Our ship docked early in the morning at the port of Kusadasi, Turkey. What a chilly, rainy day it was but the inclemency could not dampen the quiet joyful spirit within us as we made our way off the cruise ship.

My colleague and I had decided to take the bus to Ephesus, the ancient city, in order to save a little money AND enjoy public transportation. But once we got on the land we changed out mind. It was much harder than other cities as the bus only took TRY (Turkish currency) and we were also uncertain if we would be able to get a taxi from the ancient city of Ephesus to the House of Mary, then back to the ship. 

We met a very nice man who owned one of the taxi driving companies, ‘Call me Jeff he said with a big smile,’ knowing it was an odd name for a Turkish man to have. It was a nickname that came about in a funny way, but then stuck all his life and he seemed to like it. It set him apart for sure.

He offered us a reduced rate which worked out to just 50 euros each for the entire day of driving. Given all the uncertainties and the overcast skies we decided to accept.

Jeff was kind, honest and he knew his town. He chose to take us to the House of Mary first and I am so glad he did. We had thought to put it at the end of the day since the ancient city of Ephesus was so big and we didn’t want to have to rush through it. But if we had kept our plan, we would have been deprived of the length of time Mary wanted us to be with her. 

Upon parking Jeff let us know he would be waiting and we should take our time, as much time as we wanted. So we made our way to the ticket booth. 

A solemnity came upon me as we passed through the gate, we were here. We were finally here. I had looked forward to this moment for months. While visiting this spot was never on my bucket list, being close to Mary and her history (in any way) was one of the reasons I said yes to this trip. There is a bit of dispute as to whether this is/was her house but the details mattered very little to me. Her energy was here because of the cult belief of it being her home. And the writings of Catherine Emmerich (a German mystic who wrote of this home while confined to her bed,) described the place with undeniable accuracy, down to sketching a floor plan that matches the small dwelling. 

My friend mused a little here and there but it was very difficult for me to engage conversation. As geeky as the two of us are, curious theologically about everything, a silence has taken over my heart and soul. I believe he understood and did not push for more dialogue.

The land was lush, with foliage, trees and birds creating a pleasing garden. Moving up the path, before seeing her home a vortex of energy began to pull me in. The region of my heart felt captivated by the intensity; it was like my heart was hooked by a fishing line of energy and was now the leading part of my body moving towards the dwelling.

Her stone dwelling place appeared further up the path, standing with a solitary, regal simple presence. I am here, she seemed to say wordlessly within me. I am here.

And I am here, I thought wordlessly. 

There was a twisted tree stretching to the left of the home, like a stanchion announcing, ‘take off your shoes, for you are on holy ground.’ 

So I placed my body upon the outer wall. The gesture brought me back to 1992 or 1993 when our monastery in North Dakota received a life size devotional tapestry of Our Lady of Guadalupe. It was an image that travelled all around the country, finding a resting place in homes and churches. Miracles happened everywhere this tapestry went. I remember the day she came to our home. 

Close to the Novitiate corridor I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, in my own world of reflection, thinking about what it was going to be like once the tapestry arrived. An awareness came when she arrived into our cloister, I didn’t need to see her or come close, she came close to me, right where I was. 

But one of my sisters, Sister Marie, was so excited and she rushed down the corridor. I looked up at her hurried approach to me, ‘She is here!’ She mouthed. As I jumped up she took my arm in her own and like two of the closest friends we made our way to the tapestry. The closer we got, the more I was pulled into a vortex, just like the sojourn up the path today to Mary and her House.

Once we got to the prioress’s office the corridor turned a sharp right. It was like I had entered a surprise birthday party as all the sisters were there standing joyfully before Her and turning to me to see my expression. I fell into deep contented silence. 

Without any hesitation I slowly moved forward towards Mary as she was completely alive to me. My feet did not stop until I was pressed up against the cloth and my lips met hers in a devoted kiss. 

Today felt the same, I hugged the wall knowing where I was. I was finally here. 

Mary. Mary. Mary. 

My friend and I then proceeded to enter the front door, no pictures were allowed. There was a small foyer like area with side walls that extended into a small rectangular space that felt like a landing. The width of the home narrowed after that to give a sense you were entering another room, though the floor plan was wide open.

We moved forward, completely silent. 

They had orchestrated it that there was a person at the entrance making sure no one took pictures and helping to form the single file line to move through the space. Then there was another person at the very end, where an altar was situated, most probably where Mary passed from this life to the next. This person was there to help the line continue to move and then exit to the right. 

We approached the altar area and I went down on my knees. I didn’t fall to my knees in emotion, but rather out of deep reverence. However, once on the ground tears streamed down my face. Tears turned into weeping and weeping into sobbing. Mary and I abided and I could reveal my entire heart. 

She has always been my safe place, the place where I know my heart is seen and my longings are heard. Being here with her unleashed everything that was within me.

My palms pressed into the floor as I stayed on my knees weeping and sobbing. All awareness of those around me went away almost completely. I became aware at some point of the person at the front changing from a woman to a man. And this man, energetically, joined me in presence with Mary, I could feel him clearly. 

The first wave of confiding in Her was opening my crushed heart. In this wave of sharing we both acknowledged that a sword has pierced both our hearts. She knew the same anguish of all the world’s pain and fears, she and I share the same loss of those we love and the pains of misunderstanding that touch tender hearts, hearts that have not built up resistance to life’s experiences. 

I wept, but she wept with me. 

Then my dad came, he was so fully there. He stood beside her. He didn’t really say anything but he didn’t need to. I think he knew what it meant to be there with me, with her, for me. 

So much, this life is so much. So much to carry, even without seeking to carry it. To love is to carry the human condition through compassion.

A random thought came in, ‘I should leave, I am probably taking up too much time.’ But I couldn’t leave.

‘Please, I don’t want to leave,’ I said to Mary.

‘You do not have to leave, just stay.’ She let me know I was not imposing. 

For just a moment I heard my friend sniffling, standing close by quietly. I noticed the man that worked there, the one who was very present to what was happening, was ushering people around me.

So I was protected. I was cared for and could stay as long as I was meant to stay.

The weeping continued, there were even moments it felt like wailing. Gratitude kept flooding my body like streams of golden light. Gratitude to have the experience, gratitude for the mercy and compassion being shown me, for me; and coming through me for the world. Gratitude, ‘Who am I to be in this place internally and externally.’ I am beloved.

Then a clear distinction happened. The time was complete. I recognized simply that I would never feel like I wanted to leave, for why would I want to leave what feels like my home? However the inner clarity revealed that it was time to move. Wisdom was in recognizing that both existed at the same time. 

In that tension I rose, clear of my next step in life. I looked over at the man who was ushering people through, ‘thank you,’ I said with tears running down my face. He bowed, so humbly,  I could feel the tender undoing of his own heart, not for me, but with me. 

And we left. My friend and I lingered a little outside, bought a few souvenirs, filled our water bottles from the holy water that ran from the mountain spring and moved into the next part of our journey.

You may wonder why I would share this intimate story with you.

I think sharing stories like these build us up. They remind us we are not alone in a world that can be so lonely. They remind us we have divine purpose even if we don’t know what it is exactly, or see it clearly. 

We are called to follow our hearts, to follow our bliss where the indwelling Spirit is guiding us. Every small step is bigger than what we possibly could know.