Chica Fuerte

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me as you have said.”
Luke 1:38

Mary was one brave mother. Arguably one of history’s most courageous heroines. I can’t imagine my own magnitude of fear at trying to convince my parents I was still their good, sweet, virginal daughter, despite my quickly growing belly; earnestly trying to explain in the face of my dad’s arched eyebrow that I was the selected host for the immaculate conception of the world’s coming Savior.

Even if the angels had forewarned me of the events that would transpire as they did Mary, I suspect the first time I saw those two blue lines appear on the E.P.T. dipstick, my heart would arrest in anticipation of the truckload of vapors that would be required to restore my mother’s consciousness after hearing the news.

But Mary told God to bring it on.

I wish I had that kind of faith.

I was watching a sitcom a few weeks ago in which one of the characters was attempting to corner his girlfriend into agreeing with him, manipulatively boxing her in by asking, “You do want me to be happy, don’t you?” Her coy response was, “Sure...as long as it doesn’t affect me negatively in any way.” To some extent, this describes my current relationship with God’s will: "God, not my will, but your will...as long as it doesn't affect me negatively in any way..."

Blech.