The One Who Can

As Catholics, we’re well advised not to put *too* much stock in dreams. They can be easily influenced by imagination yet; there are several accounts of God reaching out to his people through dreams in the Bible (like that of Saint Joseph). Not all dreams are prophetic but this one has stuck with me and really personifies my journey through Motherhood, and to Mary.

Let me take you into my dream cloud for a spell:

“Where am I?” I wonder, “It’s hot! Why is it so hot?” All I can hear is the muffled sound of waves crashing. I’m walking down the street of an unfamiliar seaside neighborhood road. I squint my eyes, doing my best to look at the houses surrounding me in hopes of recognizing one. A mysterious fog mixed in the sea-sprayed air, too thick to make out details. 

Suddenly my attention is ripped from the somehow odd houses. I jump as a sharp pain underfoot catches me off guard. It’s a pebble in the road. As I look down for the first time, I realize that I’m naked. Horrified, I cover myself the best I can, crouching down with wrapped arms and sprawled hands across my flesh. My eyes shoot up at the sound of maniacal laughter. Cruel hollers and antagonizing whistles come at me from every direction.

Abruptly, the fog lifts and the sun begins to beam, even hotter than before. The light and heat suck the humidity from the air. Out from under the fog, I can finally see. My gaze meets that of a man in his yard, paused mid-chore to chortle at my expense. I look in the opposite direction to see a grimacing woman standing nearby. All around her, blocks of strange houses and snickering people leer at me as far as the eye can see. 

Somehow, I know the beach is close, so I try to run but, my legs feel like they’re in quicksand. I drag along but just keep running. My lungs burn, my tears wick off of my face in the wind and dry on the heat of my cheeks. My shoeless feet hurt so badly, but I have no option but to keep moving. Then I see it: the blue of the sea! Relief washes over me and nearly knocks me over. I know if I can make it there, I can hide my trembling body in the water.

Finally, a grateful foot hits the cushion of sand. At the beach the sun shines off of the waves like a million diamonds in the ocean. I run into the water, splashing wildly around me, dropping to my knees to hide myself faster. As I do I cry into my hands. Looking up, I see a lady, mysteriously appeared on the shore. Beautiful to behold, she sparkles, much like the sea, and smiles at me with arms outstretched. She extends her hand, offering me a garment. On the other arm, a baby is bundled, lovingly crooked in her elbow. Without words, her tender expression moves me to trust. I reach out to grab the covering, wrapping it around myself with haste. I cry now even harder than before, this time with grateful tears.

The lady’s smile beckons me as I come nearer still. She leans in to reveal the glowing face of the bundle—the most perfect baby. I gasp, mesmerized as she starts to hand me the baby. Then, I woke up!

I will praise the Lord, who counsels me;
    even at night my heart instructs me.

Psalm 16:7

My first experience with motherhood was like the first part of my dream: ashamed, alone, exposed and misunderstood. I remember the first night home with my baby girl. I was eighteen years old, depressed and exhausted. I sat up all night in a rocking chair painfully breastfeeding my daughter. Each time I tried to place her gently in her bassinet she would wriggle, cry and wail in that lamb-like way that newborns do. I was staying at my mother’s house for a week or two while I settled into this new phase, but refused to ask for help. No, this was my baby. My responsibility. No matter how tired or sad I was, I was determined to take care of her myself. 

It’s nineteen years later now and I find myself in a different dream: a life I could only hope for back then. A wife of ten years to the love of my life and a mom to not only that baby girl, now a beautiful young lady, but three other amazing children as well. In this later chapter of motherhood, I am not raw and exposed but always wrapped in the love of Jesus and the mantle of His Holy Mother Mary. Each time I become a mother to a new precious soul, the pain of my past comes back to haunt me. As soon as those two little lines appear, feelings of inadequacy and doubt come to call. 

But now, like the second part of my dream, I’ve received the gift of Christ. I no longer run the race alone or refuse to ask for help. In difficult moments I abandon myself and seek supernatural aid. I ask for intercession through the Holy Rosary and beg pardon of my King through the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. I remember how Jesus has redeemed my life and my story in ways I never could!

I know full well that on my own, I’m unable, but in my weakness, God is strong. Our Lord has taught me so much through my own failure and the perfect examples of He and His Mother. No matter how much I grow along life’s path, no matter how much virtue I pursue or obtain, perfection will evade me this side of Heaven.

I may never be able to give my children everything that they deserve– because they deserve it all– but I can point them to the One who can.

Motherhood is transformative. It sanctifies us. It stretches us beyond our means, forcing us to grow. We take on so much to meet the needs of those we love but we were never meant to do it alone. The truth is we don’t have to! We have a built-in village of Heavenly helpers. A cloud of witnesses, saints, angels and believers there to cheer us on. What a priceless gift.

I pray the knowledge that we’re led, held and aided by a Sovereign God will lighten your burden, too and give you the freedom to keep on dreaming.

♡ Cait