I want to share a miracle that Our Lady of Torreciudad has worked in my life. It’s one of those miracles that Saint Josemaría used to say often go unnoticed — because they’re something intimate, something that happens quietly between a person and the Virgin. I want to spend the rest of my life giving thanks. And one way to do that is by telling my story. What the Our Lady has done for me is so great that my name or where I come from doesn’t matter. She is the true protagonist here — and I’ll stay anonymous, which is exactly where I belong.
It’s been many years since that first encounter with the Virgin in Torreciudad, but I still remember it as if it were yesterday — what I experienced during that Holy Week. Some friends had invited me to spend a few days in Torreciudad, and although I’ve always loved traveling and meeting new people, I turned down the plan. Outwardly, I said I couldn’t afford the trip. But the real reason was deeper: I didn’t see myself on a religious trip, not when I was already so distant from God and determined to stop going to church altogether. It felt hypocritical to go on a trip like that when, inside, I wanted to break off my relationship with God.
So how did I end up there? There are many little details, but mainly, it was my mother. She simply said, “If you want to go, go — it’ll do you good.” Somehow, my mother placed me in the hands of the MOTHER — with capital letters. Mothers know who to entrust their children to. Nobody really knew what was going on inside me, though it was clear something had changed. On the surface, I had my reasons, but the real cause was one only I knew: I had run into a cross far too heavy for me to carry. A dark, crushing one — because that’s how the cross often is, even for Jesus. I had been raped, and that’s a wound that leaves a permanent mark. There’s no need to say more about that.
I asked the same questions everyone asks in suffering: Where is God? Why does He allow this? Why me? Is it really possible to forgive everything, as Jesus asks in the Gospel? Two things didn’t fit together for me:
• Where is God in suffering — how does His loving care show itself in such pain?
• And I couldn’t pray the Our Father anymore, because I couldn’t forgive. And if I couldn’t forgive, how could God forgive me?
In my eyes, I was lost. I couldn’t live out something I had prayed since childhood — the Our Father. What was the point of anything else? Inside, I was broken. I had no hope. I kept thinking, “No one can understand my pain. I’m completely alone, humanly and spiritually. God has turned His face away from me.” The darkness was so deep that the only thing I could really “talk” to was the idea of suicide. It seemed like the only possible way out. And that’s how I arrived at Torreciudad, one Holy Week.
And that’s when the miracle began. I got to the sanctuary, and while waiting for the services to start — the ones recalling Jesus’ Passion, Death, and Resurrection — something unexpected happened: I realised I could be alone with myself. I didn’t speak; I just looked at the image of the Virgin and discovered that she is truly a Mother — my Mother — who knows me completely and cares for me. I also found the chapel of Christ. It’s impossible to describe — you just have to go and stand before Him. I didn’t say a word. Silence filled me from within.
Looking at Jesus on the Cross, I understood that I couldn’t keep complaining about my suffering forever. I began to realize that His Cross and mine were deeply connected. Through the readings during those days, I discovered that Jesus, too, asked His Father, “Why me? Why the Cross?” He too cried and needed comfort. During those days, I found myself speaking with the Virgin — discovering her truly as a Mother. It was easy to talk to her. With the Christ of Torreciudad, though, I couldn’t speak or even complain — we just looked at each other. And sometimes, you can say more with a look than with words.
