Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Those are the first words of the Hail Mary. 
They are also the words of the Archangel Gabriel, as spoken to Mary during the Annunciation, the occasion of Mary learning that she would conceive a child to be born the Son of God.
Growing up, I always thought of the Hail Mary as a prayer to be uttered when vampires were on your tail or some kind of demon had you holed up in a church. Maybe when a dinosaur was about to eat you, too. Good luck with that, by the way.
I also knew that it had something to do with clickey-beads (the Rosary), but pretty much associated that with old ladies and nuns.
Given how often I pray the Hail Mary these days, you would think I was an old nun with vampire dinosaurs from hell hot on my heels.
Raised Methodist but with some devout Catholics sprinkled throughout our family, 
I grew up with faith, but not necessarily religion. We had many spiritual discussions in our family, but very little had to do with any specific dogma. And I was just fine with that.
I hated Sunday school with a passion. I'd sooner do my chores and my brother's than have to go to Sunday school at the Methodist church.
I was intimidated by Catholics and all of their standing and sitting and kneeling and hand motions. The first time I attended a Catholic church, I wore jeans with an overkill of holes in them. I must have been ten or eleven and when my aunt told me that I could wear anything I wanted to Catholic Mass, I decided to see just how far I could push that envelope. Deal with those Catholics on my own terms.
Halfway through Mass, I had to run outside and throw up in the bushes. My aunt said I had locked my knees at one point and that must have been what did it, because when I went to kneel down for the umpteenth time, I about passed out.
No more Catholic church for me until years later.
In high school, I was the president of my high school sorority. One of our monthly group activities, in addition to monthly service projects, was to attend one of the member's churches. A different church every month. A different denomination every month. Quite the whirlwind of Jesus, let me tell you.
Of course, this meant getting up early on Sunday, which was a problem because I was quite the, uh, party girl in high school. Saturday nights were spent under the expansive deck of the yacht club with my motley crew of friends ("motley" in a Dead Poet's Society kind of way, that is) , taste-testing every variety of wine coolers and Boone's available. I still remember the night my best friend and I downed a six pack of wine coolers and found ourselves stone sober. We briefly considered this a bad sign, but then discovered that mixing wine coolers with The Beast would nicely solve that sobriety problem.
The next morning was one of those church mornings with the sorority. Half way through the service, I found myself throwing up in the bushes again. This time for a very different reason, but still... Welcome back to the Catholic church. The devil is clearly still in your gut.
Today I am able to attend Mass without even a hint of the sickies, thank you very much. I suspect that the devil is still in my gut, but he's only allowed out on the rare occasion. 
The rest of the time, I have found that I very much have Mary in my heart. Through her, I have Jesus in my life.
And now I want to throw up in the bushes because that sounds so damn cheesy.
Nevertheless, I have found a connection through the Blessed Mother. I pray the Rosary and find a solace I never knew. Just as when Gabriel said, "The Lord is with thee," I believe that I have the favor of God in my life, as well.
Explaining the Rosary as a prayer calling for the intercession of Mary on our behalf to Jesus is complicated. Even I don't fully understand it. However, I am endlessly fascinated by Mary's role, as well as Marian lore. Stories of Mary apparitions capture my attention wholly.
The irony is that I have always thought Mormons to be a bunch of fruits for believing that God appeared to Joseph Smith and told him to begin a new church. Well, fruits, indeed.
Ya'll want some nuts with your fruit, because I don't have any problem believing that Mary has been appearing during modern times and continues to do so.
I wish I could explain that. But it works for me. And I have faith.
Although my little family here is Catholic, we do not attend church on a regular basis. We know we need to and we feel we want to, but we can't seem to pull it together, yet. Yet. In the meantime...
My church of the kitchen window.
I stand in my tiny sliver of a guest house kitchen, in this place that is so not my home. I look out the window onto the alley that holds my Mary Garden, and know. Know that I am home. Where she is. Where He is. I am home. At last.
...........................
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Writer. Mother.
