicker) in a class to become a Catholic. The very thing I swore I’d never become. I was appalled. Who was I? What was I doing? And why?!!?!

These classes happened for approximately 90 mins on a Thursday night. You want to know what happens within 90 minutes on a random Thursday? Oh. Only EVERYTHING. I swear – Tupac probably came back while I was sitting in one of these classes. It felt like the 90 minutes were just the biggest waste of my life. Again – what was I doing here? “My person” even refused to be my sponsor because he felt that I wasn’t “converting” for the right reasons. He didn’t truly feel like I was becoming a Catholic because I wanted to become a Catholic.

And he was right.

(We’re getting to the good part. I promise.)

In these classes, we watched a video series and we talked about it awkwardly at a table of strangers and then as a larger group. After a few weeks of this, I was done. I was walking out of that small chapel and never coming back. I (sarcastically) said to God: “if You want me here; if You think this will help tie my little family together, You better show me. You better tell me why I’m here.”

So He did.

The details might be a little fuzzy, but this is what I remember: a woman came on the screen and she was talking about the horrific occasion in which she opened the door to find state troopers delivering the news that no mother should ever get: her 20-something-year-old son was killed in a car crash. Her only child. Gone. And as she’s talking about this horrible event, she was so peaceful. Not creepy peaceful, just base-line peaceful. I was horrified. I thought she was lying because I had no idea how she could possibly manage to talk about this tragedy in this way.

She said that she asked the state troopers if anybody else was involved and if anybody else had died. The answers were no. She then said that she walked into her room and crumbled. Just screamed this horrific, guttural call to whatever one calls to in a moment like that. For reasons I will not say now, I know that call. It’s like a scream becomes you.

And then she said that as she was laying there in this ball of a person, she remembered the gifts of the Holy Spirit. We are promised wisdom, understanding, and fortitude (among some others) – and then she remembered the verse that talks about Mary standing under the cross of Jesus. Mary Stood. She realized that, if Mary could stand in those moments of unutterable grief and pain, she could surely stand and survive this indescribable feeling of loss and devastation. With that resolve, she stood up and walked out of her room to thank the state troopers that literally said the words that would alter her life in a way that no other words ever could.

I was profoundly shaken by what I’d just heard. “Mary Stood”.

I asked for it. I asked for the reason that I was sitting in that small chapel. And it hit me. The woman on the screen I originally distrusted had just made the most valid point I’d ever heard in my life.

Mary Stood.

And if Mary could stand under that cross and not crumple out of strength for her son, what could I not do for my own son? If Mary can stand under that cross in her moments of absolute, unutterable fear and disappointment and grief – what can I not do?  Wasn’t this attempt at Catholicism worth it if it meant so much to ******? What wouldn’t I do to give my little unconventional family a fighting chance?

And here I sit, the world’s worst Catholic, so grateful that God thought to help me realize why I was called to convert and the strength I have within me. Because as I sit here, I am on day 24 of quarantine with my two babies and let me tell you – I have thought “Mary Stood” more times than not in the last three weeks.

And today – Good Friday – is the day that Mary actually stood. John 19:25 – the very day that she stood in absolute resolution that she would not allow her child to see her grief, fear, and devastation consume her.

Now – let me be clear – my kids are not dying on the cross for all of mankind’s sins while I stand witness. I realize this is a dramatic comparison. But we have been together for 24 hours a day for what feels like an endless stretch of time and let me tell you – I have been pushed to limits I did not know existed (if you just saw Lindsey Lohan saying “the limit does not exist” from Mean Girls, you’re my people and your VIP badge is in the mail).

Like all mothers in a place of unprecedented trails, we’re all scared. We’re all horrified. We have no idea what to think or how to proceed. Our children are looking to us and we’re just hoping they don’t realize that we have no answers. Not. One. We’re hoping that they don’t see how worn down we are.

We’re hoping they don’t realize the things that were taken from them in this season of their lives until they’re old enough to understand.

We’re hoping that the birthday parties and Easter Egg hunts and graduations and celebrations that are lost to this virus aren’t defining factors in their young lives.

We’re hoping that they don’t see that we are not the teachers they rely on to feed their minds. We are not the best friend that can gossip with them about things way above my parental paygrade. We are not even all that great at keeping the routine that we preach about when we have external factors helping us keep it.

We’re hoping that they don’t see our tears after bath when we’re so weary that we can’t fathom the task of getting them in their beds. We’re hoping they don’t see us lean against the doorframe to close our eyes and count to ten for some small moment of peace.

We’re hoping that the fun activity we managed to come up with isn’t mitigated by the harsh tone we have for them when they’re wild from being cooped up. We’re praying we didn’t ruin the light of the day with the inevitable “bad cop” that must make her appearance.

We are utterly bewildered and we pray they have no idea.

We have the weight of their entire world on our shoulders.

And yet we stand. We stand like Mary stood.

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*Entertaining if you’re not out of toilet paper. For those of you not laughing…well…I wish you the best of luck.