It’s the night before my mother died, and I’m in her hospital room, sitting with her. She’s very restless and demanding - close the shades! no, no, open them; no, open them a little. Fix my pillow for me, will you? I smile a little, jumping up to do everything she asks. I know it won’t be long before she won’t be asking me to do anything, anymore.

I also know she’s worried about me. Worried about me being pagan, worried about me being a single mom, worried about me not having a husband to “take care of me,” worried about my weight, the list goes on. I know that part of the reason why she’s hung on as long as she has, is because of her worry for me. She wants to know I’m going to be ok, before she passes on.

And so, I told a little fib. I told her about the new man in my life, “Tom,” who’s very handsome, Catholic, loves me and takes good care of me, and that we’ve been hitting the gym together. Well, most of it was true. I left out the part about him being married.

She smiled weakly and nodded her head, eyelids droopy from the pain medication she was on.

My mom was always unique. She was a Navy brat growing up, and traveled the world with my grandparents. At one point she was living in Guatemala, and there was an earthquake. Her maid, fearing for mom’s life, baptised her Catholic. She never told my grandmother, and it was never followed up with a priest, so it never was “official.” But I think it “took” with my mother, anyway.

Protestants really don’t “do” angels, or Mary. But when we were little, and we’d be scared of the boogie man, she’d draw us pictures of our “Guardian Angel” and tape them to the wall next to our bed, so we’d know we were protected. In her later years, she had a very personal relationship with her Guardian Angel, whom she called “Sing.” And all through her life, she had a natural affection for Mary. She used to tell me she would be sitting in Church and all of a sudden, get a whiff of roses, even when no one would be sitting near her, and no roses were on the altar. Roses are associated with Mary (hence, the Rosary), and mom just assumed that Mary came and made a little visit.

When mom got very ill, and all her blood levels went out of whack, she’d get very confused, and start calling for her. “Maaaaaary, Mary?” she’d call out, eyes shut tight. My siblings thought she was calling for our younger sister, but I knew she was calling for her Mother.

Who else do you want, when you’re sick?

The Big Three, or the Trinity, can be quite imposing at times. Mary is quite approachable; she is the Mother to us all. Pagans like to make the point that Mary is really just a goddess in disguise, and I suppose from a technical, academic standpoint this is true - someone who gives birth to a God, is a Goddess. But it goes a wee bit deeper than that. Mary was human, even though she herself, is believed by the Church to be immaculately conceived.

Mary is human, and approachable. Mary isn’t worshipped; she is honored, and she is petitioned. Who better to have as an ally, who better to ask to pray for you, than the Mother of Christ? After all, like all good Jewish boys, He listens to his momma!

I had a most amazing dream about Mary, a few months after my conversion. Taken from my journal:

I was “seeing” a man - handsome man, blonde hair blue eyes, and he took me to meet his mother. His mother was Greek? I think? I dunno, but she called me over to where her daughter was. The mother held out a small morsel of food that consisted of strips of bread, fish I think, and salt. As her daughter took a bite of half the food, she encouraged me to bite into the other half.

After that she wrapped me in a blanket and cooed a blessing over me. It was very healing. I got the impression that it was an “adopting into the family” type of ceremony, and that I was now her daughter.

I should mention that the “blonde haired-blue eyed” guy in my dream was someone whom I had met in real life, and he was a carpenter by profession. Looking back on the dream I believe it was Mary. I did not recognize the language she spoke, but I’ve never “heard” Arameic, either. That is until I ran across this video on youtube - the Lord’s Prayer in Arameic.

Yup! That’s the language she was using.

That dream was the most amazing dream I’ve ever had.

While our earthly mothers die, and all earthly mothers have their faults, and some earthly mothers are just downright horrible, our heavenly mother is always with us. Imagine, the most perfect mother you could ever envision, always loving you no matter what you did or what you’ve done, always being there for you when you needed a shoulder to cry on, always sticking up for you, no matter what, and you’ve got Mary.

Why Protestants ignore her, is a mystery to me.