The whole arc, from carrying the Son of God and feeling him kick along her ribs to losing a teenager on a family pilgrimage to witnessing the final pilgrimage, bloody and beaten to the cross.
It was all in that yes. All of the weight in those first words of trust and acceptance. When she gave herself fully over to love, to the love of God for humanity, she held nothing back from it.
That's what love is. Holding nothing back. Not stopping to cover and hide the vulnerable parts of your heart.
In 2011, we were called to our own fiat. Early in our placement with Sweet Baby, someone asked me how we were guarding our hearts for the possibility she might leave.
She said it with true concern for our hearts, but I could only think to say, "we're not." And we didn't, because that was our fiat. To dive into the deep end and trust that we wouldn't drown.
Because we couldn't give her any less than all. Through the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the sensory processing disorder. All of it took all of us.
After two and a half years, we were one hearing away from termination of parental rights....and then everything flipped. They found her father and we were suddenly in the process of separating our lives from hers.
Watching her cry for us as she went away. Calling her a new name. Hearing her stop calling me Mom. And finally, being cut off from her completely.
And then our heads went under the water, even as grace reached down to pull us through. We knew that's what our fiat could mean, but we didn't fully know the depth and breadth of it until we lived it. Until we walked our own road to Calvary.
I didn't guard my heart, and it was destroyed. That heart was shattered, but in its place, grace grew a new one.
Today, I think about the hardness of our story, and I think about the hardness of Mary's story, and I hope they both tell you the same story.
The fiat is your whole self, it can be crushing, but ultimately, finally, it's the greatest story of my life. And infinitely forever worth every tear. She was worthy of every tear.