Mary
Mary Jesus John McDonald born on August 29, 1998, in Albuquerque New Mexico. Mary, was found in a home with no working utilities. Garbage was piled to the ceiling. Mary was observed attempting to change her younger sister's soiled diaper while drinking from a discarded bottle. On one hand, Mary was "developmentally delayed"—still in diapers and still drinking from a baby bottle at an age when other children are starting pre-K. But on the other hand, she was a Parentified Child. The investigators saw her acting as the primary caregiver for her two-year-old sister. The records noted "hyper-reflexive." This is the clinical way of saying she had an exaggerated, overactive muscle reflex response. She wasn't looking for toys; she was scanning for the "Dark Bathroom." Her eyes were likely wide, darting, and constantly fixed on the adults in the room to see if a "slap" was coming. She was likely "fidgety" or "on edge." Even when sitting still, her muscles were coiled to run or "fix" something. In a house already defined by "garbage to the ceiling" and the smell of "spoiled food," the bathroom was the one place where the chaos was replaced by a terrifying, hollow silence. For Mary, being sent there wasn't just a "time out"—it was a punishment of her existence. She was four years old. She was small enough that the door handle felt high, and the room felt like a cavern. The records stated she was locked in there without light for hours at a time.
This account sounds like the beginning of a Netflix child abuse documentary that you immediately turn off, doesn’t it? I am sure as we can piece together that Mary is me. If I am being honest when writing my story I will more than likely write in third person. As a trauma survivor, my mind has developed a survival mechanism of repression. Repression is where the mind blocks distressing thoughts, memories or feelings preventing them from entering conscious awareness to protect the individual from anxiety or pain, but this repression often surfaces as symptoms like anxiety, depression or physical changes in the body. I say this to say I do not remember a lot of what has happened. I write in third person because in all honesty I am not sure if I can fully grasp that this account of this 4 year old are the details of my childhood. As a pediatric nurse I am left speechless at the extent of these accounts. And I am sure as the reader this isnt what you were expecting this morning, especially not at 0800.
I said yesterday that this series will be one of intensity, and accounts of abuse and neglect will not be the last I write of.
I look at the clinical links on these pages and I see a child abandoned in the dark. I see a bathroom door locked from the outside and a little girl whose only company was the sound of her own racing heart. In those moments, Mary was forgotten by the world, but she was never forgotten by her Creator.
I often wonder where God was in that dark bathroom. As a nurse, I see the physical 'cracks'—the hyper-reflexia and the rotting teeth. But as a woman of faith, I see something else. I see a God who sat in the dark with that four-year-old. I see a God who watched her change her sister’s diapers with a bottle in her own mouth and said, 'This one is mine. This vessel is cracked, but the treasure inside is indestructible.'
Scripture tells us in Psalm 34:18 that
'The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.'
In New Mexico, Mary’s spirit was being crushed by the weight of garbage and neglect, but God was already forging the 'Steel Ribbon' that would one day lead her to become a healer.
He didn't just see the 'developmentally delayed' child; He saw the woman who would eventually use her hyperattunement to save others. He saw Mari.
This account is heavy. It is the start of a life that began in the desert. But as we continue this journey, I invite you to look past the documentary-style horror and see the Grace that was already at work in the dark. Because even in a locked bathroom, the light of the World was already planning a way out.