Mary, the Storyteller

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When I was leaving the Church when I was a teenager, I remember scoffing at the infancy narratives of Jesus and saying, “These are totally made up. Clearly. How does anyone even know that an angel came to her (Mary) and said anything? There wasn’t anyone there to see it.”
It wasn’t until I was in my thirties, I’m embarrassed to say, that I listened to the Gospel of Luke’s “Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart” that I heard the implied next part “and then she told them all to us.”
For all that my mother had tried to raise me to be an independent woman, it hadn’t occurred to me that the teller of the tales was the woman who had been there

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I’m the 40-something-ish wife of my beloved Computer Guy. I’m the adoring and incredibly proud mom of nine children…two saints…seven in training. I’m my brothers’ sister and my parents’ daughter. I’m a devout Catholic, an avid political junkie, able debater, aspiring home-maker, amazing friend, and I make the meanest Chicken Fried Steak you’ll ever have the pleasure of eating. I’m a homeschooling guru, a writing addict, a sometimes public-speaker, and an advocate for staying true to the person God created you to be. I can’t live in a house with white walls, sing Billy Joel songs while I wash the dishes, will read anything you put in my hands, and am completely obsessed with rhinestones and cute shoes. I am just like moms the whole world over, and then some.

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