#magdalene devotee

A few years ago I heard about the book "Mary Magdalene Revealed", and told myself I would get around to it.

Kind of / sort of around the same time, I had what I feel was a supernatural experience. I was very tired, having worked the breakfast shift at McDonald's, a long week at university, and had barely anything to eat. I was driving to my (at the time) boyfriend's house. I don't remember much of anything, until I heard a very clear voice in my head -

"You are falling asleep. You need to wake up. You need to wake up now."

I opened my eyes and my car was heading towards a line of trees on the side of the road. I was so freaked out I kept my eyes wide open for the rest of the drive. I rewinded the song I had been playing back to the start, and listened to hear if the voice had somehow come from the song. I knew it couldn't have. I listened anyway.

The voice was clear, firm, but caring. It wasn't the voice I was afraid of, but the clarity with which I'd heard it. Not in my ears, and not in my mind, but all around me. Very loud, and extremely clearly. A woman's voice - not my own. More mature, authoritative.

I now believe that voice was Mary, mother of god, or an angel protecting me.

Fast forward years later, my grandmother was sick. She had been in hospital for a while, when I got a text from my mother.

"They think she has a mass. Bowel cancer. 6 months to live. Biopsy to confirm."

I was sick with sadness, fear, anxiety - every cell in my body was pleading.

Later that day, I began crying my eyes out in the shower. I started to beg the universe, please someone do something. An overwhelming urge came, the only thing that felt like it would help. The urge to say the Hail Mary.

My Grandmother had always been very devoted to the Virgin Mary. I only remembered this later.

I hadn't prayed since I was a child, and even then I only remember one time where I prayed with any real conviction. Still, I was consumed by the urge. Through my tears, I prayed the Hail Mary over and over again until I didn't know where one prayer ended and the next began. I spoke directly to Mary, asked her to please help, to ask her son for help, for more time - for anything. If the biopsy was clear, I would be a believer. I swore it. I prayed until it felt like I could stop. I felt lighter through my whole body.

I read The Gospel Of Mary Magdalene by Meggan Watterson, then the translated Gospel of Mary Magdalene, then bits and pieces from A New New Testament by Hal Taussig, and Thunder: Perfect Mind. I found so much comfort, and like I had discovered what I always needed but couldn't find until that moment.

I received the call from my mother about a month later, I think. The biopsy was wrong. The mass they were sure was cancer was gone. I thought these kinds of stories were always lies, always myths to further Rome's agenda. But it happened to me. It was real. On my drive to my grandmother's after work, the earth seemed to sing to me. Bright sun on a wintry day. I cried on the phone to my mother. I thanked Mary the whole way. I thanked Jesus. I bought a small statue of the Virgin Mary, which my grandmother keeps beside her bed. I bought a small statue of Jesus, which is above mine. She is in excellent health at almost 91 years of age.

I recall now, in telling this story, the first time my prayer had been answered. I was very young, no more than 8 but almost certainly less than that. After school almost every day, my brother and I went to child care. I did not know then, but I know now, that the people running this place were bullies and borderline abusive. They would force me to walk up and down the hallway to keep me from going to sleep. They would keep my brother strapped in a highchair. They would hit, they would make rude jokes or comments, they would make fun of us.

I prayed one night, out of the very same window that I write this beside, that we could be taken away from that place and never go back. This was so long ago that I don't remember exactly when, but not long after - my mother asked us outright if we enjoyed going there. When my brother and I answered in unison that we did not, my mother told us we would have our last day there.

And so, since these events have taken place, faith has been a firm fixture in my life. My life doesn't look so different on the outside to before I found Mary Magdalene, The Holy Mother, Jesus, and God - but the inside of me certainly does.

I believe that love is what sets us free. I believe in caring, kindness, compassion - but above all, love. This is what I have learned from my readings of the bible. This is what I know from The Gospel of Mary Magdalene. I hope to learn more. I hope to know as much as possible.