C.S. Lewis wrote about being “met” by his late wife. Not in a ghostly way, but those serendipitous moments when answers appear that only could have come from her.
I’ve become more open to these meetings, but I call it listening and I’ve stopped worrying about whether it’s God, a heavenly Mary, the Mary that’s left in my mind, or a mix of all or none.
This week, with low spirit and weak energy, I let my children roam the neighborhood at greater intervals. There were some mothers with names remarkably close to “Mary” who showed radical hospitality to my sons. My first reaction, and a lingering one, was shame in not doing the job I was called to do. But I think that the boys have found little meetings on their own. And I believe I got some answers to my loneliness and fear of not being able to provide a rich life for my sons.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason