One year ago, I sat on the edge of the Grand Canyon and smiled so hard my eyes squinted for the camera. There, I gaped at the magnificent sight before me and marveled at the endless layers of stone, sand, and minerals that formed the endless range of mountains inside the earth’s crust.

I was not alone. Thousands of people joined me along the edge of the canyon that day. Some had cameras in hand, but most simply stood and gazed over the canyon, as if paralyzed by wonder. (It became clear to me then why Americans chose the Grand Canyon as the 8th Wonder of the Modern World, according to a USA Today’s November 2006 study.)

Geology was one of my greatest hobbies as a child and teenager, next to reading. My “rock collection” was embarrassingly extensive. And although I didn’t become the Geologist or Archaeologist as planned in grade school, I still have a habit of bending over to study rocks in along the road or pouring over the latest new story of an archaeological dig.

You see, I’m a big picture person who likes to dive into the details to discover how pieces work together to make a whole. I believe this explains my love of pilgrimage (the thousands of steps that make up one destination), my job in communications (studying the ways in which others perceive truth or an idea) and it even explains my love of ensemble music (two, three, four, and even 8 voice parts coming together to form the sound of the angels).

This way of thinking took on a whole new perspective at the Grand Canyon.

There, I stood at what might as well be the greatest geological treasure of the world and could neither dig into the details or grasp the big picture. It was all I could do to pick my jaw up off the ground.

I found it paralyzing in the best kind of way.

How many little details must come together to make this place so spectacular?  And how much bigger is the big picture than what my poor little eye can see?

The Grand Canyon challenged my vision and how I looked at the world right in front of me. There was no possible way I could take it all in with my human eye. The beauty extended beyond what I could fathom – the details, the “big picture.”  Even my peripheral vision was limited.  And although I could not see or understand the size of it all with my own two eyes, I simply trusted it was there – before me and below me.

Yes! Those massive mountain-like formations might be over a mile high and yet, unlike any other mountain range that invites us to look upwards, these “mountains” invite us to look beneath the surface. 

That is where my eyes began to connect with my heart.

My vision at the Grand Canyon was challenged because it wasn’t about seeing the details or the bigger picture; it was about taking delight in a sight beyond my understanding. It was about seeing the story from a new perspective.

I beheld greatness and was satisfied with the unknown.

That statement is not something I can say for my life, and yet I think that’s the beauty the Grand Canyon continues to unfold for me to this day. My life is made up of hours, days, weeks, and years – layer upon layer of simple moments. It is tested by the fire of adversity, forged by the working of grace, and holds oh so many caverns of love to create a masterpiece that I cannot begin to see or understand. But God does. Because He is the Master behind those details. And He tries to show me the masterpiece of my life every day with a new, glorious view.

What if I could, right here and right now, behold the intricate layers of my own story and be satisfied with a lack of understanding? 

What if I could trust that the unknown canyons and crevices before me will, one day, be filled with light? 

What if I could take a moment and smile so hard my eyes squint for His camera?! 

Simply put – what if I could believe that God loves me more than what my poor little human eye can perceive?

Dear friend, a whole year has passed since I stood in this place. And I am only now beginning to unpack what could be perhaps the most important question of all. I invite you into this quest with me. Let’s pray to know not the intricacies of how God loves us, but the simplicity of how MUCH God loves.

Because it’s so much grander than we can imagine.

Yours, Mary

To my sister suffering beneath the weight of infertility,

to the one whose heart is crushed month after month, left in an endless cycle of waiting-

to the one whose whole strength goes into holding it together in the face of another pregnancy announcement-

to the one whose bitterness feels unbearable, whose joy has been stolen and faith crippled by this cross-

I think there is a sweet hope and precious promise meant just for you- and it is found in perhaps an unlikely place, in the story of St. Thomas’ doubt which we hear accounted for in the Gospels.

Poor St. Thomas- still remembered two thousand years later for the doubt he displayed in the face of the Resurrection. I used to look at his story from a place of pride and wonder how He could ever doubt the God-man He walked alongside through so much. But then I was given a diagnosis: secondary infertility; and my scorn turned to understanding. It suddenly made painfully clear sense- how a disciple so close to the heart of Christ could struggle with such profound doubt.

In my 25 years of life, I had seen suffering and known hurt. I had grieved the loss of loved ones, mourned the disintegration of friendships, felt the stab of heartbreak and walked through the uncertainty of lost opportunities and closed doors. In all of this, nothing has had the power of shaking my faith and distancing me from my Jesus the way infertility did.

It was never that I questioned God’s sovereignty- I prayed every day for the miracle I knew without a doubt He was powerful enough to give. It was His character that I began to doubt; it was my conviction that He loved me and was working all things for good which wavered beneath the weight of my aching heart. And in the midst of that raw pain- the Enemy of goodness began sowing his lies.

I began to believe them….the things I heard whispered in the back of my heart…’that if I were a better mother to the son I have, that if I were a more faithful disciple…then maybe I could earn God’s favor…that this was just “my cross” and God’s expectation was that I grin and bear it as He needn’t busy Himself with what I was feeling and experiencing.’

My subconscious acceptance of these falsehoods slowly turned to bitterness as I began to compare my life to those around me. All across my social media feeds, pregnancy announcements emerged, within my job I was met with the reality of women seeking abortion when all I wanted was to be able to conceive and I felt deep in my bones the shock of knowing that the family I had pictured and planned may never come to pass.

I felt so hurt.

And it was within this hurt and healing from it that I read the gospel account of doubting Thomas with new eyes.

Thomas must have felt so hurt, too.

He had walked alongside Jesus, too, after all. He had been counted among His dearest friends. He had been there, huddled alongside his faith community after living through the total devastation of the crucifixion and the uncertainty and fear which marked the days following.

But He wasn’t there when Jesus came…when Jesus chose to come. He wasn’t counted among those the Resurrected Lord appeared to- He wasn’t bid peace by the voice of the risen Savior. Others were given that gift…but not Him. He was left out.

I imagine that the Enemy sought Thomas in His vulnerable longing to experience the Lord in the same way those around Him had, and began whispering… “you’re not enough Thomas…maybe Jesus just didn’t want to appear to you...”

And maybe Thomas mulled over the lies until they were all he heard…until he was angry.

Until he saw the gift of the Resurrection, of New Life, as something meant for others and not for Him.

Maybe his heart ached and his faith reeled…not because He didn’t believe in Jesus’ sovereignty, but because he was no longer sure how to believe in His goodness- when it seemed to be something he had been excluded from.

Maybe that’s what fueled the seemingly bitter assertion given to his fellow apostles- “I won’t believe unless…”

Perhaps the words came from the loneliness and isolation he felt as a wearied soul surrounded by vibrant belief- his mourning set against the background of rejoicing. It’s a lonely place to be.

That was where I found myself 13 months into trying without success to conceive. I fell on my knees before Jesus in adoration, my tears hitting the carpet beneath me. As He gazed upon my pain, He whispered to the depths of my heart “I am goodness.”

I didn’t understand, right in that moment, why it mattered so much that I believe Jesus’ words…or even why these were the words He bade me amidst so painful a cross.

The deep healing came in the following weeks, when I jet set the across the country to a Blessed is She retreat , where I encountered the risen Lord in all of His goodness and glory in a way that I never had before.

I cannot completely explain the healing that took place (and words would never do it justice), I can only say that the veil of doubt was torn from my eyes in Love’s reckless pursuit of my heart. The lies I had begun to believe about who I am and who God is were put to their shame. I came to see that my hurt could not supersede God’s goodness. I experienced firsthand the truth- that He can fulfill and satisfy beyond our longings and make the desert a place of abundance.

This is the hope for us then, sisters.

Jesus pursues.

Just as He did through the locked doors of that upper room, through the closed walls of Thomas’ heart. Jesus enters. He gives Thomas what His heart so desires- an encounter of His goodness- and more. He places Thomas’ shaking hands to his wounds and in doing so, assures Thomas of His faithfulness. Not just that He has truly appeared, but that He has truly conquered death…not just that He has returned, but that He never left in the first place.

And then Jesus tells Him, “Blessed are those who have not seen and still believe.”

I used to think this was an admonishment of Thomas’ doubt. But now, through the eyes of one who has been healed, I see it as a promise.

“Even in your hurt, know that I am trustworthy. I am good. I am willing good for you. Even in your doubt, I am pursuing you to the ends of the earth. Even in the stillness and loneliness of an unfulfilled request, I am blessing you. I can heal you- if you let me.”

Look up to Jesus, sister. Let your pain and your anger and your doubt spill out before Him. Don’t flinch when He reaches for your hand and places it in His side. Don’t hesitate when He scoops your woundedness into the folds of His own. Fall into Him.

I can’t promise you in what way Jesus will transform your story or what goodness He will draw from your deepest place of suffering- only that He will.

He can’t help it. It’s who He is.

And even though it may feel like you’ve fallen through the cracks- you must know- He wants you to know– that you are far too precious in His sight to fall to a place where He doesn’t see every part of you and love you all the more.

So, to my sister suffering beneath the weight of infertility, know that He has come to give you life, and give it to you in abundance.

Let Him crush the cold voice that whispers to your heart the falsehood that this promise isn’t meant for you. The Holy Spirit, the advocate who cries out on your behalf, assures you that this promise is uniquely yours- that Jesus never left you, and that He never will. In your darkest heartache, His love is YOURS, to cover you, to shelter you, to fight for you, to HEAL you.

I remember vividly the day I sat with my sister in our bedroom and mulled over our plans for the future. We talked about our options and the possibilities of someday getting married and raising families. I was preparing to graduate high school and it seemed as though what my heart desired was certainly in my more immediate future.

We discussed the “who” the “what” the “where” and then… the when.

My outlook on life did not have a fairytale approach, though when I look back now, I see that a good dose of reality was yet to come. In an effort to balance the dream-come-true with reality, I remember coming up with three “worst case scenarios” for my future. One of them, which I refer to in the below mentioned radio interview, was this:

“In the WORST case scenario, I end up single at 30 years.” I remember informing my sister and following it up with, “But I don’t think that can happen. I won’t LET that happen.”

Oh, Mary, Mary. You had so much to learn.

That worst case scenario actually became my reality. And do you know what? That reality has been a blessing to me in many ways, in spite of the heartache to accompany it.

The radio show in which I tell this story and others published yesterday on my 33rd birthday. A coincidence? Perhaps. But my heart tells me not. Instead, I believe it was a clear message to me and every young man and woman living the single vocation with an ache for marriage to know that while our plan seems like the best plan, it’s really just “okay” and pales in comparison to the great worth of the wait. 

If you care to hear more about this perspective, come join me and listen to last month’s episode of The Pearl of Great Price in which I talk about discernment on all kinds of levels and how love works crazy things in our waiting. If not anything else, I hope this reaffirms your faith God can transform even our worst plans into His best plans.

Love, Mary

“With love, I not only do I go forward, I fly!” – St. Therese of Lisieux

At one point in time, the fear of losing touch with all things “kid” seemed like a legitimate concern. My siblings were growing up and my own family still a dream and prayer. But thankfully, there is no shortage of children in my life with many of my friends and siblings now deeply involved in heaven’s great mission of raising families.

On winter days, I relive the adventure of building blanket forts and taking breaks to drink dangerous amounts of hot cocoa (containing more marshmallows than cocoa, of course). On summer days, I learn everything there is to know about sharks and giant squid, how to ride scooters, and all about the proper care of a centipede. And on any given day, I might be so lucky as to catch a baby smile in exchange for a performance of The Cuppycake Song. (Is that not the sweetest thing you have ever heard?)

This is not the song that inspired the title of this post. But it was one such link to childhood that recently drew me into a new and powerful view of own my life; something I am still learning how to see and appreciate in every single day.  It all started as Faith and I began a three-day road-trip pilgrimage to the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in LaCrosse, Wisconsin.

*If you follow us on Facebook, you know a little more about the behind-the-scenes to this adventure – as well as the why, how, and when. You can also watch our videos on YouTube to dive into the heart of our journey!*

Within minutes of commencing our road-trip north, Faith and I managed to find pizza, a smoothie, and deep conversation. Was that a surprise? Hardly! In no time, we were on our way to Wisconsin, digging deep into the movements of our lives, families, and even the hopes and plans for our trip. (All while definitely not starving.)

“Can you believe we are doing this?” I asked. We had been talking about this trip for months, making AirBnb reservations, researching ice cream shops in the area, and putting new breaks on my car (in no particular order of priority).

The joy of cruising along the highway was so much more than the trip itself for me at that moment: it was the action of doing it. So much of my life is spent thinking about tomorrow, practically planning out a course for my life in big and small ways. In the case of this pilgrimage, I found myself grateful and proud of Faith and me for not just talking about going to this holy place together, but seizing the opportunity to go.

Faith agreed with me as I tried to explain all of this to her while she navigated the GPS. But instead of simply agreeing and moving on, she then called me on to something higher in a way I did not see coming.

“It’s just like Daniel Tiger…” she began. “You know Daniel Tiger, right?” I wracked my brain for the memory of a tiger and how it could connect to my reflection. As Faith began to describe the latest children’s show, it all suddenly came back to me: Mr. Rodgers, King Friday, Gina and the calm and wise world in which Daniel Tiger and I were both raised.  “Oh, THAT Daniel Tiger…” I mused.

I expected Faith to dive into a story about the character of Daniel Tiger. To my surprise, she began to sing a song from the storyline itself:

“Enjoy the wow that’s happening now…”

I was stunned. Gone was the satisfaction of looking back at the planning and preparing it took to make this trip happen. Gone was the plan and purpose we had given to the journey ahead of us. This simple little ditty hit me like the proverbial two-by-four. The happiness I felt in that moment had little to do with everything behind and before me and had everything to do with what was right in front of me – the present moment.

Just like that (and because this tune was incredibly difficult to shake!) the lyrics to a children’s song defined every movement and theme of our three day road-trip pilgrimage together.

Instead of rushing to our AirBnB that night, we took the time to veer off the main road and watch the sunset over the Mississippi River. We attended a later Mass than originally planned the next day so we could be rested and refreshed, unknowingly providing ourselves extra time to explore the Shrine’s grottos on the path to the chapel. A bag of lettuce and a frozen pizza became our dinner of choice one night in place of a nice restaurant, affording us a chance to curl up on the couch to listen to our favorite podcasts and the sound of rain on the roof.

In the midst of these and so many other unexpected joys, one of us would inevitably start to sing, “Enjoy the wow that’s happening now…” My happiness was no longer in the satisfaction of achieving the moment, it was in embracing the moment – the “wow” happening now. 

It called me out of the lies looking back at my life – mistakes, wounds, regrets. It freed me from the weariness of planning out how life “should” go. It pulled me back from becoming worried or discouraged at my future. It satisfied everything I needed right when I needed it. God truly is in the present moment and only asks me to embrace it as a gift sent by Him – simply to make me happy.

Yes.

Our good Lord wants to make you and me happy, and He demonstrates this to us countless times in the minute of every day. I don’t know about you, but I am often too busy looking backward or forward to notice the happiness “here.”

St. Gianna Beretta Molla – the saint at the heart of our adventure – knew this all too well. As Faith and I began packing up for our journey home, I came across a quote I had written down just a few weeks before. I smiled when read it again and aloud,

“The secret of happiness is to live moment by moment and to thank God for all that He, in His goodness, sends to us day after day.”

Perhaps this was the whole point of our entire trip – to find the secret of happiness by living and loving every moment well.

The trip itself is long over, but the wisdom of the journey remains. Now, when I find myself all-too-often worrying about the future or going back over the past, I try to draw my heart toward the present moment. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.

My “wow” is happening now.