Mediation on trauma

On my way home from another long day at work, I prayed the rosary, guided by an app. Sorrowful mysteries. Slow rain blurring my view of the road. I felt an inner movement to pray as a child would -- plainly and without reservation. It's my Father and Mother I'm talking to, they're all ears.

Scourging at the pillar. I imagined pieces of sharp metal tearing into Jesus' flesh. My brain cannot even comprehend this pain. Carrying of the cross. That's when the word hits me: trauma. Mama Mary experienced extreme trauma seeing her Son tortured, humiliated, stripped naked, spit at. She sees him bloody and dirty, wounded all over, stumbling, struggling to take another step, nailed to wood, taunted mercilessly. She sees him die.

In the natural, this trauma would destroy a human being forever. How did Mary deal with such painful and dark memories, the overwhelming sadness?

In the supernatural, God sustains and preserves. Something tells me she never lost reverence for Christ, peace of the Holy Spirit, trust in the Father's plan. The whole time that her world was in apparent shambles, her broken heart must have continued to love fiercely. Trauma, injustice and suffering could not undo her.

Together with her Son, she forgave all for all.

Then I thought about the other hardships she endured. She gave birth in a cave, in the cold, without her mom or a mid-wife attending to her. Then forced to abruptly flee their country, she and Joseph had to make ends meet as poor immigrants, isolated from their relatives and community. She was likely widowed by the time Jesus was 30. Some people may have gossiped about her. Some friendships didn't last. She got physically tired from doing house work and traveling long distances on donkey. Her hands were weathered. She didn't own fancy clothes or shoes. She had many lonely nights.

One would think the Mother of God (Author of the Universe, Creator of Everything, King of Kings) would have an easy and pleasant earthly life. And I have the gall to often act or react as if a problem-free life is owed me.

Mama Mary, please pray for me, a poor sinner. How easily I succumb to despair, how feeble my trust in God who has nothing but love for me. I long to be where you are. Help me to get home.