It’s hard to imagine what I’ll do if I ever see my son on the cross. See him nailed for doing nothing. Watch him to carry a cross for others people’s sins. Watch him choose death in the cross so they live. The sheer strength of Mary is all I keep thinking about on days I like strength with my own. Days I want to lock myself up and pretend that I am alone. Then I remember Mary. Remember her grace. Remember her solitude. Remember that she did so much more than I could ever imagine as a mother.
Whether we like it or not, Mary, like words are all we need. They are great when weak. Stand through the times like night. Invisible but belong to those open in all directions to wilderness or distant landscapes. These words I write remind me of the grace I see from shadows that fall like on days when skies are blues, trees bristle with the wind as birds sing their songs, like on the first of May. We came together to give thanks, came one by one to offer roses to Mary on this first day of May. She makes us know that we can live freely because her son carried all that was against us, straight up to the cross. I am living just as free because she loves me.