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When Bullied, I go silent

There really isn’t very much to say on this. But I think there may be many Americans – especially Catholic Americans – who feel like I do right about now.

Stop belittling me, political bulldogs.

I’m voting issues this year. I think I always have voted issues. I’d like to like the candidates more, but really, it has always been about the planks in the platform of a particular party.

Please stop telling me what I should read or think and how I should vote. Quit telling me that only an idiot would vote the way I plan to vote.

I have been bullied before. I respond one way. Like children who are bullied, I tend to go silent. Sure, I have an outburst now and then.

But mostly, I decide what I am going to do and keep to myself.img_8867

There is one kind of bullying, though, that opens my mouth rather than closing it. One kind of intimidation that gets me animated rather than retreating.

When my faith is under attack.


This year, more than any other year, faith is under attack. Politics and religion are in a battle. Freedom of Religion is threatened. Catholics are being belittled. Christianity is being silenced.


These are issues that really matter to me – because they go to the heart of religious liberty.

I would like to retreat – as I did in my first marriage when I was bullied, as I did in a particular workplace when I was bullied, as I did in a couple of false friendships/relationships over the years.

If you are 18 or over (voting age) then you have experienced it. You have been bullied. Almost nobody escapes being bullied at some time during those first 18 years.

Those who want to vote the issues and for them the conservative issues are the issues of greatest import… it is time to stand up.

You can bully me, but I won’t let you bully the unborn.

You can bully me, but I won’t let you bully the 2,000 year old Christian faith.img_6809

You can bully me, but I won’t let you scoff at the Little Sisters of the Poor.

You can bully me, but I won’t let you implement roadblocks for school choice for those who need it most.

You can bully me, but I won’t let you intimidate and mock and silence people of faith.

You can make it be about personalities and past mistakes.

I’m looking at the future, and you are a bully. You want to bully your way into a position to place men and women on the Supreme Court so that we will all be bullied.



The Soul of the Presidency

I have never particularly liked either candidate prior to his or her candidacy for the highest office in our country.

I’d say they both are sick. Soul sick.

I have wrestled with this election year and my own thinking process. I don’t want to vote. At. All.

I want to stay home. The whole thing is slimy and makes me feel like I’m voting for one person’s sordid past or another person’s sordid past.

I can’t discern this way.

So I have two things that I am toying with as I dread tonight’s debate:

  1. What if I think about this whole thing in another way. So they are both soul sick. I can’t discern anything based on that. Yes, I’m judging them, but their public lives give me plenty to go on, and a voter has to make a judgment call. It’s part of the whole unpleasant business. But what if I paused and thought about the soul of the candidate. Sure, the soul of our nation is at stake, but if that seems to be a bit of a toss-up, why not pause and think about the soul of the candidate.

Let’s say Hillary wins. Will her soul be improved by such a win? You may have a different answer than I do on that one. But I’m thinking… no. She has lived the life of public politics long enough to make an accurate guess. She isn’t likely to feel contrition or regret or remorse or a need for mercy, forgiveness or what have you. She does things, and she doubles down on those decisions, even when they are terrible decisions.

Let’s say Donald wins. Will his soul be improved by such a win? Again, you may have a different opinion than I do on that. But I’m thinking…maybe. He has lived his whole life as he sees fit, never having to worry about what the public would think of him if he ran for the highest office in the land. And this is a radical change for him. This campaign has put his life under a microscope in a way he has never experienced. And such immense changes like that force a person to take stock. Usually, there is shame where there never was shame before. Who of us would do well with suddenly having to give an accounting for things everyone knows about us from our past – when we have never had a reason to keep our mouth shut or our image pristine? When we only had to think about ourselves and our businesses?

It’s kind of like looking at both thieves on their crosses and wondering, which one do I choose?

Me, sitting in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, just feet from where Jesus was crucified between two thieves. One received thief mercy.

Me, sitting in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, just feet from where Jesus was crucified between two thieves. One thief received mercy.

And then, we realize, the one who does not double down on the past — that’s the one we choose. The one who changes. Who loses the arrogance. Who sees wrong choices. Who regrets past decisions.

This day, you will be with me in paradise.

I am wondering, and again, it is just speculation, but…

I am wondering if this has been good for Donald Trump’s soul. Whether he wins or loses, I think there is a chance it has been good for him.

Whether she wins or loses, I’m not so certain about Hillary Clinton.

So, if I’m considering my vote based on the soul of the president, I choose the good thief.


2. I vote pro-life. I have had a number of people tell me that I am foolish to think that Donald Trump will do anything for the unborn. And maybe they are correct.

But I know where Hillary stands on abortion. She is for abortion at every gestational stage.

So, I’ll take a maybe over that.

One candidate is a maybe and one is definitely not protecting the unborn. One party is a maybe and one is definitely not protecting the unborn.

Many of the posts I’m seeing on Facebook underestimate or dismiss the soul-searching involved in trying to come up with the candidate who will get my vote.

With regard to the life of the unborn, I’d take “maybe I’ll help” from a doctor rather than “nope, I won’t” from a doctor if I were thinking only about my unborn child.

There are other issues. But on this one, it’s clear.



What is a voter to do. Watch the debate. Keep praying. Keep thinking of creative ways to discern the most complicated election in recent history.

I’m also thinking this:

I don’t endorse the vile things Donald Trump said that objectify women.

But I believe in mercy and that people can and do change. I think his daughter has helped him with that – and being a grandfather helps. Encountering the American people, and especially the most conservative Americans probably helped, too.

I’m still very sad about this election, but think about who you were ten years ago or twenty or thirty. If you aren’t different, then that is the tragedy.

Hillary hasn’t changed.

Trump? Maybe.

Perhaps, if he seems more like the good thief than the bad thief, I will make my greatest act of mercy in this Year of Mercy.

If and when I vote for Donald Trump for President.


Diamond. Gone. Poof.

It is possible to be attached to good things.

It is also possible to find your place of detachment in the middle of that loss.

I’ve had the nightmare at least ten times in the last twenty years of my marriage. Literally, I have had the dream.

I look down at my left hand, and … it is gone. The diamond is missing.

In the dream, I realize that there is practically no way I will ever find something so small, something with img_0011no color, something that looks like a piece of glass.

Only it isn’t.

It is the symbol of my husband’s love and our commitment to one another.

But, a few days ago, as I sat in my writing chair, the place where I feel most at peace with God and the world (outside of church and Mass), I looked down at my left hand. And the diamond was gone.

I have turned the house upside down looking for that stone.

It is gone.

I have retraced my steps again and again. To no avail.

And I have accepted the fact that this is one time St. Anthony isn’t going to help me out. I guess I needed a lesson in attachments – even to the very best things.

So, I look at the picture of my husband holding my diamond-less wedding band. And I admit, I miss the diamond. The one my husband gave me early in August 1996.

I’m missing a number of things right now. Good things.

I just resigned a position as Director of Public Relations for Israel Ministry of Tourism where I was blessed to write a massive proposal on how we think as Catholics and why the Holy Land is important to us. I was able to interface with some of the biggest names in the Catholic Church in the United States. I was able to take some of them to the Holy Land and assume the duties of a Catholic liaison to IMOT.

Every day, I dressed up, left my apartment (second home), hopped on the bus, took it to the Loop in Chicago’s big business, skyscraper section and rode the elevator up to my office with a window.

Right now, I’m at home. In my bedroom. Laptop on my lap. Looking down at my left hand – with its missing ring.

Yes, I’m missing a few good things right now. I’m practicing some detachment.

I read a passage yesterday from a man who has a name that is one letter removed from my own last name.


Not Bossert.

What he wrote was a bit of hope. An explanation of sorts. A promise.

“When God desires a work to be wholly from His hand, he reduces all to impotence and nothingness, and then He acts.”

That does not mean that we get attached to a promise or a hope or a glimpse at what might be.

That’s too much of American heresy. It isn’t true detachment.

But, I can live without my precious diamond. The marriage is the thing.

I can live without my office in Chicago. The love for Catholic pilgrimage to the Holy Land is the thing.

I am due a lesson on detachment. I have been given so much. And none of it is mine. I’d be a fool to boast.

And yet, I suppose I have, in my own I’m-not-boasting-I’m-so-humbled-to-be-so-blessed-and-undeserving way of boasting.

So. I, Denise Bossert, am the band with the broken, empty prongs.

Waiting to be filled.

Or not.

And I can still say.

All will be well. All will be well. And all manner of things will be well.


Two Mule-Loads of Earth & tears in my teacup

This morning, I sat at my desk in the office. I’m still sitting here.

I began the day with a cup of tea, in that tacky way where the string hangs over the side of the cup because I know I can get two cups out of one bag, and I am too lazy to take the bag out between uses.

The desk is a mess. It has my husband’s things scattered all over it, which I understand. I just moved back home from Chicago, and my desk was fair game. The year-long contract position is done. I needed my family. They needed me. But mostly, I needed to halt the every-weekend-twelve-hour-round-trip commute from St. Louis to Chicago.

But I sat at my desk this morning, and my heart was heavy.

I miss it. I miss … what?

What is it that I miss?

I wasn’t sure, but I have felt it for a couple of days. Not quite myself. Still transitioning, I suppose.

My Missal is in a wooden crate on the top of my desk, so I reached into the box, picked up my Missal and read today’s readings. That’s a start. A step in figuring out what is wrong with me.

Then I picked up my copy of The St. Louis Review, my hometown archdiocesan newspaper. It has been a lifetime since I had the time to read this at my leisure.

I skimmed articles. Admired Lisa Johnston’s photography. Wished I had some of the “Reclaimed and Respected” sacred items they have retired from a decommissioned church in the Archdiocese of St. Louis. I love that stuff.

I fantasized about doing a show on EWTN with my friends Elizabeth Westhoff and Lisa Johnston. We would be like American Pickers, only we would go into the dusty corners of old churches and monasteries and uncover hidden treasures. They would explain each treasure to me, each pre-Vatican II gem. “See this, Denise, this was used for…” They would be the teachers, I the student. The convert. I have been Catholic since 2005, but I still feel the newness and beauty of discovery. The show would be a huge hit. We are all sentimental. We are all in love with the past. We all cling to Mother Church and want to know the stories of those years before we were born into the family.

I fell short of coveting the stained-glass windows in the pictures and staying too long in a dreamy world of EWTN programming called “Lost Catholic Gems Across America,”

And I landed on the Archbishop’s column. It was about St. Francis of Assisi. Feast day, October 4.

That’s today, I realized.

And my eyes filled with tears.

St. Francis, the saint who loved the Holy Land so dearly that even today, the Franciscans have custody of the Christian holy sites. They hold these gems in their hands and preserve them for you and for me. They say, “Come and see. Come and worship where it all began.”

The Custos.

I’m crying again as I write these words. I’m crying because the land still has my heart. It still calls to me. I need to go. I need to be there. And now, I don’t know how that will happen. But my feet must walk those dusty paths. I must see Magdala again. I felt Mary Magdalene when I was there. I must gaze at Mt. Arbel from a boat on the Sea of Galilee. I feel Jesus there.

I must walk the Stations of the Cross. In Jerusalem.

Last week, I visited the Cardinal Rigali Center. I took some time to pray in the chapel before a meeting. I noticed the Stations of the Cross. Station Number Seven was directly across from where I knelt.

I stood up, thinking of Jerusalem, and walked to the station. And then the next. And then another. It was out of order, but that is how it is for those in Jerusalem. The disks with the Roman numerals are here and there, and you come up on them in an out-of-order sort of way, and they seem to come to you in an out-of-context way as well.

Only the pilgrims who deliberately walk the Stations encounter them one-by-one.

And St. Francis was back in my head. And the article. And the brown robes and the Custos and the ache I feel that will not go away.

I simply cannot understand why a Catholic would go through life without following in the footsteps of St. Francis… let alone Jesus Christ.

We walk those footsteps spiritually, leaning on readings and artwork to take us there.

But the “there” is still there!

Now, I’m back to crying again, because that reality is so amazing, so incredibly awesome in the truest sense of that word, that I cannot believe I have resigned a position that literally paid me to go there every year.

Oh, yeah. Family. The long commute. The Archdiocese of St. Louis is home and Chicago never really was home.

But, Lord. I ache.

Enough of this article that reminds me of the Holy Land. I turn the page. There is a Mass Mob coming up on October 9. Another article about volleyball at St. Pius. More photos in the insert about reclaiming old Church treasures.

And then, an article by Bishop Hermann on next Sunday’s readings.

Naaman. I know this story. His wife’s servant girl is an Israelite. And when her mistress’ husband falls ill with leprosy, she begs her mistress to tell Naaman about a prophet in Israel who can heal him.

A little girl. A servant child. And yet, she remembered the old stories. The treasures of her home and the faith she was born into. The gems hidden back home. Reclaiming the sacred for others.

And Naaman listens to the child. He goes to Israel and finds Elisha. When Elisha tells him to bathe in the Jordan River, he scoffs at that. What is that river to him? His homeland has far greater bodies of water. The Jordan seems to be nothing. A stream that flows from the Sea of Galilee and into the Dead Sea.

Naaman almost leaves in disgust without so much as dipping his foot in the water.

But his traveling companion urges him… “Master, you have come this far…”

And, of course, Naaman is healed of the leprosy when he bathes in the Jordan River.

When Elisha refuses his gifts, Naaman asks for a gift in return. What is it?

Oh, Sweet Jesus, I am crying again.

He asks for two mule-loads of earth.

Of Holy Land.



I’m home today, in a messy, messy office. On my desk is a miniature Pieta. On the wall, a sketch of the Visitation. On the shelves, two statues of the flight to Egypt from Bethlehem. A shofar. A miniature Ark of the Covenant that holds my Rosary. A statue of St. Jude. My father’s Jerusalem Bible. —- All of it, my two mule-loads of earth from the Holy Land.

I’m going back. Lord willing, I will go back.

Blessed Feast of St. Francis of Assisi.


Where Do You See Yourself In Five Years

Recently, I interviewed for a new position. Most people dread interviews; I love them.

My favorite question is: “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

It is an oldie but a goody. How would you answer that question?

I have never answered it the way I did a few days ago. I paused, just for a second or two, and thought about it. The answer came to me more strongly than if I my mind had practiced the answer over and over. It wasn’t a case of my mind searching for a good sound bite. It wasn’t about where I would be working. It wasn’t about what title I would have. It had nothing to do with where I would be living or what kind of clothes I would be putting on each morning. It had nothing to do with what hairstyle I would have, how much I would weigh then, or if I would be driving to work or putting on my slippers and sitting at my computer most days.

It wouldn’t matter if my commute required a plane, train or automobile.

Only one answer fits, and the older I get, the more that answer rings true. It is unshakable truth. If I deny this reality or deviate from this path, I will not be happy.

I will not be me.

It is who I was created to be.

I know this. There is no way I will not be sharing the good news of Our Lord Jesus Christ. It is what I was born to do. Whether here – I don’t know. On that, I don’t know the mind of Christ. But I will share Christ and His Church.

I haven’t heard back about the interview.

It went well, but I trust in Divine Providence. He really does order all things for the good of those who serve Him. I serve Him, and so does each person who applied and interviewed  for the position. For one of us, sharing Christ matches perfectly with the job description. For the rest of us, only God knows – and I mean that truly. It is no cliche.

So, while I wonder what I will be doing in the years to come, I don’t wonder all that much.

The last time we were in the Liturgical C-cycle of the Missal, we had the same reading on Sunday. The passage from Sacred Scripture is a comfort to me. I have had the verse taped to my bathroom mirror for three years.

The page from the Magnifcat is worn and torn.

My confidence in the verse is stronger than it was three years ago, or eleven years ago when I came into the Church, or 40+ years ago when I asked Jesus Christ to be the Lord of my life.

I know who I am.

I am called.

You have been called, too.

Come, let us share this One with the world, for nothing else matters. It is what we were born to do. Let the truth of it be enough.

The Root and the Shoot

I have had an amazing year.

Like Dorothy to the Scarecrow, my heart is telling me I will miss one thing the most now that I have returned to my St. Louis home and left my Chicago apartment.


Her name means Pearl in Hebrew. And a pearl she is.

It was worth purchasing the entire field, that season of life that lasted from November 2015 to last week–just to possess this great pearl.

Do you know what it is like to talk with a Jewish woman who knows her faith about Chanukuh or Shavuot or Pesach?

When you both realize that Shabbat features Challah bread, with leavening, but Pesach (Passover) only has the unleavened bread, like the Eucharist…you realize something.

When you both realize that there is an exquisite Hebrew poem that talks about the Queen of the Sabbath and you realize that Saturday is known as Mary’s day…you realize something.

When you both begin to wipe away tears because you realize that holiness means something very much the same to each of you, and that the Ten Commandments are the bedrock for both of you, and that you have far more in common than what you do not have in common…

When you realize that you love the same land.

When you discover that Ruth and Naomi are favorites to you both.

When you realize that she prays for the deceased Jewish man or woman and invokes Sarah when the name of the deceased person’s mother is not known, and you realize that you ask for the intercession of Mary, the New Eve. When you realize that she asks for the intercessions of Eva for all others.

When you find out that you are both praying for the Messiah to come–and it is a daily prayer.

When you see the similarity in the Mezuzah and the Holy Water Font, the Mikvah and the Baptismal Font, the days of feasting and fasting.

When she asks if Christians think that Jews are irrelevant now that their Messiah has come and you realize that she just needs to know that nothing could be further from the truth, that the Old Covenant with the LORD remains because God does not revoke His promises, that the New Covenant with Christ means that the Light of the Nations really has gone out into the nations and that you are a beneficiary of that holy nation.

When you choke on your deeply-felt emotions as you say in a husky voice, it is as though you are my matriarch and I am your offspring, even though you are old enough to be her mother.

When you realize that Judaism doesn’t see itself as going out to convert the world even though it is promised to be a Light to the Nations–and you see that paradox clearly yet fully fulfilled in Christ, because we are called out to share the Gospel. It is a mandate. A calling. A supreme duty.

When you talk about the minutiae of both religions and realize that it really is the Root and the Shoot, that she is part of the root, and you are a branch of the Shoot…

That is when you realize that ECUMENISM is the most exciting thing you have encountered in a very long time. It is not dry. It is not dead. It is not hopeless or wrought with angst.

It. Is. Beautiful.

When she pauses one day in Advent to ask how you can believe in the Ten Commandments and yet not believe in One God, and you say that you definitely believe only in One God, and her face is full of questions and doubts. When you say that you believe in God the Father, and she nods in agreement. When you say that you believe in His Spirit, and she nods in agreement. You pause and think, I am 2/3 the way through the difficult teaching on the Trinity. When you say that you believe God became a Man because the whole world needed to be redeemed, and she says, but God did not become a man, and you say:

“He didn’t–

Until He did.”

And in that moment you realize that you have never been asked to defend the Incarnation, but what just came out of your mouth is true.


That the Incarnation was unthinkable.

It was impossible.

It was not even in the realm of the imagineable.

And then, God did the unthinkable, impossible, and unimaginable.

So that the holy nation that was once a tribe and before that a family and before that a married, childless couple might become a Light to the Nations–

So that you, too, might be grafted in.

I am Ruth.

She is Naomi.

And I highly doubt that we will ever be the same…though I am old enough to be her mother.

May Catholic BY Grace Column

It is the Marriage at Cana all over again. It really is.

Everyone is celebrating. The crowds are excited and hopeful. And behind the scenes, the apostles are dealing with a crisis.

The Blessed Mother sees both: the celebration and the building crisis. And she intervenes.

Right now, we are gearing up for a celebration. In September, the Church will come together to celebrate the gift of the Sacrament of Marriage and the beauty of the domestic church (the family).  And it should be a time of celebration. A time of hope. A time of gratitude and praise for the gifts we have in marriage and family.

The event is bookended by the Synods on the Family, where the apostles gather together. A crisis threatens marriage, and the Blessed Mother steps into their midst. “My Son, they have no wine.” She seems to be saying it again.

The fundamental building block of our society is crumbling, and the whole thing is about to collapse. It will all come to a screeching halt—this celebration of marriage and family—if something doesn’t happen.

What does it mean to run out of wine today? We see it in the proliferation of pornography, the commonplace use of artificial contraception, the growing number of babies conceived through in vitro fertilization—a process that claims the lives of five-to-ten embryos with every cycle of IVF.

The wine runs out as we see our young people sexualized at earlier and earlier ages, as young women are objectified, as the unborn are sacrificed on the altar of our agendas, our pre-conceived plans, our ideas about the future.

The wine runs out when couples stop working at marriage, stop dating each other, stop putting faith and family at the top of the list.

The wine runs out when men and women stop advocating for marriage and new life, when those advocating for marriage are advocating a completely different reality than the Church has ever held.

The wine runs out when society tells the Church what a Sacrament should be, which lives to protect, when a marriage is over.

My Son, they have no wine.

And yet, the celebration goes on—as it should because marriage and family are worth celebrating. No need to throw our hands into the air and give up. Our Lady has proven that she cares about marriage, and she even cares about the celebrations that surround it.

She intercedes, and her Son acts.

We are living in the moment between celebration and disaster. The bishops see how fragile the family is in modern culture. They have heard Our Lady speak. They have been given the directive to do whatever He says.

It is an odd place to be, standing here, seeing it all. The celebration coming in September, so like the Wedding at Cana.

The Synods on the Family, so like the moment when Our Lady speaks and our Lord acts.

Celebration and crisis.

The water & wine of grace. And the reality of outside forces.

This could be our finest hour. This could be the beginning of a world-wide ministry to the family. It began at the Wedding of Cana. Our Lord’s public ministry. The miraculous intervention. The pairing of the Sacred Heart and the Immaculate Heart.

In my darker moments, I see only the approaching crisis. People building hasty marriages. Efforts to redefine marriage. Decisions to discard marriages like they were last year’s fashion statement.

The domestic church is in trouble and the answers won’t be easy. The answers may even require something miraculous.

But we have been here before.

It’s time to rise up. Some things are worth protecting, defining, defending, and salvaging. And once again, water can turn into wine. The celebration will continue.

And the Church will lead the way because she has received the mandate: do whatever He tells you.

Let the Church be the Church.

Pray for the apostles.

And expect a miracle.


Pew Research That Changes Things

I am sitting here. On a pew. In the adoration chapel.

I just genuflected and prayed a few minutes before the Blessed Sacrament.

My mind played with thoughts, and I brought them back around to prayer, as I so often do during this hour.

And my mind went briefly to that Pew Research Center doomsday summary.

How it’s all declining.

Whatever will happen to organized religion?

Will we all descend into a spiritually blind pit and muddle around until the Lord returns again?

Is the best behind is? The best art? The best music? The best stories of conversion and redemption and miraculous intervention?

And then I looked up and saw Mary.

I thought about her simple humility and her confidence.

Unshakable confidence.

And I thought, what would she do with the whole Pew Research Doomsday thing?

I’m only guessing, but I think she would smile. Tell me to get off my rear and stop wrestling with random thoughts and put the knees on the kneeler for a while.

Don’t just sit and ponder the empty pew.

She’d say something like that.

And maybe she’d smile and add:

My Immaculate Heart will triumph.

My Son has this. He really does.

Walking With Mary To Ein Kerem

Every once in a while, something comes to me, and I just go with it.

Every once in a while, the thought grows into something so much bigger and more amazing than I ever expected.

That is how I would describe Walking With Mary to Ein Kerem.

I didn’t need to pack my bags. I didn’t need a passport. Sometimes, all I needed was the long lane that connects my home with the main road or a treadmill or an elliptical machine at my daughter’s home in Minneapolis.

This journey is a prayer-journey.

This pilgrimage is one we make with the Blessed Mother.

We wake up one morning and decide—with almost the same spontaneity of Mary—that we are going to travel 80 miles in the footsteps of Our Lady.

Eighty miles. That is the distance between Nazareth and Ein Kerem (also spelled Ein Karem), where Elizabeth and Zechariah lived.

Yes, Our Blessed Mother made that 80 mile journey alone, on her own two feet, with the Messiah taking on flesh within her. She journeyed through Galilee, Samaria, the Jordan River Valley, and finally through the hills of Judea.

She crossed the threshold of Elizabeth’s home … and the Magnifcat welled up in her spirit and spilled forth from her lips.

DSC_0689 (2)

I made this virtual pilgrimage of prayer with Mary during Lent 2015. In May, I presented the idea to a few friends. It became a Facebook event and almost 400 people joined the journey.

We are sharing our thoughts. The songs that are going through our minds. The things we are seeing. The deliberateness of each step. How good it feels to be moving—and not just moving again, but walking with Mary.

We share about the days we can’t walk, and others comment back: I walked more today than I need to walk, and you can have those miles.

Yes, we are carrying one another on this journey. We are sharing the miles with each other.

But mostly, we are sharing the miles with Mary.

This is no mental game.

This is not a gimmick to get back in shape.

Amazing things are happening in the souls of those who say yes to this journey.

We think of things we have never thought of before. We put on the mind of the Blessed Mother!

It’s not too late. This journey can begin today. It can take as many days as you want to give it.

Here are a couple of things to help you on your journey.

First, a journey tracker. You can fill in the miles as you travel. It is a spreadsheet, and it is ready for you to personalize it any way you want.

Walking With Mary to Ein Kerem

Second, a link to the Facebook Event.

Read the comments. Scan the posts. See the pictures of scenes Mary would have seen.

And enter the journey!

Book Cover Artwork from AMP Gifts of the Visitation

An Ave Maria Press book


Track your journey to the Visitation this May

May Walking With Mary


Click on the link to access the chart. Journey to Elizabeth’s home with the Blessed Mother–and share Christ!