Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts

Friday, January 8, 2016

Our Good, Good Father

I have a confession to make. I have been in serious spiritual desolation for the last four months. And y’all, it stinks. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. But it’s the Year of Mercy! And this morning, our good Father hit me over the head with His mercy!

This morning, as I was trying to pray morning prayer, I reached the end of the intentions portion, and I realized that I didn’t have the strength to pray for anything that wasn’t already scripted for me. So instead of trying to spout off the thousands of intentions I know that I should pray for, I opened my hands and my heart to God and cried out, “Father, you know the intentions of my heart even better than I do, and I don’t have the strength to pray for them myself, but I give you this empty vessel I call a heart and hope that it’ll be enough for You.”

And despite the fact that it’s a very meager gift for the King of kings, I think it was the most pleasing thing I could have given Him.

Maybe this is the mercy of God—that it is more pleasing to Him when we come to Him with empty hands and breaking hearts than when we come to Him with what we think is perfection and righteousness.

Because the reality is that we’re never going to be sinless or perfect in this life. There will always be something within us that is lacking, that needs to strive for a higher degree of perfection. It’s the price that comes with being fallen creatures in a fallen world.

And you know what? I think God prefers it that way. If we were already perfect, or if belief in God were the only necessary requirement for Heaven and it didn’t matter how we lived or sinned (a common misconception in our modern culture), then we wouldn’t need a Savior now. We would only have needed Him to die for us that one time 2,000 years ago, and we wouldn’t need Him now. We don’t still need a Savior if we’re already saved, right? Sure, we might still really love Him—after all, how can you not love someone if you truly believed that He died for you? But we wouldn’t need Him, not really.

But here’s the thing: God is a Father. And like any good father, He wants His children to need Him. 

So often, I’m tempted to think that I need to pick myself up from my sin and make myself perfect before I can approach my Father’s throne. But more often than not, I can’t do that. Most of the time, when I approach that throne, I do so with empty hands. And sometimes, I have to crawl my way to that throne, because I don’t have the strength to pick myself up and walk.

And as I was praying about that this morning, you know what I heard Him speak to my heart? Well obviously you don't, so I'm about to tell you: He prefers it that way. He wants to be the one to pick us up. He doesn’t want the finished product. He wants all of us, all of our brokenness, because He wants to be the one to fix us, to make us whole.



There’s this song that I love. I want you to take a few moments to listen to it now, because I think we all need the reminder. It's called Good Good Father, click here.

Oh I’ve head a thousand stories of what they think you’re like, but I’ve heard the tender whisper of love in the dead of night, and you tell me that you’re pleased and that I’m never alone. 
You’re a good, good Father, it’s who you are, it’s who you are, it’s who you are, and I’m loved by you, it’s who I am, it’s who I am, it’s who I am. 
I’ve seen many searching for answers far and wide, but I know we’re all searching for answers only you provide, cause you know just what we need before we say a word.

The mercy of God lies in the fact that He loves us. Not because of who we are, but because of who He is—goodness itself. 

Today, I’m thankful for my brokenness in a way that I have never been before. Because it is only when I acknowledge and embrace my brokenness that I can clearly hear that tender whisper that reminds me who I am—a daughter loved and cherished beyond belief.

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Catie Destatte is a senior Theology and Catechetics major. She has a passion for writing, Mama Mary, ministry to women, and evangelization. Her life motto is Totus Tuus Maria, and she tries to live that out in her every moment. Along with being a member of Women's Ministry Core Team, she's involved in Capture My Heart Core Team, Liturgy Committee, and Totus Tuus Maria Household. Her five great loves are JPII, St. Peter, tea, praise and worship music, and the ocean. Along with Shannon, one of Catie's roles in Women's Ministry is to run this blog. You can find out more about her here.

Friday, December 18, 2015

Interior Shack


At mass a couple Sundays ago I was struck (distracted?) by the massive Nativity Scene that had been set up in Christ the King Chapel. It wasn’t the Nativity Scene itself that distracted me, of course, but my own wandering mind. You see, lately I’ve been seriously struggling in my spiritual life. Prayer (when I do it) is dry and seemingly fruitless, full of distraction and wandering thoughts. The prayer lives of everyone else around me seem so much better in comparison and I’m self-conscious that they’re going to discover my secret and judge me for it.

I feel like I can relate really well to the Israelites wandering around in the desert, wanting what their neighbors had and feeling self-conscious because they didn’t have it, falling into sin and repenting, only to fall back into sin again. That has been my frustration lately as bad habits and little sins that I thought I had snuffed out have crept back into my life which has caused me to be full of self-doubt and anxious as I struggle to remember my identity as a chosen and cherished daughter of the Father. As a result, I've resorted to grasping at any bit of power or control I come across which means I’ve insisted that nothing is wrong with me and I’ve been obstinate, rude, self-centered, and angry towards others.

And the worst part about it is that, just like the Israelites, I have no excuse. I know how I’m supposed to act (I too know the 10 Commandments and have “prophetic” friends who call me out when I mess up) so I know I’m wrong when I do these things but I still do them anyway and can’t seem to shake the lies I’m believing about myself. Quite simply, I’m frustrated with myself for having fallen into the same old sins that I always fall into because shouldn’t I know better by now? And knowing what it is that I keep doing wrong, shouldn’t I be able to fix it?

It feels as though my “interior castle” (in the words of St. Teresa of Avila) has become more of a shack: a hollow, dilapidated structure that is barely standing and that has cracks in the walls that allow the cold wind to whip through. And no matter what I do, I can’t seem to make my interior shack back into a castle. Heck, I can’t even repair the holes in the walls!

Just like with the Israelites, there’s an emptiness on the inside. Something is missing, and I can’t do anything about it.

What is it that is missing? Jesus.

The Israelites had the 10 Commandments and the prophets. They knew what to do and what not to do. They knew all of these things, but they still couldn’t “fix” or save themselves. For that, they needed Jesus.

That’s why Jesus had to come and save them. That’s why he had to become a little baby at Christmas. That’s what we are preparing for during Advent: our Savior.

And here’s the good news: Jesus wasn’t born in a castle. Jesus was born in a stable. Jesus was born in a shack. Just like the Nativity Scene in Christ the King shows, that stable was shabby and hollow and had holes in the walls where the wind could blow through. He wasn’t born at a nice, warm, attractive inn because “there was no room at the inn.”

So as I looked at that Nativity Scene I realized that this Advent the Lord has been preparing my heart (even if I haven’t done anything to prepare it myself). He did this by hollowing me out, by letting me experience what life is like without Christ, what it was like for the Israelites to struggle and fall over and over and over again. He has let me experience that struggle and that fall to remind me that I need Him to come and to awaken in my soul a deep longing for His coming like the Israelites longed for the coming of their Savior.

And like the Jewish people I still miss it sometimes. I fail to see how Christ is present in my life and acknowledge His divinity. But that’s OK because He comes anyway. Jesus Christ, my Savior, is coming at Christmas, and there’s nothing I can do to stop Him.

The only question that remains for me is whether or not I’m going to turn Him away by saying there’s no room at the inn, or if I’m going to offer Him the shabbiness of my hollow inner heart and allow Him to be born there. I pray that I would have the humility to let Jesus Christ, my God and my Savior into my broken, hurting heart and I pray that you would do the same.

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Alyssa is a Junior studying Humanities and Catholic Culture, Theology, and Philosophy. She is a native of Texas where she lives with her family in a blue-roofed house on top of a hill. She is passionate about the Truth of the Lord's Incarnation and loves spending time discovering and discussing ways in which others have incarnated the Gospel in film, history, literature, politics, and art. Her favorite saints are St. Teresa of Avila and St. Catherine of Siena because they both personify St. John Paul II's "feminine genius" in her mind.

Friday, November 27, 2015

A Note to Single Catholic Women about the Tragedy of Our Generation

This blog post goes out to all those single Catholic women who are striving for sainthood, practicing chastity, reading Theology of the Body, and waiting for the right guy (or just any guy really) to come along and pursue your heart. Yes, you’re single, and yes, you’re a little bitter about it. You’ve definitely spent a conversation or two complaining to your closest female friends about how all the Catholic men must be blind because there’s no other explanation for why there are so many beautiful, funny, smart, and holy women that have never once been asked out by a man! And, I regret to admit, we tend to view this entire situation in which we find ourselves to be a tragedy.

But I read something this summer that challenged this perception I had of myself as some tragic heroine alone and suffering because the corrupt culture has made all the good men too cowardly to pursue women’s hearts. Gertrude von le Fort in her book “The Eternal Woman” says that, “Our period sees the unmarried woman…as something tragic” and I think that statement rings true with many unmarried Catholic women. But to give some context to what von le Fort is saying one has to realize that she is writing after World War I during which almost an entire generation of young men died in battle, leaving a large number of young women unable to get married, though they might have wanted to.

But von le Fort disagrees with the belief that this generation of unmarried women was something “tragic.” She says that “The one whom we negatively call the unmarried woman is in a positive sense the virgin.” Now, a statement like that needs a bit more explanation to pull out the full meaning of what she’s trying to say. She is saying, essentially, that when we refer to single women as “single” or “unmarried” we are defining them negatively by what they lack (i.e. a husband). A fuller understanding of who these women really are comes only when we define them positively not by what they lack but by what they have, and this is their virginity.

Now I recognize that in our culture today it seems problematic to claim that all unmarried women are virgins because not all unmarried women are virgins in a physical sense. But it’s important to remember how Sacred Scripture defines virginity. 1 Corinthians 7:34 says, “The virgin is anxious about the affairs of the Lord, how to be holy in body and spirit; but the married woman is anxious about worldly affairs.” The difference between a virgin and a married woman to St. Paul is not some physical condition but a spiritual one. The virgin is anxious about the affairs of the Lord in a way that a married woman is not.

What do we learn from this? Mainly that all single women are called to embrace their identity as virgins and this is possible even if they have already “lost their virginity” because of how the Lord defines virginity spiritually.

But back to Gertrude von le Fort. She claims that the unmarried woman is not tragic precisely because she is a virgin. So what’s the big deal about being a virgin? Well, von le Fort says, “From dogma, history, saga, and art, the idea of virginity emerges, not as a condition or a tragedy, but as a value and power.” Christianity proclaims the value of virginity by placing the title “Virgin” next to the title of “Mother” in Mary’s name. Mary’s perpetual virginity along with her being the Mother of God are both protected and cherished dogmas of our faith. But even pre-Christian people understood the inherent dignity and value of virgins by upholding virginal goddesses like Athena, Diana, or Minerva or saying that it was only a virgin (or her spilt blood) that could break curses and avert magical spells away from an entire people.

Unfortunately, we live in a world that has completely eliminated the profound reverence that once existed for the virgin. Now, to be a virgin is seen as a horrible condition that one must throw away at the soonest possible moment. In a culture that additionally has eliminated the reverence it once had for motherhood, women are the clear losers, for their inherent dignity is not recognized in either state of life.

While our faith has done a good job of exalting motherhood (as is should) in response to this culture of death, we can sometimes exalt being a wife and mother to the point that not being those things (i.e. being an unmarried woman) is somehow viewed as “tragic.” And thus, the phenomenon of a generation of single Catholic women that views their situation to be a tragic one.

But here’s the real truth: The tragedy of our age is not a generation of single Catholic women. In fact, virginity is the vocation of EVERY woman. This virginal vocation isn’t changed or negated when a woman gets married, but rather fulfilled. Likewise, if a woman enters religious life her virginal vocation becomes a consecrated one. But to think that you are somehow “vocation-less”, even temporarily, if you are not married or a consecrated religious is simply not true. We don’t just sit around and hope that one day God will hit us on the head with our vocation; we have a vocation (or call) right now, and as single women that vocation is a virginal one.

Gertrude von le Fort is adamant that virginity is not a temporary condition lacking fulfillment but is “complete” within itself. She says that “the Church affirms that the virgin is as one destined to be a bride, but she does not see her only at the side of a man.” Even though “expectant bride” is one aspect of virginity, it is not her full significance. More significantly the virgin, as she stands alone “like the solitary flower of the mountains, far up at the fringe of eternal snows, that has never been looked upon by the eye of man”, reveals the “ultimate value of the individual as such, a value not justified by mere human qualities.”

Von le fort continues, “The virgin proclaims that the creature has significance, but only as a glow from the eternal radiance of the Creator. [She] stands at the margin of the mysteries of all that is apparently wasted and unfulfilled…she stands at the brink of all that has seemingly failed. Her inviolability, which, if it be purity, always includes a depth of pain, denotes the sacrifice that is the price for the insight into the immortal value of the person. This explains why the liturgy always places the virgin beside the martyr, who bears witness to the absolute value of the soul.”

But here it is important to make a clear distinction: the virgin is exalted with the martyr because both proclaim the “ultimate value of the individual as such.”  But we must remember that martyrs are not tragic figures even though they suffer greatly. Likewise, the virgin is also not a tragic figure, though her very existence will always include the “depth of pain” von le Fort mentions. Thus, while the virgin herself may not be a tragic figure she stands on the “margins” and “brink” of tragedy. She witnesses the tragedy and suffers the depth of pain in her heart, but it is never her virginity that is tragic.

What, then, is the tragedy?

I believe that the true tragedy of our age is not a multitude of single Catholic women but rather a generation of spiritually dead "Catholic" men. 

Now, I am speaking in broad generalities here. It would be ignorant (and a bit bitter) to claim that there are no good young men striving for holiness that are willing to ask women out (even though it may sometimes feel this way!). But, on the whole, we are experiencing an age where men are leaving the Church in droves, and the vast majority of those that remain are only engaged minimally (for more information and statistics supporting these claims please check out The New EMANgelization website found here). Now, I don’t know about you, but these are not the types of men that the typical novena-saying, TOB-reading, and chastely-living woman typically finds attractive. Not to mention, this woman is typically not viewed as being very attractive (at least by a worldly standard) to the average minimally engaged “Catholic” man. And herein lies the tragedy.

After WWI the tragedy for Gertrude von le Fort was not that a generation of women would have to remain unmarried virgins; it was that a generation of men had perished on the field of battle. This was the true tragedy. 

Yes, as a single Catholic woman I often feel deep within my heart the loss of a generation of true men. But the question I must ask myself is "For whose sake am I feeling this loss? For my own or for these men?" 

Because in a tragedy, it is not those left standing onstage at the end of a play that are considered "tragic"; it is those who have perished during the play, either due to circumstance or their own misguided actions. Likewise, the tragic characters of our generation are the men, and as the survivors left standing we should be struck by how unnecessary and truly tragic their spiritual death has been. 

So I implore you, pray for this generation of men and offer up your sufferings for them. The Catholic Church has always taught that our prayers for the dead are efficacious. So too are our prayers for the "spiritually dead." 

And here's the other thing about being a Christian: tragic stories are always given "comedic" ends. In a plot twist that no one saw coming, a Man who had suffered a terrible death and lain in a tomb for three days burst forth to new life. Just as in comedy, the story ends with a joyful wedding and celebratory feast, with the Divine Bridegroom wedding his human Church and offering his own Flesh to be the food at the table. 

Just because there is a tragic generation of spiritually dead men doesn't mean that this is how the story ends. The dead can come back to life through the divine power, love, and mercy of God. 

Think of the example of Lazarus. Jesus raised this dead man back to life. But remind yourself why. It was because Martha ran eagerly out to Jesus to beg for his intervention. She knew that if anyone could raise Lazarus from the dead it was Christ, not herself. And yet, even though the power was from God, it was begged for by a human woman. And God heard the cry of the grieving woman, wept himself for the tragic loss she brought before Him, and answered her prayer. 

Ladies, this is what we are to do. I have heard St. Martha described as a patroness of Hope because of how she responded to the tragic death of Lazarus. Like her, we too are called to be women of Hope even when facing the tragedy of the spiritual death of our generation of men. You, as a woman, cannot save them; but God can, and he wants you to beg him to do so with sweat and tears and eager longings. 

God told St. Catherine of Siena that her tears and eager desire for the salvation of souls could bind Him like a chain. This is the power God gives us as women. Use it! The Enemy wants you to take the pain and loss you feel in your heart and wallow in your own self-pity, becoming consumed in a view of yourself as a tragic figure. Don't allow the Evil One to have this power over you! Rather, have pity on your brothers and bring the tragedy of their spiritual death before God with eager desires for their conversion and resurrection. God has promised to have mercy on the human race despite its sin and imperfection. Remind Him of his promise. Do you want to be women of strength and power? Embrace the strength and power God has given you! He has given us strength to suffer and power to petition Him. So accept your sufferings and lay them at his feet, petitioning Him for the salvation you wish your brothers to have. 

St. Catherine was the quintessential "single Catholic woman", unmarried yet not a religious. Did she wallow in self-pity at the "tragedy" of her virginity? No! She had souls to save, recognizing that the true tragedy of her age was a generation of spiritually dead priests, bishops, cardinals and popes. So she prayed, and fasted, and offered her sufferings to God for their sake. And you know what? He listened to her and answered her prayers. Men condemned to die for the grave crimes they had committed converted at the last hour and entered the Kingdom of Heaven because of her witness and prayer. Be that woman like St. Catherine. 

I said earlier that the blood of a virgin was believed by the pagans to be powerful enough to save an entire civilization. Likewise, the sufferings of the Catholic virgin also have the power to save her entire generation when she brings her petitions to the Lord and unites her sufferings with the sufferings of Christ on the cross. 


Having told you this I end with only one question: What are you waiting for?

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Alyssa is a Junior studying Humanities and Catholic Culture, Theology, and Philosophy. She is a native of Texas where she lives with her family in a blue-roofed house on top of a hill. She is passionate about the Truth of the Lord's Incarnation and loves spending time discovering and discussing ways in which others have incarnated the Gospel in film, history, literature, politics, and art. Her favorite saints are St. Teresa of Avila and St. Catherine of Siena because they both personify St. John Paul II's "feminine genius" in her mind.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Women of the Word: the Failure of Bathsheba

Have you ever been in a situation where you knew doing something was wrong, and you did it anyway?

Maybe that thing was your idea, or maybe it wasn't. Maybe you let yourself be convinced by others that it was okay, when in your heart of hearts you knew that it wasn't.

I've fallen into this, sister. Too many times, I've gone along with something I knew in my heart of hearts was wrong, either because I was too afraid to speak up or because I let myself be too influenced by the opinions of others.

Are you familiar with the story of Bathsheba? She was the wife of Uriah, a man of great character. He was faithful to his God and king, unwilling to back down from his duty to his king and country even when urged to do so by his Kind, David (2 Samuel 11:6-11).

I think it's safe to assume that Bathsheba too was a woman of character. How could she not be when she was married to such a man? And yet, Bathsheba is most well known for her sin of adultery with David.
"It happened, late one afternoon, when David arose from his couch and was walking upon the roof of the king's house, that he saw from the roof a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful. And David sent and inquired about the woman. And one said, 'Is this not Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?' So David sent messengers, and took her; and she came to him, and he lay with her. (Now she was purifying herself from her uncleanness.) Then she returned to her house. And the woman conceived; and she sent and told David, 'I am with child.'" 2 Samuel 11:2-5
Sisters, I think that Bathsheba fell into the same trap that we so often fall into. In her heart of hearts, she had to know that her sin with David was wrong. But she let it happen anyway. She didn't speak up, either because she was too afraid of what David would do or because she let herself be influenced by his opinion. And this failure to speak out led to some serious consequences: she conceived a child, her husband was killed in David's attempt to cover it up, and the child she bore died as punishment for David's sins with her.

Now thankfully, Bathsheba's story doesn't end here. She goes on to be David's most beloved wife and gives birth to Solomon, the great king of Israel. She receives the greatest honor possible: she is considered a prefigurement of Our Lady and is mentioned in the genealogy of the Messiah.

Dear ones, our Lord had mercy on Bathsheba. Despite her failure to speak out, He showed His goodness to her. And He does the same to us: when we fall, He picks us back up. He gives us the grace to turn from our sin and cowardice and be molded into something great.

In his second letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul writes:
"Since we have the same spirit of faith as he who wrote, 'I believed, and so I spoke,' we too believe, and so we speak, knowing that he who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into his presence."
In this world that we live in, there are going to be many times when fear and the opinion of others will make it difficult for us to speak out. But dear ones, we must. If we won't speak the truth that this world so desperately needs, then who will?

Let us not fail as Bathsheba did. Let us have the courage to speak up, both with our words and with our actions.



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Catie Destatte is a senior Theology and Catechetics major. She has a passion for writing, Mama Mary, ministry to women, and evangelization. Her life motto is Totus Tuus Maria, and she tries to live that out in her every moment. Along with being a member of Women's Ministry Core Team, she's involved in Capture My Heart Core Team, Liturgy Committee, and Totus Tuus Maria Household. Her five great loves are JPII, St. Peter, tea, praise and worship music, and the ocean. Along with Shannon, one of Catie's roles in Women's Ministry is to run this blog. You can find out more about her here.

Friday, November 6, 2015

Rations

I don't know about you, but I ration things. I ration my time, my energy, my money, my friendship, my chocolate (I'm a selfish hoarder when it comes to sweets). I make choices every day about how I want to spend these things. How much time can I afford to spend listening to that friend who really needs me? How much energy should I devote to this paper? How many moments should I spend sitting with the Lord in silence when I have a million other things demanding my attention? How much money should I throw in that collection box and how much should I spend going out with friends?

A couple months ago, during a Steubenville Youth Conference Holy Hour that I was working, the priest said something that struck me.

God's love does not have rations.

STOP. Rewind. Repeat.

God's love does not have rations.



There's never a day when He doesn't stop loving us. There's never a day that He says "that's enough, this is too much, I've given too much love to her, I'm gonna stop."

Isn't this our greatest fear? That if we give people the chance to see us for who we really are, they're going to realize that we're too much for them? Or that people will only see us as another thing to ration their time and love to and not someone worth giving it all for?

I don't think it's too presumptuous of me to assume that you have felt this way one time or another.

I know I have.

During those moments of adoration that night, the Lord spoke a truth to my heart that I know I'll have to continue to learn over and over again for as long as it takes for me to truly understand:

His love for me will never run out.

He doesn't have a limited amount to give to me. He doesn't have to ration His love, His energy, His patience, His forgiveness, His time. And what's more, He doesn't want to, no matter how unfaithful I might be.

In my limited ability to love, so often I have the mentality that if someone isn't returning the rations that I've given them with equal rations of their own, I don't want to ration anything else out. Well, she clearly doesn't love me as much as I love her, so I'm going to stop wasting my love and energy on her.

Can you imagine what life would be if our God had that mentality?

Thankfully, He doesn't.

No matter how little patience I have for that son or daughter of His that I just can't seem to love the way I should, His patience for how slow I am at figuring out how quickly everything will fall apart when I try to remain in control will never run out.

No matter how little energy or motivation I have for giving my all to the things that I've committed to (*cough cough* schoolwork, work, ministry, my family *cough cough*), His motivation for moving my heart to greater love for Him and His Church will never run out.

No matter how unwilling I am to forgive that person who still seems to have no awareness of the ways they deeply hurt me, His willingness to forgive the sins I commit that hurt Him and His children will never run out.

No matter how quickly I am ready to cut down on the time that I give to Him in prayer each day, the time that He spends pursuing my heart and showing me what I mean to him will never run out.

No matter how little love I show Him in the things that I do and the people that I meet, His love for me, love that took Him to a gruesome and painful death on a cross for the sake of my soul, will never run out.

Dear ones, if we rely on our own strength, it's not surprising that we need to ration. On our own, we don't have enough. But when we turn to Him, He pours out an abundance.

So the next time you feel tempted to ration something, turn to Him. Ask Him to multiply whatever it is you feel that you don't have enough of. The God of Abundance wants to give. Let Him.

What are you rationing in your life right now? What do you need an abundance of?


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Catie Destatte is a senior Theology and Catechetics major. She has a passion for writing, Mama Mary, ministry to women, and evangelization. Her life motto is Totus Tuus Maria, and she tries to live that out in her every moment. Along with being a member of Women's Ministry Core Team, she's involved in Capture My Heart Core Team, Liturgy Committee, and Totus Tuus Maria Household. Her five great loves are JPII, St. Peter, tea, praise and worship music, and the ocean. Along with Shannon, one of Catie's roles in Women's Ministry is to run this blog. You can find out more about her here.

Friday, October 23, 2015

Broken Love

“Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” -1 Cor 13:5,7

Have you ever encountered someone who was really hard to love? Who kept you at arms’ length no matter how much you tried to love them?

Sisters, there’s someone like that in my life right now. Our sweet Lord has very clearly brought this person into my life for me to love in a special way, but that’s not always easy.

And you know why? Because she’s broken.

And often, loving people who are really broken brings out our own brokenness.

All too often, I want to quit. Give up. Throw in the towel. Lord, I can’t. I know you asked me to love her, but she won’t let me in. and when she does, she pushes me away again. It’s just too hard to love her.

And then I realize: what if the person that loved me at my most broken had said that same thing about me? What if my fear of being hurt and my hardness of heart had deterred her from loving me? What if she had chosen to throw in the towel instead of pursue me with that relentless love?

If she had done any of those things that I’m so tempted to do now, I would still be a broken, empty, hard woman.

Love bears all things, sisters, even the most broken things. Real love does not insist on its own way or its own timing, but rather, as Winnie the Pooh says, “Love is taking a few steps backward, maybe even more…to give way to the happiness of the person you love.”



Maybe sometimes in love, we need to step back from what we think love should be in order to realize what love really is.

Love is messy. And painful. And honestly, quite heartbreaking.

But more than all of that, love is a choice. A choice to will the good of the other person despite what might be easiest for us.

Sometimes that choice means that we have to confront our own brokenness. Sometimes it means that we have to keep going when we want to give up. Sometimes it means that we have to bear some pretty heavy stuff. Sometimes it means that we have to allow our own hearts to be broken. But always it means that we will find that all the brokenness we had to face was worth it.

Lord, cast out any fear of painful love that exists in our hearts. Root up our own ideas of what love should be and reveal to us what it actually is. Help us to meet the brokenness of others with the love with which you met us. When we are confronted with our own brokenness, help us to rejoice rather than to hide. Increase in us the virtue of ardent charity, that we may love each person we meet with Your love and not with our own.