About 12 years ago, when I was 63, health reasons forced me to leave my job as a newspaper journalist. I was suffering from a debilitating spinal problem that made it impossible to concentrate. And I could no longer keep up with the fast pace of a newsroom so I called it quits.

I was working at the National Post, a Canadian national paper. For the last six years of my 16 years there I created a religion beat. It was like starting a second career and gave me new inspiration to write. I cared deeply about faith, so it was a great disappointment to give it up.

What made it even worse was the day after my retirement became official, Pope Benedict XVI announced his departure from the papacy. Because I was on disability insurance I was forbidden from writing until I was 65. To do so would have been to lose my insurance, which I needed. Not being able to write about one of the biggest stories in Church history was a bitter pill.

A while later, a friend from my parish visited me to see how I was doing. I told her that I was struggling and was dependent on morphine. She suggested I wear a Miraculous Medal and pointed to the one around her neck.

I understood this was not some superstition like a lucky rabbit’s foot or some talisman to ward off evil but wondered why I should wear it.

The Marian aspect appealed to me, so I did some research at the Central Association of the Miraculous Medal. This is what I learned.

In 1830, St. Catherine Labouré, a member of the Sisters of Charity, founded by St. Vincent de Paul, saw a vision of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The Mother of God instructed Catherine to have a medal made. By the time of Catherine’s death in 1876, more than 1 billion Miraculous Medals had been struck. The devotion spread from France to around the globe, bringing innumerable graces to those who wore it, including remarkable healings.

The medal is oval. The front has the words around the circumference: “O Mary conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.” Those words reflect the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, formally defined as dogma in 1854. It depicts Mary standing on top of our world, her feet crushing Satan, a reference to Genesis 3:15.

The back shows a cross and the letter “M,” symbolizing the close relationship of Mary to the suffering, passion and death of her Son.

Before every Mass I attend at St. Michael’s Cathedral in Toronto, I go to the statue of Our Lady and light a votive candle. I rely on her to help me traverse what life throws at me.

Recently, I began to think about the Miraculous Medal I wear. There have been no miraculous healings, and I still need morphine every day to deal with spinal pain. About six years ago I was diagnosed with liver cancer. It seems to be in remission but it’s still there.

I wasn’t expecting my pain to stop and my cancer to go away. That would be too simple. In prayer I never ask to for these physical illnesses to vanish but rather for the strength to deal with what I have with grace and humor.

So, what has the medal done for me?

First, it reminds me that Mary is always there — that she is also my mother. And in that, there is great comfort.

I remember that she is the distributor of all graces and a holy conduit to her Son.

She gives me courage. I’ve been sick enough that I sometimes have felt that I can’t go on. Mary helps me go on. She directs me toward Jesus with a loving push. She holds my hand when my hand needs holding. My daily Rosary feels richer than before.

More than just helping me to exist, she has helped me to thrive. I’ve written for more than 40 years, but now I feel like I write with a greater depth of spirit and about things truly important. I’ve gone deeper into the Catholic faith. I realize too that journalism was never who I was, but rather what I did.

Who I was, and who I am, is the son of the Mother of God. What could be more wonderful?