Parishioner Profile: Mary Gildersleeve

*this article contains courtesy photos

When I was a child, I used to talk as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I put aside childish things. [1Cor 13:11]

The above quote from St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians sums up my prayer life. It is one of the few times that God would rather I wasn’t child-like. A child’s prayers, which can last long into adulthood, are akin to a letter written to Santa: “I want …. “ “I must have …” “Give me … “ And sometimes this is a properly perfect prayer. God wants us to rely on him. But He also wants us to know Him, to love Him, to accept His will.

I grew up in San Francisco in the 70s, just post-hippie era, and yet when much of society was in turmoil. We had Jonestown, the assasination of our Mayor and a City Supervisor, the Zodiac killer, Patty Hearst’s Symbianese Liberation Army, numerous kidnappings and cults and killings. In the midst of all this, I was nurtured in a very Catholic home, a strong Catholic parish, and a Dominican high school. I knew I could always turn to God if I needed something. The summer before my sophomore year of high school, my Dad ended up in the hospital with a near-to-bursting aorta requiring emergency open heart surgery. While Mom rushed down to Stanford to be there, my sister and I prayed. I remember my prayer: “God, please just let Dad live long enough to be a grandpa.” God heard and God answered: Dad lived to see 10 healthy grandchildren, dying some 20 years later. My life as a Catholic continued through undergrad at a Jesuit university. I was a mediocre, lukewarm Catholic who went to Mass when it fit into my busy schedule. When issues came up, I knew I could still count on God to help me out even though I did little to merit these graces. I was still a child in my prayers -- “God, please let me pass this test.” “God, please send me Mr. Perfect.”

After graduation I moved to Virginia, living with my parents and working in Washington, D.C. We went to St. William of York back when it was still a single-aisle sanctuary with no school. I was slowly learning that my prayers needed to mature as I matured. I needed to own my faith and not rely on Mom

and Dad to “make me” go to Mass.

When I went off to earn my MBA at William and Mary I began to, finally, own my faith a little. My prayers were beginning to mature to beyond telling God what I needed. I started, ever so slightly, to pray for what God wanted. When I was interviewing for a real job, I prayed, “God please help me find a job that uses the gifts You’ve given me.” God heard and God answered: I ended up in Atlanta working for Delta Air Lines.

I began to go to Mass because I wanted to. For the first time, in my late 20s, I became involved in my parish and attended more than Mass. I met my husband at Holy Cross; we played co-ed softball, helped at the soup kitchen, went to weekly Mass with other young adults, got married and had two children. As I matured, my faith life was growing, slowly.

And then tragedy. My husband was diagnosed with cancer. First, a simple melanoma that was removed three months before my daughter was born. Then it was in his lymph nodes. He was seeing his cancer doctor every month for check ups. At the beginning of May 1992, he was given a clean bill of health from his cancer doctor: he wouldn’t have to go back for six months. Mike and my almost 3-yearold son and 11-month old daughter planted a tree in our front yard for Mother’s Day and to celebrate the reprieve. God heard and God answered. A week later, Mike started throwing up. His back hurt and he was miserable. One of his co-workers suggested he call the doctor “just to check.” The cancer had erupted all over Mike’s body, including crippling cells on his spine. I prayed to God, “please God, let Mike be OK. Let him get better. But not my will but Yours be done.” God heard and God answered.

One week later, 4 days after his 31st birthday, my husband died.

God had heard and God had answered. Mike was better: he was released from the 24/7 morphine drip to relieve the pain. My high school football and soccer coaching husband was released from the wheelchair his friends used to race him up and down the hospital halls. God heard and God answered.

I stopped my corporate ladder-climbing life to be home with my kids. I started teaching computers at our parish school as my daughter entered Kindergarten and my son entered second grade and received his sacraments. I had God in my life, but something was still off-kilter.

My prayer now became, “please God, help us to jumpstart our life. We’re stagnating here. What would you have us do?” I began to research places to move where the memories would no longer oppress and our world could become normal again. I prayed for a good Catholic school for Joe and Cate and a job for me.

God heard and God answered: we moved to Raleigh and were all together at Our Lady of Lourdes in Raleigh, North Carolina. I was the K-8 computer teacher and Joe and Cate settled into their new home. I met the Middle School science teacher, Dr. Rick Gildersleeve. Seeking God’s will, we were married within the year, blending our families into one.

“Please God, Your will be done. What would you have us do?”

Now, I had a fellow prayer warrior to walk with me on this earthly journey. We sought God’s will in everything we did, praying together and separately, always seeking His will. We welcomed two more children into our family; we moved to Austria for two years for Rick to get a Masters in Theological Studies and where we had our last child; we moved to Colorado to work for the Diocesan highschool and homeschool five of our kids; in 2008, we moved to Virginia to help start and teach at the newest high school in the Arlington Diocese, Pope John Paul the Great.

My prayer life continues to mature. In 2017, we sold our house in west of Fredericksburg, moved to Woodbridge and began getting active at Seton LakeRidge while our youngest three became active students at JP the Great. I started to pray everyday, getting up at 4:30 a.m. to ensure an hour or so of quiet before the others were up. I’ve recently started reading scripture, imitating God’s directive to St. Augustine to “take up and read” and then journaling about the daily readings. I pray the “Surrender Novena” on endless loop to allow God’s will more and more into my life. I spent my birthday at San Damiano Retreat Center on my own silent retreat, calming the storms of chaos created by COVID.

Thus, after many decades of an immature prayer life, I have now, finally, started on my journey toward God with an ever-maturing prayer life, now (usually) seeking only His will be done. I still stumble back to the childish, demanding prayers but I’m a bit more receptive when those are answered with a resounding “No!”