And My Heart Bursts out of Love for Every One of Them.

My Heart Kinda Hurts.

The crucifix at the end of her rosary dug into her skin as she gripped it tighter in her sweaty fist. She yearned for peace, yet she remained unsettled. Tears began to drip down her face So much has changed in these last few weeks. It's been so hard. She gazed down at the crucifix and sobbed. She felt lost, alone, and completely broken. She was scared. She'd already done all that she knew to do. Now it was time to sit back and wait with patience and trust. Oh, how she hated this. She fingered the rosary she held in her hands and began to pray. It was all that she had left. 

Mother Mary.

I really love Mary. Like, I really love Mary. 

One of my favorite things to do is to imagine what Mary was like as a young mother to her Son. I love imagining her playing and making faces at Him to make Him laugh, or holding Him closely when He was scared, or gazing down upon His tender sleeping face. She was the one who cared for Him, who bandaged His cuts and scrapes, who dried the tears off of His tiny face. She was the one who watched Him grow from a tiny little boy in her arms to a Man...that wonderful Man that He was. She was His mother and there wasn't a single person on earth who loved Him more than she did. It's such a beautiful thought. 

I've a special devotion to the sufferings of Mary.  Mary’s suffering was foreshadowed by Simeon when he said to her after she presented the baby Jesus in the temple: “Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be contradicted (and you yourself a sword will pierce) so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.” (Luke 1:34-35).And boy, did she suffer. She watched her Son get beaten and mocked, scourged and spit upon. She stood by as He struggled with His cross, slowly dragging it up the mountain on His bloody shoulders. She saw the soldiers drive the nails into her Son's hands and feet. She was at the foot of the cross, watching her Son die. 

My favorite thing to do is to pray the rosary. I understand that not everybody shares this love. It makes me pretty sad, to be honest. More than anything, I wish that my family would make it a point to pray this together more often. Many say that it's too repetitive. But this is something that I particularly like about it. Would you ever get tired of hearing your spouse or your child saying "I love you"? The rosary is my way of telling my Mother that I love her, over and over. I love to not only say the prayers, but to meditate on the mysteries as well. I love going through the life of Jesus, seeing it all through His mother's eyes. It's so beautiful, and so under appreciated. 

There is nothing in my life that's brought me to love my Catholic faith more than Mary has. She has played such a crucial role in my faith life; I know I would not be the same person if it weren't for her. And quite honestly, I owe her it all. She's helped me through so much. I look up to Mary as a role model. She is the person that I want to grow up to be. Her obedience to God, her humility to completely submit herself to His will, and ultimately her love for Him--I want that. She is the kind of person that God is calling all of us to be. She's brought me to love her Son so much. She always draws my eyes and my heart towards Him. I love her. And through this love for her, she helps me to love Him. 

And Life's Okay.

I am a mess. I've lost control. My eyes have been looking everywhere but heavenward. My mind has wandered off to daydreams and fantasies. My heart has run away from me, always keeping itself just beyond my reach. My eyes, my mind, my heart--I've let them all go. My prayer life has withered to become a vast nothing. I am empty. Broken. Incomplete. 
I stand in line for the confessional, ashamed of the long list of sins that had managed to grow in the mere six days since my last confession. My head hurts. My heart aches. It's been a rough week. 
I whisper the list of all of my sins and regrets to the man on the other side of the screen. He listens patiently, offering a few words of advice here and there, but generally just listens. My heart begins to lift slightly as he gives me absolution and blesses me. I begin to get up to leave when he stops me, with a few last words: 
"I want you to be at peace, my child." 
It was a simple thing. He's probably said it a dozen times already that day to the people before me. But it was exactly what I needed to hear. I was torn up inside and I needed healing. Through those simple words, I received it. 
I open the door of the confessional and step out into the church. As I make my way towards the tabernacle to pray, peace begins to fill my heart. Nothing has changed, really. I still have my issues to deal with at home. I have papers due and assignments to complete. Nothing has changed. But at the same time, everything has. For the first time this week, life is okay. And I'm okay. 

A Saint that is Just Me.

I often feel as if I have nothing to offer. I feel small and insignificant compared to the likes of those who's shadows I tend to fall under. In fact, for the longest time, I often felt as if there was never a single moment when I wasn't in someone's shadow for one thing or another. I've never felt good enough or pretty enough or holy enough for anyone. There was always somebody greater than me. Or somebody prettier. Funnier. Holier. I couldn't help comparing myself to these people. And in doing so, my opinion of myself grew smaller and smaller. 

I'm really not that impressive. When I look in the mirror, I'm never entirely happy with the person I see looking back at me. I see a girl. That less-than-perfect kind of girl. A girl with frizzy hair and pale skin. A girl who laughs too hard at jokes, or is too slow to understand them right off. A girl who loves to smile, but can't seem to ever remember to do it as much as she should. A girl who can never seem to be "good enough." Not to herself, not to others. I see a girl who messes up a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I am the epitome of imperfection. 

I really do have very little to offer. I'm not extremely talented in any way, nor am I a particularly interesting person. I am small. I am seemingly completely insignificant in this world  And yet...I still dare to desire something that I'd never thought I'd ever be able to reach. Something greater than anything that this world has to offer. There is nothing else that my heart aches for as much as the mere thought of reaching Heaven and being one with the Love of my life. Me--the silly, childish girl with nothing particularly great about her--I yearn for the greatest thing that any human can possibly dream of. I want to be a saint. 

But the greatest thing about this desire of mine is this: God wants it for me, too. Even more than I want it for myself, in fact.  I may not be the greatest, or the smartest, the funniest, the prettiest, or the holiest. I may be imperfect. I'm just me. 

But I guess that's all He asks for. 

Shame on Your Adorable Face.

I'm not a swooner. I never have been. But there's something special about you. I'm not sure what it is. You make my heart beat faster and the mere thought of your never fails to bring a smile to my face. You make me happy. That's been kind of hard to do lately. So kudos. You certainly are a special one. 

I'm in the denial stage. "Face it, Rachel. You're in love with him." What? No, I'm not. I won't fall in love. My parents wouldn't approve. It's too soon. I'm too young. I don't need to add a lover to my ever growing list of things to worry about. Besides, you're too good for me. You're too sweet. Too kind. Too perfect. It can't happen. 

Shame on your adorable face for making me fall for you. I can't focus on anything. It's probably not healthy the way you make my heart beat so quickly. I'm smiling. I know I am. I always do when it comes to talking about you. I can't help it. I've fallen. For you. And I don't know how I'm going to get up. I don't even know if I want to. 

Maybe I'll just give up on it all and become a nun. 

But...
But...
But...
(Heh heh butt.) 

Come and Gone.

Almost as quickly as it came, summer 2k13 skids to an end. I don't care what they keep telling me--how every year is the same and all that pish posh. I swear this year is going by much faster than it should. And it might have to do with the fact that it's the one year that I want to last forever. I turn 18 in 138 days. Senior year starts in a mere 5. I want time to stop, but at the same time, it can't go by fast enough. 

The early August humidity soaks into me as I ponder life and everything in it. Disgusted at the stickiness that always comes from our Tucson monsoons, I wipe the sweat from my face. I like to tell myself that my Irish skin has tanned to a darker shade of white this summer, but I know that I'm simply fooling myself. Though I still manage to get awkward tan lines. Funny how that works.  Funny how everything works. I'm in one of those moods. 

Moods are stupid. Feelings are stupid. This entire summer, I've been struggling with a certain type of feeling that I didn't want to surface for a long while. These feelings can make you do some pretty darn stupid stuff--the kind of stuff that you'd never imagined yourself doing in any other circumstance. How stupid. But it can be wonderful. 

This summer was filled to the brim with wonderful in every form. Family vacations, spending long hours doing nothing with my closest friends, Jesus highs that made me want to sing, times of desolation that made me want to scream, laughter, tears, love, heartbreak... wonderful in every form that I've ever known. 

God is amazing. I mean, that pretty much goes without saying--He always is. But sometimes, I just have to state the obvious. He's brought me yet another perfect summer. It's come to an end, only to bring the start of something new. And I am so excited.