The year my youngest daughter was born, I lost control.
Perceived control, that is. Up until then, I thought that I had things figured out: career, marriage, a couple of kids with another on the way, house with a yard, Catholic school, and parish within walking distance. I was checking the boxes.
And then God blessed us with Marjorie.
Marjorie: the surprise in so many ways. A “rainbow baby,” as some call the child who comes after a miscarriage. So desired and so loved well before she was born. On a gorgeous September night after an uneventful pregnancy, an unexpected redhead came crashing into our arms and hearts. Shortly thereafter, we were home, ready to nestle into the love and routine of a household with three young children. Except the Lord, in his glorious wisdom and mercy, said to us, “I have plans for you.”
And, oh man, did he.
During the course of the next two months, we were to learn that our beloved daughter had Down Syndrome and a commonly associated irregularity—a congenital heart defect, serious enough to require open-heart surgery within a few months. On top of this, at four months of age, she developed RSV and was sent to the cardiac intensive care unit at our local children’s hospital, where she would ultimately stay until the surgery.
Looking back, the Lord, in all his amazing goodness, had been preparing me in a few particular ways, with me barely noticing. While pregnant with Marjorie and at the invitation of a good friend, I’d begun going to Eucharistic adoration while we swapped watching our toddlers. This regular date with Jesus appreciably strengthened my relationship with the Lord and helped me to get to know him better. I’d started doing lectio divina, the practice of doing a reading—in my case, the daily Mass readings—meditating on what jumped out at me, and conversing with the Lord about it through journal writing. I found myself frequently praying before the Blessed Sacrament, “Lord, make me your hands.”
Secondly, I had begun attending daily Mass after preschool drop-off, usually with one or two toddlers in tow. The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that like food is for the body, so is the Eucharist for our spiritual life (see no. 1392). Communion preserves, increases, and renews the grace we received at Baptism. We need the nourishment of Eucharistic Communion as “bread for our pilgrimage until the moment of death.”
Bread for the pilgrimage of life. Jesus had been fortifying me through the gift of himself while leading me up to a monumentally transitional point in my life. He had been filling me with grace. But the Holy Spirit draws us to freely cooperate with him. I had to learn to surrender, to choose to accept that which I did not choose. I had to decide to give up control. What control did I possess, really? The control of anger? Helplessness? Worry? Discouragement? It was that—or have faith.
So, I did it; I surrendered. I continue to work on doing it every day.
Nightly, I prayed the Surrender novena: “Lord, I surrender it all to you; take care of everything.” At the hospital, I said the Rosary daily. I went to Mass. At some point, Marjorie’s cardiologist told us her surgery had failed, and he asked us if we wanted to wait and see how she would do down the line. Or did we want to try for a riskier, second open-heart surgery at another hospital in another state? I had to give it all to the Lord. I, a little suburban girl, teacher, mother, and lover of travel and books and dancing, was not the least bit qualified to make this grand medical decision. So, we talked to the surgeons, we weighed our options, we prayed, we made a decision, and I let go. I trusted.
Like Mary. When the angel came to her and told her she was going to be the Theotokos, the God-bearer, she didn’t have all the answers. She didn’t know how it was all going to unfold. She asked, “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?” (Lk 1:34). But, she unconditionally trusted. She had complete faith.
“May it be done to me according to your word” (Lk 1:38).
Her fiat, her “yes” to doing God’s will, was and is my inspiration. While far from the perfection of Mary, I can strive to be like our beautiful Mother when I receive the Eucharist, Christ’s Body and Blood. Mary unquestionably is the ideal mother, abandoned and docile to God’s will. But I can strive to be like her when I say yes to that which I didn’t ask for and to do it with love and joy. I can be sustained in my faith, in my life’s journey, through the nourishment of the Eucharist, the bread for the journey. I can carry Jesus in me, just like she did. “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him” (Jn 6:56).
What an incredible trade for control.
Katherine Somok is a mother of five, teacher, and co-founder of the St. Margaret of Castello Alliance for Catholic Inclusion at St. Jerome Academy, a group formed to advocate for children with special needs in Catholic schools by providing necessary support to administrators, teachers, and parents. For more information about how to start a chapter at your Catholic school, check out www.stmargaretsja.com.
