At some point during my college years, I found myself at Mass sitting behind a large family. The mother was cradling a newborn, nuzzled beside her husband, while four or five young kids of various ages trickled down the pew. 

I don’t remember if they behaved well or made an inordinate amount of noise. I just recall thinking, “I want that one day.” At the time, I was not a particularly faithful Catholic, so I didn’t attribute the experience to a “calling.” It was simply a desire I filed away.

Shortly thereafter, I went through an ugly breakup, and somewhere amid the heartbreak, I remember telling – no polite petitioning here – the Blessed Mother that she needed to be my guide. 

To be honest, I had always found her intimidating, what with the sinlessness and somber expression with which she was typically depicted. But I was lost, so I recruited this queen to show me the way. 

Not much about my behavior changed immediately, but I thought about things differently. A relationship was present that colored my perceptions. 

Even when I made poor choices, I was aware of this confident, loving, motherly gaze undeterred by my failures and always extending warmth with a smile, never a somber countenance. 

A year later, I met the man who became my husband. At our wedding, a video was played of each of us responding to questions about the other. 

“What is something not many people know about Elizabeth?” my husband was asked. He responded, “She has a pretty strong devotion to the Blessed Mother.” I was shocked. I couldn’t think of a time in our relationship when I’d intentionally revealed a relationship with Mary. I didn’t even feel like I had one. 

But that’s how this mother works. She excels at behind-the-scenes stuff. Mary doesn’t seek glory or recognition; her work is quiet and gentle.

Now that I’ve traveled on the roads of marriage and motherhood with Mary paving the way, I don’t know how anyone can do it without her. The journey is so fraught with bitter roadblocks that necessitate a gentle, skilled, maternal hand to sweetly ease the way. 

That’s the predominant result of my relationship with Mary: sweetness. Somehow, every trial I endure carries with it this unmistakable sweetness as a result of it being filtered through the softening hands of Mary. Through her, the challenges God allows for me are rendered irresistible.

Being purified in this life is a painful, often frustrating process, and I believe that as a mother, Mary’s goal is to make it as easy as possible, if we’ll let her. I’ve watched my kids pound their fists in frustration while learning a new concept or skill – the same frustration I feel when Christ is leading me to master a virtue or see something in a new way. Their lips tremble, and tears pool up in their eyes. 

As a mother, my heart wants to simplify and sweeten the learning process for them. That’s Mary. She wants us to savor and sail over those hurdles, not despise or recoil at them. 

Over the years, in her gentle, undetected manner, Mary has allowed some desires of my heart to softly fade while others, like having a large family seated all in a row at Mass, have stuck and been fulfilled so beautifully. We’re now expecting our fifth little one, and even during the awful first trimester nausea, I know Mary is pulling me through, softening the hardship of mothering small humans while also struggling to keep my lunch down.

It’s not easy, but it is so much more tolerable knowing that I have a mother sweetening the journey and refusing to abandon me. Quite the opposite, actually. This mother, who was tender enough to insist on a premature miracle to save some newlyweds from embarrassment (John 2:1-11), is the same mother whispering encouragement, giving inspiration and blowing my mind with just how good God is, time and time again. 

Elizabeth Pardi blogs at www.lovealwaysliz.com. Follow her on instagram @lovealwaysliz