Recently, I had a fairly negative encounter that terribly hurt my feelings (which, I’ll be the first to admit, are very fragile and easily injured), and I replayed the entire thing over and over in my head until I’d nearly driven myself crazy. How could they say that? How could they think that? How could they do that? Only after I had lost plenty of sleep and wasted way too much time obsessing about what had happened did I finally pause and seek Christ’s guidance. And He immediately pointed me to His mother and invited me to ask, what would she do? I knew immediately that whatever the answer was, it was probably pretty close to the exact opposite of what I had been doing, and exactly what I needed.
She’d respond with humility.
Mary was perfect, so she was never at fault, but I’m human enough to admit that I, on the other hand, am not perfect and, unfortunately, I make a ton of mistakes. And while I’m in the midst of madly spiralling over some perceived slight, or defending myself from what appear to be total falsehoods, it never hurts to take a step back and ask myself: is there any truth in this? Most times, if I’m humble enough to admit it, I can see how I may have played a role in the situation or misunderstanding – even in a small or unintentional way – and I can take simple steps to make things right, or at least better.
She wouldn’t try to fix things on her own.
When I’m in the middle of a negative situation, I always want to take control and make it all okay. Maybe if I send the perfectly worded text, or come up with the best comeback, or do just the right thing, I’ll make everything magically better, or at least bring about my own version of justice. But that wasn’t Mary’s way – she never relied on herself. At the wedding at Cana, she didn’t go off in search of more wine or attempt to take control; she knew that transformation was not within her power or control – for that, she always turned to her Son. “When we are powerless, let us be quiet and let God act,” says Father Jacques Philippe. The best way to fix things is to be still, pray, and let God do the work. (But be ready to run and fill a bunch of jugs with water if that’s what He asks.)
She’d surrender.
Surrendering to the will of God was Mary’s special gift, but to me, it doesn’t come so easily. When I’m especially upset, worried, or obsessing about something, it’s really hard to let it go, even in prayer. That’s when I pray a surrendering rosary, during which time I do not allow myself to think about the thing that’s been taking up all my mental bandwidth. As soon as I catch myself thinking about the concern or worrying situation, I simply wave the thought away, and return to my Hail Marys. It might happen a dozen times, or as many times as there are beads on a rosary, but it’s an intentional and active act of surrender, and calls me continually away from myself – and the thing that’s got me all worked up – and towards Christ in the mysteries.
