As it turns out, Mary is one of my favorite writing topics.
I have always been fascinated by her, for obvious reasons. Suspend reality for a minute: if anyone ever “proved” Christianity was not the Truth, then billions of people would have been duped by a 13-year-old pregnant girl. That’s pretty heavy.
Fortunately, not only is that unlikely, but we don’t believe it after centuries and countless hours of faith, prayer, and study. Mary remains in our hearts, the most ever-present mother we could ever hope to know.
Mother Mary, I know I can’t exchange a mere “Happy Birthday” for your prayers, but I need you now as I did when I was a child. We need you now.

Mary’s statue from my home
I picture Mary in heaven cleaning up toys, dislodging tiny G.I. Joes from the toughening pad of her foot, slowly acquiring a nursing/psych/spiritual guide degree, with stretch marks to match her under eye circles, like mothers around the world. If I could pick anyone to give me vapor rub for my soul, it would be her.
The world is the toy room, bruises, scrapes, and boo-boos show up on her children’s souls, and her children around the world cry to her at night, stirring her awake.
Her soul magnifies the Lord for centuries so that He can reach more of those who notice her motherly influence on their lives.  She is our mother, our comforter, and God’s message deliverer.
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