Loved Like Mary: A Moment in the Garden at St. Dominic’s

This morning, I find myself sitting quietly in the garden at St. Dominic’s Home for the Aged in Houston, Texas. It’s a sacred little oasis—a place where time seems to slow just enough for the soul to catch its breath. The paths are lined with statues of Mary, her expression soft and maternal, and there are kneeling benches scattered among the flowers, inviting passersby to pause and pray. It’s a garden made for reflection—built for hearts seeking comfort, clarity, and connection with the divine.

As I sat on one of those benches with my Bible open and the soft rustle of leaves above me, I felt a tender whisper in my heart—one I believe came from the Lord Himself.

“I love you as much as I love My mother.”

The words stopped me.

They were too weighty to rush past, too beautiful to disregard. I sat in stillness, letting them wash over me, and found myself contemplating the mystery and mercy of such a love.

Mary—blessed, chosen, revered—was entrusted with the sacred role of bringing Jesus into the world. She was obedient, humble, and full of grace. And yet, she was also fully human. Not divine. Not a part of the Godhead. But a willing vessel.

It occurred to me: if God could use her humanity—her ordinary earthly existence—for such an extraordinary purpose, how much more might He desire to use mine now that I carry the Holy Spirit within me?

It’s a thought that might raise eyebrows in some circles, particularly among those who deeply venerate Mary, and I mean no disrespect. In fact, sitting among the statues and symbols honoring her here in the garden, I feel only peace. I understand why people pray to her—it’s not unlike talking to our own mothers. A gesture of affection, familiarity, and trust.

But the deeper revelation that settled in my soul today is this: Jesus doesn’t love me less than He loves Mary. He loves me just as much. And the plans He has for me—even in this later season of life—are not lesser than the plan He had for her. They are simply different. Still sacred. Still meaningful. Still full of eternal weight.

In the stillness of this garden, surrounded by symbols of Mary’s faithfulness and the echoes of prayers whispered through decades, I feel more aware than ever of how much I am seen, known, and loved by the Lord.

And if you’re reading this today, I hope you remember that too.

He loves you just as much as He loves her.

Let that truth sink deep.