“Let’s talk about Mary,” I said, sitting in the office of my former Director of Religious Education (DRE). While I discerned whether to convert to Catholicism, my husband and I met one-on-one with our parish DRE for a couple of months. I still had a few things to clear up before I was ready to be accepted into the Church.

Attending a Methodist church while growing up was a positive experience. I made friends in youth group, went on mission trips and sat beside my mom and sisters at church services. Through it all, I knew who Mary was: She was Jesus’ mom, and we talked about her every time we got ready for Christmas. She carried the Son of God in her womb, rode a donkey into Bethlehem and gave birth to baby Jesus in the manger.

However, the Catholic Church placed a higher emphasis on Jesus’ mother, and many of my Protestant friends and family insisted that Catholics prayed TO Mary, and that just wasn’t okay. But when I brought up the topic of Mary to my patient and wise DRE, she smiled knowingly. It turns out that Mary is at the very top of the FAQ list for those converting to Catholicism—and our DRE was ready for the conversation.

We talked about many things that day, and I left with reading materials and a challenge to pray and discern on everything from intercessory prayer and the Rosary to the Immaculate Conception. The more I sat with it, the more Mary came into focus. She was a vessel, yes, but she was—and is—so much more than that. She is a mother to us, a feminine presence in the divine world who wants to walk with us, to comfort us, to pray for us.

Fast forward three years. I was a full member of the Catholic Church, and my husband and I had a daughter. But, despite our deepest desires to have another child, we couldn’t conceive again. In frustration I threw myself into running and joined a friend in a 10k race, during which I was mostly in prayerful consideration of the future. Along the race path, my friend and I took a wrong turn and wandered away from the other runners. Lost in the quiet, hilly streets of a neighborhood as I prayed about motherhood, we passed a yard with a Mary statue—and in my Bible-belt hometown, that was an uncommon sight.

A distinct sense of peace melted through my body as the Mother of impossible pregnancies made herself known to me. And as my legs ached and lungs screamed, I knew that no matter what my future held, it would be okay. After all, Mary endured immense suffering as Jesus’ mother, and if anyone knew my pain, it was her. Mary, Undoer of Knots, became my go to intercessor, and the prayer seeking her intercession under that title became a balm to my heart.

I’ll never stop being grateful that the Catholic Church helped me to know her more intimately and to better understand Mary’s place in my spiritual life. I hope this issue dedicated to Mary and how she has worked in the lives of the faithful will be a balm to your soul as well.