She Was With Me

Have you ever had a day when something comes so quietly that you almost miss it? Well, today was not one of those days. She was with me. Not in a dramatic way, and not in a vision or a voice. But in a presence so gentle… so unmistakable… that my eyes filled with tears before I could even understand why.

Four simple words written in gold on a scroll as if dropped down from heaven before my inner eye:

Mercy. Grace. Divine Will.

And I just sat there… feeling. I had goosebumps to be honest.

Perhaps, like many of you, life has been heavy lately. For me personally it’s been layer upon layer of things that don’t resolve neatly. Grief that doesn’t follow a timeline and questions that have no answers. And yet… today… none of that felt like it needed to be solved.

There Is a Place in the Human Heart That Only Opens Through Loss

In past blogs I’ve written about when Jordy died and how something in me broke open in a way I cannot fully explain. Not just grief… but a kind of raw, sacred exposure. A place in my chest that had never been open before.

And in that time, I was drawn — almost called — to Medjugorje. I didn’t question it and I didn’t analyze it because deep in my heart I just knew I had to go. Looking back now, I understand it differently.

There is a place in the human heart that only opens through loss. And when it opens… something else can enter. Not to fix or replace it, but to be with you in it.

The Pietà and the Mystery of Holding

I remember writing once about the Pietà. And what has always amazed me is the mother. She doesn’t run. She is simply… there. Holding her son.

Like a womb holds a baby — not doing, not fixing, not rushing. Just holding the space while God puts the eyelashes and the fingers and the toes on. Nothing to do. Just hold.

For a long time after Jordy died, that was me. I couldn’t make sense of anything. I couldn’t change anything. All I could do was hold what I was holding.

And in her, I finally understood — that holding is its own kind of faith.

When Mercy and Grace Arrive Quietly

But today… something shifted.

Today, it didn’t feel like I was the one holding. It felt like I was being held.

By something so full of mercy… so filled with grace… that for a moment, I didn’t need to carry anything at all. Not the questions or the uncertainty. Not even the grief.

Just… rest.

What Divine Will Really Means

We speak of Divine Will as if it is something we must figure out. Locate. Get right. But I have lived a different understanding.

Not my will, Lord. Thy will be done — through me.

Like the flute in Krishna’s hands. Not trying to find the music. Simply… open and available, willing to be played.

It isn’t always easy. There are times of germination — like a seed deep in the soil of winter, growing in the dark and hasn’t broken through yet. When I cannot see what is forming. When nothing seems to be moving.

And in those times, I have learned not to force it.

I wait. I stay still. I don’t move until I get a yes in my soul.

That stillness is not resignation, it is trust at its deepest.

This is how I understand Divine Will — not as a destination to reach, but as a life to be lived from the inside out, guided by that still small voice.

A Prayer to Divine Mother Mary

Well…I don’t have a teaching here or a neat conclusion or even a way to wrap this up with something resolved.

Only this:

There is a mercy that meets us when we can no longer carry what we’ve been carrying.

There is a grace that enters — not when everything is resolved — but when we relax enough to receive it.

And there is a love… so quiet, so steady… that even in the midst of everything…. we are not alone.

Today, I felt that, so I picked up my pen and wrote to Divine Mother.

Beloved Mother Mary
I open my heart to you.
I pray for mercy and for grace.
Show me how to live in divine will
that I might fulfil God’s purpose for my life.
In love, praise and gratitude for absolutely everything.
Amen