My latest column at Today’s Catholic Women is on Our Lady of Mental Peace.  She’s a new favorite Mary of mine.

I’m also over at Faith & Family Live with “Turning to Mary for Comfort.”

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This week’s Mary Moment Monday is inspired by a question a Facebook friend asked me recently.

I am writing to ask you your thoughts on last week’s Gospel where Mary asks Jesus to provide more wine for the guests at a wedding and Jesus responds by saying, “Woman, how does your concern affect me?  My hour has not come.”

For some reason, my heart is having a hard time with this response (seems harsh). I was thinking that perhaps Mary had some motherly insight that He perhaps is ready for the next step and she was planting the seed.

I can’t help but think of how my husband teases his mom. I’ve always seen him do this.  He and his siblings have a way of teasing her that is affectionate and gentle.  They’ll bring up old stories and get everyone laughing or they’ll rib her when she makes a mistake borne of a misunderstanding, forgetfulness, or just plain human nature.

When my husband teases his mom, he’s never being harsh.  He doesn’t ever want to hurt her.  He isn’t going for her throat or trying to get even or be clever.

Once, early in our dating, I pointed out how often she gets teased, especially when the whole gang is together.  He smiled and said, “It’s how she knows we love her.”

Over the years, I’ve seen this as a truth.  I’ve even started jumping in.

What I always have to remind myself is that we tease because we love, not for malice or to be cruel.

Rereading this Gospel passage and picturing Jesus and Mary at Cana, I pause for moment.

Picture them in Nazareth for the 30 years prior.  There had to be some teasing, some laughter, some poking.  I have no proof of this, but it seems to go hand-in-hand with family life.  In being fully human, there are plenty of opportunities to laugh and chuckle, to snort and hoot.

As much as Jesus and Mary loved each other, they had to share this intimate human experience of laughter.

Reading the Gospel with that thought as background, I see a bit of a twinkle in Jesus’ eye.  Maybe this is some sort of long-standing thing between them.  Maybe she’s been gently nudging Him for some time; maybe He’s been teasing her about this too.  Had He done something like this at home previously when they ran out of something?

John Paul II, in a general audience on the wedding at Cana, shares this (emphasis mine):

According to one interpretation, from the moment his mission begins Jesus seems to call into question the natural relationship of son to which his mother refers. The sentence, in the local parlance, is meant to stress a distance between the persons, by excluding a communion of life. This distance does not preclude respect and esteem, the term “woman” by which he addresses his Mother is used with a nuance that will recur in the conversations with the Canaanite woman (cf. Mt 15:28), the Samaritan woman (cf. Jn 4:21), the adulteress (cf. Jn 8:10) and Mary Magdalene (cf. Jn 20:13), in contexts that show Jesus’ positive relationship with his female interlocutors.

With the expression: “O woman, what have you to do with me?”, Jesus intends to put Mary’s co-operation on the level of salvation which, by involving her faith and hope, requires her to go beyond her natural role of mother.

4. Of much greater import is the reason Jesus gives: “My hour has not yet come (Jn 2:4).

Some scholars who have studied this sacred text, following St Augustine’s interpretation, identify this “hour” with the Passion event. For others, instead, it refers to the first miracle in which the prophet of Nazareth’s messianic power would be revealed. Yet others hold that the sentence is interrogative and an extension of the question that precedes it: “What have you to do with me? Has my hour not yet come?”. Jesus gives Mary to understand that henceforth he no longer depends on her, but must take the initiative for doing his Father’s work. Then Mary docilely refrains from insisting with him and instead turns to the servants, telling them to obey him.

There’s a lot to glean from this passage of scripture (true of most of them, come to think of it).  When you read a passage in the Bible that bothers you or makes you pause, take it with you in your heart, pray with it, ponder it deeply.  Look at it from all angles and ask the Holy Spirit to guide your reflection.  Research it, ask for help, and pray some more.

Any thoughts on this? (I know I haven’t come close to giving a good answer!)

There are, my calendar tells me, only four days until Christmas.

She must have been pregnant-to-bursting, and she wasn’t at home or even in a familiar place.  The Baby was coming, of that she was certain, and soon.  She must have been excited.  Was there any fear in her?  Did she wonder how it would all work out?  Was she just wanting the baby out?

This pregnancy was an answer to ages of prayer, to the begging of the Jews for their Messiah.  Mary knew this, and it must have been one of the many things she held in her heart, pondering.  In the discomfort of late pregnancy, in the anticipation of the end of gestation, in the joy of looming parenthood, she must have also thought about the other prophesies about the Messiah.

His wasn’t to be an easy life, though we don’t know the details of the hidden years in Nazareth.  As a mother who knew there would be challenges, how could she be any less excited to finally meet the Baby who had been kicking her ribs, smooshing her bladder, rolling and stretching inside her?

Did she look at her husband, dear Joseph, and picture him as a daddy?  Could she hear the laughter to come, the roughing around and the gentle teaching, the correction and the prayer?  What was her hope for her family life?  What were her prayers in those last days before the first Christmas?

As I look to Our Lady of Expectation, I see so many ways in which I can follow her.  She looks uncomfortable, and yet she looks peaceful.  She shows me how to bear with the hardships of my daily life, whether they’re large or small, warranted or unexpected, grief-stricken or joy-filled.  She invites me into her crowded lap, and she hugs me.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, I feel the Baby kick.

She has, once again, led me right to Him.

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More about Our Lady of Expectation, if you’re so inclined:

• Our Lady’s Expectation (brief history)
• Expectation of Our Lady (history and O Antiphons)
• Our Lady of Expectation (history and reflection)

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My mother-in-law is a source of great inspiration to me, and in this week’s column on Mary’s title, Queen of Martyrs, I was inspired by her response to some of the biggest griefs I can imagine, burying three grandsons.  But before you go thinking it’s a depressing piece, remember that my topic is Mary and that she is never depressing.    Here’s a snippet, and then you can go read the rest:

I suppose it’s selfish of me to want to rob my children of the good that can come from pain.  Though it continues to bring tears to my eyes and is not something that I can talk about for long, my experience with the third of my mother-in-law’s grandsons changed my life for the better.  My sister-in-law told me recently that burying two sons has been a blessing in her life, that she has marveled at how her pain has touched and transformed people, but I know she wouldn’t have chosen burying them over watching them grow into men.

I don’t think I have much of a maternal instinct, but it’s certain that protecting my children — whether from bodily harm or mental anguish — is part of the mothering mentality.

How much more, then, must Mary have felt this desire as she held the Messiah in her arms?  She was familiar with the prophecies, and she must have known that He would suffer greatly to bring about the salvation of the world.  Maybe the details weren’t available to her, but the certainty must have been.

All the joy of His infancy, the wonder of watching Him learn to walk and talk, the pleasure of seeing His wisdom blossom into young adulthood must have been tempered with the knowledge of His future, one that held torture and triumph.  Was not knowing the details a blessing for Mary?

As I consider Mary as Queen of Martyrs, I first have to see her pain for what it was.  It wasn’t fair, but that makes it even more beautiful.  Mary said “Yes” to the most difficult motherhood possible, one that would involve raising the Messiah and watching Him walk away and then carry a cross to His death.  Her memorable moments included first childhood moments, plus witnessing miracles.  She watched Him during His Passion, unable to do more than pray.

But did she need to do more?

Rambling thoughts: Though we won’t decorate it until Sunday, when dear friends and some family members are coming over to help us, our tree is up and lit.  Our friends gave it to us; it’s our first big tree as a family.  When the girls wake up, they’ll be delighted.  My new angel is perched at the top, and I’m glad we’re going to just enjoy it with only lights for a few days.  It’s one more small step in preparation for the Big Day.  I like that this Advent especially I’m being conscious of being focused and gradual in our preparations.  It’s making me more open to the joy of Christmas, I think.

In thanksgiving: For prayers.  For family.  For KFC.

Folded hands, bowed head: For Poppa Gene, who’s still in ICU.  He’s looking better after a weekend of rest.  We’ll know more today, hopefully.  Thanks for your continued prayers.

Nose inserted: I wish it was.  Though I’ve put away Google Reader for Advent (except for my top 5 blogs), I am not finding time (or am I not motivated?) to finish The Power of Respect, by Deborah Norville.  It’s good, don’t get me wrong.  I’m just not cranking through it.  (I’m also not sitting down to read much.  Correlation?)  This week, I want to pick up The Cricket on the Hearth, a favorite that my aunt and I read together most years (one time, we read most of it aloud together).  This story, incidentally, is what inspired my various uses of “peerybingle” (i.e. on Twitter).

Recent reads: I finished a fabulous book on St. Joseph, recommended by a Faith & Family Live reader back when I was Mary blogging in May:  Saint Joseph: His Life and His Role in the Church Today, by Louise Bourassa Perrotta.

In my ears: One of the ways I’m savoring Advent is thanks to the work going on at DivineOffice.org.  Wow.  I’ve been enjoying the Liturgy of the Hours for some time, on and off, but this is a way to really have it seep into me, to make the prayer more a part of me.  Even when it’s just background noise, it calms me.  It’s a great companion to my daily singing of the Divine Mercy Chaplet, and has made my Advent so peace-filled.

Around the house: Bob’s in the shower, dog’s by the fire, I’m at the computer.  Silence.  Elizabeth will be coming down soon (she’s my early riser), but until I hear her plodding down the stairs, it’s just me and my coffee.

A favorite thing: Mystic Monks Cowboy Blend

Plans made, possibly kept: It’s the week before Christmas, but I’m amazed at how I don’t feel panic.  I wrapped family gifts (well, the ones that get wrapped anyway) and I’ll ship them out this week.  There will be time, somehow, to wrap the girls’ gifts, and after our family Christmases this weekend, it will be a week of anticipation next week.  We have all the usual mundane things on the calendar this week, though we’re also a bit on edge about Poppa Gene.

Food for thought: (which inspired this week’s Mary Moment, which has yet to be recorded): In Wood of the Cradle; Wood of the Cross, Caryll Houselander wrote:  “During Advent Christ rested in Mary still, silent, helpless, utterly dependent. The Creator trusted Himself to His creature.”  (via Mary Vitamin)

Worth a thousand words: The dress for the big date, the one caused so much angst initially (which I did not, in fact, have to shop for, thanks to an amazing friend)

Find more daybooks at Peggy’s place.

I don’t remember when I first learned about Our Lady of Guadalupe.  Maybe it was when I became pregnant with my oldest daughter that it clicked that this image of Mary is pregnant.  Maybe it was when our parish became home to one of a handful of images that had been touched to the original tilma of Juan Diego that I realized how this depiction of Mary seemed to look at me, to reach out to me, to embrace my fears and struggles.

In honor of her feast day on Saturday, Becky, of the great new Cafe Press shop The Whole Wide Room, has offered to give away one of her Our Lady of Guadalupe shirts.  This is a shirt that’s been on my wish list since I first saw it (and I think, working in a parish office, that I could wear it to work, don’t you?).   You get to pick the color of the sleeves, the size, the shipping address.

You have until Saturday night to leave a comment here, and then we’ll pick a random winner.

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Share your favorite Marian apparition and/or title in the comments, while you’re there in the combox. I’m working on my writing schedules for next year, and I’d love to write about something YOU are interested in learning more about.

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I’d be remiss not to mention last week’s Catholic Moments podcast, where I share about Mary’s title “Cause of Our Joy” and Lisa shares great information about the great-looking new movie The 13th Day, which is about the Marian apparitions in Fatima, Portugal.

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This week is a heavily Marian week…tomorrow is the feast of the Immaculate Conception, and I’m reflecting on that over at Today’s Catholic Woman and at CatholicMom.com.  They’re very different approaches to the title, and I hope they will help you, especially if, like me, you find yourself floundering a bit with this concept and title.

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With that, I encourage you to leave a comment to win one of Becky’s lovely shirts and enjoy this week of Mary!

There’s something about starting my week with Mary. I’ve never been a hater of Mondays the way most of the world seems to be; for me, Tuesdays are the rougher day of the week, the day where the fan blowing smelly stuff starts messing up my workspace.

But still, there’s something about waking up on Monday knowing that I’ll be posting about her, that I’m sharing her and learning from her again.  Sometimes — often times — I read these words I’ve written weeks later and wonder just who in the world came up with the insight…I assure you, it wasn’t me.  Or it wasn’t the me I am today…it wasn’t the Sarah who stares at the computer screen, worrying about the usual trivial assortment of stuff.

Yesterday, on a day that’s special for me for six years’ worth of good reasons, Advent started.  I’ve been thinking of and reflecting on Advent for nearly a month now, but I’d be lying if I told you that I was ready.  My Advent wreaths are still packed away in the attic (I know right where they are, though!) and the Jesse tree ornaments aren’t quite finished…and the Jesse tree?  Um, there isn’t one just yet.

I could blame being sick this weekend.  I could blame being a little extra busy with a sudden decision to move, made this weekend by a close family member.  I could blame any number of things.

But really.  I’ve known about Advent coming. That’s why I’ve been organizing my gift lists and crossing things off for so long.  That’s why I’ve been, well, reflecting on it.

So on this Monday, as I spend yet another few moments with Mary (in what I’ve dubbed a “Mary Moment Monday” here and what I have pitched as “Mary Mondays” to the fine folks at Faith & Family Live), I guess I’ll start the week as a freshly wiped kitchen table.  I’ll sit down, smelling the faint soapy smell in the air, and light a candle.  As I sit there, I’ll reach across the table and take Mary’s hand.

She’ll lead me to Him.  I don’t have to worry about a thing.

More along these lines, about preparing for Advent with Mary, is over at Faith & Family Live today in my latest feature: Waiting and Preparation: Spend Advent with Mary this Year.

If you want to hear some sappy stuff (well, it’s not that sappy) about my love notes to my husband (and how I picture the Miraculous Medal as a love note from God), you can hop on over to Today’s Catholic Woman for my piece this week on Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal.

And, if you’re still around after all that, let me recommend Creighton University’s Praying Advent for its articles, its reflections, and its daily ways of making Advent hope an experience that leads to Christmas joy.

Becoming Catholic, though, has changed some of my semantics.  The joy might be down in my heart, but it’s also all around me.  It might be a word used incorrectly, but it’s also a very real experience, if only I’ll let it.

Some of Mary’s title strike me as strange.  Before I did the reading necessary for this week’s column on her title Cause of Our Joy, this was one of those titles.  My initial response was an unintelligent “Huh?!” and a complete blank in my mind.

Mind you, I have a great devotion to Mary.  It’s hard to explain, in many ways, especially to my non-Catholic family.  I try really hard not to sound like I worship her (devotion is different than worship), and I try not to go overboard talking about her and slipping her into my conversations (the way I do with my unsuspecting Catholic friends and family).

But is she the cause of my joy?  And if so, how?  Isn’t that the sort of thing that only God can be?

It all comes back to her Yes at the Annunciation, doesn’t it?  Mary opened a door for each of us, and it points the way she always points:  toward her Son.

Mary, Cause of Our Joy, is a reminder to me to laugh loudly, to ignore email and tickle a child instead, to say Yes to the many little ways God is calling me closer to Himself.

She doesn’t see the limitations of life the same way I do, and it’s a great lesson for me, though it’s also annoying at times.

“Mom, our house is a diamond castle,” she’ll begin, “and the you’re a queen.”  When told that I have to make dinner, even if I am wearing an old bridesmaid gown from 2001, she’s undeterred.

“The kitchen is your palace,” she announces, and suits up in a sparkly blue dress and high heels.  Her little sister, smitten with the thought of shoes, digs into my closet and thumps around the house squealing.

My house is a far cry from a diamond castle.  Barbie won’t be stopping by to shower compliments on my design choices, and though we have a pretty impressive variety of dress-up clothes, I’m pretty sure Barbie and her comrades can outdo us in selection.

This doesn’t stop my four-year-old, though.  What she sees isn’t the end of the story.

It’s a reminder to keep dreaming, to keep my sights set higher, to stay with my ideals, however unrealistic or silly they may seem.

These are the thoughts that were whirling through my head when I wrote this week’s column on Our Lady of Liesse, a tale which has knights and princesses and adventure galore.  The Queen of Heaven, after all, is not one to shun the stuff of fairy tales.

Maybe I need to find a picture of Our Lady of Liesse and put it in my kitchen.  She and I can share in the palace of my domesticity, the royalty of my busy errands, and the entourage of little princesses who accompany me most of the places I go.

This week, I find myself, once again, using the example of my four-year-old to relate to Mary, this time under her title Our Lady of Liesse.  (Never fear; though I examine my continually evolving relationship with this old farmhouse we live in, I don’t mention stinging insects.  Much.)

I also examine Mary’s influence on my prayer life this week in my Mary Moment segment of Catholic Moments.  If you’re expecting to hear how great I am at prayer, how much success I experience, and/or tips to be more like me, then stay away.  There is none of that.  I’m all about struggling and asking for help this week.  Maybe the quote I share will inspire you to ask for Mary’s help too.

Now, with that, I’m off to other Thursday ventures.  (I guess, if I was feeling clever, I could count those as two small successes, but I’m not feeling very clever this morning.)

What was that weight?  Could I put it down?  Why was I carrying it?

We all have weight on our shoulders.  Maybe it’s grief or pain; maybe it’s stress or worry; maybe it’s a project or a deadline.

What I forget, so often, is that I don’t carry my weight alone.  Right beside me, if only I’ll look, is Mary.  She’s trying to reach my hand, but I keep moving it out of her reach.  Jesus is there too, and He’s trying to get that heavy load off of me, but I keep shrugging off His touch.

If only I’ll let them help me.

Do things have to get bad, explode in my face, leave me in tears, before I’ll accept their help?

Reaching out, at last, I feel the relief, the comfort, the embrace.

Here’s hoping today is a lesson in remembering their support and knowing that the weight of the world is theirs to carry.

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My column at Today’s Catholic Woman this week is about Mary’s title Mother of Divine Providence.  Here’s a snippet, and then you can run along and read the rest:

In June, my husband said something that shattered me.

“I think you’re depressed.”  He thought, in fact, that I had been depressed for months.

How could this be?  Surely I wasn’t suffering from something so cliché as depression.  I wasn’t ready to kill myself, after all.  Come ON, I thought, there’s NO WAY.

When I started paying attention, I couldn’t ignore the little signs and symptoms.  I had to listen to the voices… the voice of my husband, the voice of my spiritual director, and the still, small voice.  They were all telling me that something had to change.

The change was eight weeks long, an unpaid sabbatical from my parish work.  The battle I began with became less center-stage, and I wondered, over and over, if my struggle, at the heart of it, was one of trust.

When I ignore that small voice, that call from above, that inner wisdom that isn’t mine, then I make a mistake that ripples to the rest of my life.  Left untended, the ripples turn into waves, and then they affect everyone around me, especially those closest to me.

On the other side of my sabbatical, I could see the peace I felt as cloaked in something else: trust.  I had to trust in God that in this unplanned leave from work, taking away a needed portion of our income, that the bills would still be paid, the kids would still be fed, the financial side of things would turn out OK.

Trusting God doesn’t always make sense.  In fact, we are often asked to trust Him when it makes the least sense.

Mary is a model for me of trust in God.  At the wedding at Cana, when they ran out of wine, she could have just shrugged.  What did it matter to her, after all?  There was no need to get involved.

To read the rest, visit Today’s Catholic Woman.

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Both images in this post are of Mary as Mother (or Our Lady) of Divine Providence.  Aren’t they just great?  I feel comforted just looking at them.

On the one hand, we have my beautiful daughters, one who’s a spitting image of a younger me and one who’s a spitting image of my husband (who is quite the handsome fellow!).  When people tell me, quite infrequently, that they see my husband in the daughter who looks like me, I’m overjoyed.

Because what I want for my daughters is for them to be like their Daddy.  I want them to have his quiet faith, his surefire certainty, his courage to do what’s right.  I want them to be able to stay silent when that’s what’s needed.

Oh, I know I have good traits, and my husband could probably tell you the ways he hopes the girls take after me.

But this week, reflecting on Mary’s title Queen of All Saints, I couldn’t help but think about how she must want me to be just like her Spouse, the Holy Spirit.  Does she smile ear to ear when someone compliments me on my devotion (compliments I can only point back to the Holy Spirit and God’s grace at work in my life), knowing that I’m getting closer to her Son?  Though Mary knows my failures — and there are many! — she also sees my attempts.  My kids don’t try to look like their dad, but I hope someday they try to act like him.  And that’s just the example Mary sets for me as Queen of All Saints.

Speaking of failures — did I mention there were many? — here we are at the end of the Month of the Rosary.

SIGH.

Sometimes failures are a lesson.  And sometimes I’m measuring the wrong thing.  Maybe that’s what has happened this month, a month when I was going to write all sorts of beautiful reflections and tips about the rosary, encouraging others and hoping to inspire a love it in them.

Silly me.  How could I forget that I’m not the one driving?

I didn’t do anything special this month with the rosary.  Oh, there’s the Month of the Rosary giveaway at CatholicMom.com (have you entered yet?) and I have read and started The Rosary Workout (and I’m giving a copy away — leave a comment before the 31st!).  Those things don’t really count, though…not for what I’m talking about.  Did I pray my daily rosary with deeper devotion or better attention?  For that matter, did I work to share the devotion with my family, with those other people who live in the same house?  What about my attitude and that ongoing resolution to be more like Mary?

Nope.

It’s possible I’m being too hard on myself.  I bet I’m not alone, though.  If you find yourself at the end of October, glad that the rosary hounding will stop at last, let me offer you some encouragement in this week’s Mary Moment.  Now I need to go and believe the words of encouragement in my own life!