Spiritual Director reflecting on motherhood, release, and the holy work of letting go.
By Katie Rea — spiritual director, writer, and companion for those listening deeply to life as it is.
Jesus should be the protagonist of his own gospel stories. I get that. Still, I often wonder: What would his mother say?
I would have loved to see more of Mary’s point of view. Jesus grows up, steps into his ministry, and the narrative shifts away from her. As my youngest is preparing to leave for college in a few months, I find myself longing for Mary’s voice. I’d love some advice.
I remember taking my eldest home from the hospital after fifteen days in the NICU. When the nurse handed him to me— “Here you go”—I stared at this tiny, squirming baby and thought, “That’s it!? No instructions. No roadmap. Just a fragile life in my hands. What if he needed something I couldn’t figure out? How would I know what to do?
Now Ben is turning twenty‑one. He has a full‑time job and his own home. Somehow, we made it through those early years of fear and improvisation.
But Mary, how much more pressure did she carry raising the Son of God? Her husband knew her truth, but not many others. Did she feel frightened and overwhelmed? Did she lie awake wondering if she was enough? Then Joseph disappears from the narrative, and Jesus becomes a man.
And then he begins his ministry.
Mary becomes the mother who must release her son to do what he was born to do. It was bigger and harder than anything she could protect him from. She could pray. She could watch. She could help when he needed her. But she could not shield him from the cost of his calling.
Division followed Jesus everywhere. Some loved him. Some hated him. Blind men could see. The lame could walk. Power flowed out of him constantly. I imagine she was proud. I imagine she was afraid. Her son was drawing the attention of powerful people, and not all of them were kind.
I feel that same ache when my children are mistreated or misunderstood. When life is unfair. When they cry, or hurt, or face medical problems. When they’re struggling to find a solution, and I can’t fix it for them. All four of our kids are adults now, and I still wonder: Did we do enough? Did we prepare them for the world they’re stepping into?
My husband and I will be empty nesters. And I keep circling back to the same question:
What would Mary say?
Maybe she’d say: Pray. Watch. Help when they need you. And trust God with the rest.
Because that’s the quiet truth. We are always watching those we love to walk toward a future we cannot control or protect them from. We guide, we bless, we release. And then we stand at the edge of their unfolding lives, holding hope as a guiding light.
Mother’s Day isn’t just about celebrating what mothers have done. It’s about honoring the holy work of letting go, again and again. Mary shows us that the act of releasing is not a failure of love, but an act of faith. She reminds us that God meets those dearest to us where we cannot go.
Reflection questions:
Where do you sense God inviting you to pray, watch, or help, and where to step back?
How have you seen God’s grace fill the gaps you worried about?
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