Only a Donkey … and the Lord

Margaret Gartlgruber learns to imitate Mary’s humility in finding esteem in the love of the infant Jesus. 

It has been more than twenty years, but I remember moving from Florida to New Jersey like it was yesterday.  

After struggling to accept my vocation as a stay-at-home mom, I was finally loving my life. I had just had my fourth baby, found a deep love for Christ in the Catholic Church and was involved in everything: religious ministries, mom groups, play groups, PTA. If there was a gathering, I was attending, participating, or leading.  

The best part was the friends. They respected me. They loved me for me — and I believed it. I had never experienced that level of acceptance before. I was in a place of deep consolation and thought this was my new normal. I finally felt like someone who people could like, admire, and want to be around. I was confident this sense of belonging would follow me anywhere. 

And so, when my husband announced he was being transferred to New Jersey, I wasn’t worried. “Surely, I would experience the same ease with making new friends, the same acceptance in new groups,” I thought.  

Reality was much different.  

Rural New Jersey was very different from South Florida. In Florida, many women were transplants, all looking for community. In New Jersey, most people had grown up together. They already had friends — often, family too — and simply weren’t looking to add more to their busy lives. 

I remember my son coming home from first grade, excited to tell me he was “famous” because he was born in Texas. He was the only one in his class born in another state, and they couldn’t believe how far away it was. Anytime I met someone who had moved, it usually meant from another part of New Jersey. 

Even the churches felt different. In Florida, many Catholics I met were excited about their faith, often after a conversion like mine. In New Jersey, parishes were smaller and more traditional. People went to Mass because they always had — not necessarily because their hearts had been set on fire. It made it harder to find other women who were “Catholic like me.” 

And then there was the weather. As beautiful as New Jersey is, it was cold and gray. It felt lonely. I missed the sunshine, the warmth, my friends, and the community I had built. 

She kept all these things in her heart 

As Epiphany recently passed, and Jesus entered the hidden years, my reflections turned to Mary and how much she had to adjust during this time. Being full of grace, I always thought it was easy for her. But was it? Scripture tells us she “kept all these things ... in her heart” (Luke 2:19), which means we don’t really know what she thought. But we can imagine.  

Mary experienced many things in a relatively short amount of time: angels, pregnancy, trip to Bethlehem, giving birth in a stable, and having strange kings come visit and with them a warning.  And then — Joseph tells her they must flee to Egypt because of a dream. 

When my family moved, at least my husband had a job waiting. Joseph had no work transfer, no relocation benefits, no prospects. His job was protecting the Christ Child. And Mary, the Mother of God, had to trust her husband and trust that dream. She had to go where he led. 

She had to leave her old life behind. 

Mary came from a small community where she was known, respected, and loved. Her family and friends were there. Everything familiar was there. And when she fled to Egypt, she didn’t get to say goodbye. They had to be anonymous to keep Jesus safe.  

Finding Esteem in a New Place 

From the desire of being esteemed … deliver me Jesus. (Litany of Humility)  

Mary had that esteem at home. In Egypt, she knew no one. They had no money, no status, no security — only a donkey and the Lord. There was a different language, a different culture, a different way of life. 

Mary could endure all of this because she had the perfect antidote: humility. Humility is knowing how much you are loved by God, and Mary knew this deeply. Her esteem was no longer found in the people around her, but in Jesus Himself. Her life was so wrapped up in Him, nothing else mattered.   

Have you ever held a baby close to your heart? The smell of a newborn still fills my senses. The soft fragility of an infant against my chest fills my soul with love. When I imagine myself in Mary’s place holding baby Jesus to my heart, I can also wrap myself in God’s love, like a blanket bundling us both together, thus allowing me to feel loved.   

God allowed me to experience respect and admiration in Florida. In New Jersey, He invited me to find my worth somewhere deeper. 

Like Mary, I had to learn to find my esteem in the Lord.  

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Copyright 2026 Margaret Gartlgruber
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