You Were Created LOVED.
Do you ever miss the simplicity of being a child? Those carefree, candy-licking, nap-taking, running barefoot in the backyard kinds of days? Most people have reminisced over these moments at one point or another. What is it about these moments that keeps drawing us back? I believe the part of those memories that is so attractive to us is the simplicity of them. And if we could remain this simple as we grew older, our love for Christ would increase remarkably.
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Christmas can be such a dreamy time of year: houses and churches take on new beauty with the lights and garlands, love seems to be in the air as couples post romantic pictures, we give and receive gifts–all of this is bright and merry and beautiful.
What happens when the most wonderful time of year is crossed with suffering? With loss? How can we navigate a time of great joy when it is overshadowed by great sorrow?
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I have struggled with whether I’m “good enough” all throughout my teens and into adulthood. Like me, you may often ask yourself: “Am I good enough yet?” And yet, when reflecting on this question, we must dig deeper and ask ourselves: Who exactly are we questioning we are good enough for?
For me, it was my family, my friends, the boys I dated, and myself. Whenever someone disappointed me or walked out of my life, I questioned my self-worth. With every heartbreak, I questioned whether I was good enough. Every friend that was no longer my friend, every F on a test, every failure, every disappointment made me question my worth: “Am I not smart enough? Am I not pretty enough? Am I not skinny enough?”
And yet, are we not more than our accomplishments and failures? Are we not more than the numbers on the scale? Are we not more than the way we think people perceive us? Wouldn’t it be nice if every time we had this thought of not being enough, someone would be there to say that we are—If every time we met ourselves with doubt, someone would assure us that we were created for more than this?
Jesus does. He says that He made us; we are made in His image. Jesus reminds us every day that we are enough—in fact, we are to die for. To question our worth is to question His sacrifice. He says not only that we are worthy, but that we have purpose. You are here for a reason, you are blessed, you are beautiful, and you are enough.
One of my favorite lyrics comes from “He Has Time” by Common Hymnal and Jamie MacDonald. It reminds us that “Jesus runs after the broken ones, weeping with those who weep,” and “crowns them with purity.” The great thing about Jesus is that we don’t have to look too far to find him. He see us in our darkest places, in our doubt, in our sadness, and in our failures, and still says we are worthy. He meets us where we are in life and heals us. Once we realize this, we stop putting our worth in other people; we stop looking for our worth in other people. We become set free, we become made new—the only person we put our worth in is Jesus. The only person we question if we are “good enough” for is Jesus, and even then, we know the answer because He answered it when He died on the cross for us.
The answer is, yes, we are enough. If we put our worth in worldly things, we will surely be disappointed. Nothing on this earth is perfect, but if we put our worth in the one thing—the one person—who is perfect, then we will not be disappointed.
Jesus has all the time in the world to remind you every day: You are more than the scale, more than the A’s or F’s you get on a test, more than what people say about you. You are not made of this world, you are made of Him. You are worth dying for, and He did—because you are worth it.
When I was a little girl, my mom would drag my little brother and I to adoration. The chapel was dark, lit only by the candles that framed the tabernacle. While we didn’t fully understand yet what we were experiencing, we knew there was something different about this space. My mom would go before the Lord praying for my dad’s conversion. For eighteen years I watched her fast and do penance so that our family would be unified in the Church. The diligence and manner in which she prayed showed my brother and I that what she was praying for was real. Our Catholic faith was and still is the most important thing to her, and my dad knew that. Before they married, he agreed to raise us in the Catholic Church. I have never been so thankful for a promise kept. We knew he had questions and hesitations about the Church, but he made sure we were there every Sunday as a family, because that’s what he promised my mom. Every day I prayed for my family to someday sit in Mass together.
The summer before junior year of high school I went on an adventurous trip to Colorado with my youth group. I was not one that liked to spend time away from my family, so I dreaded this trip. After about eight hours in the car, we stopped at a little convent in the middle of nowhere in Kansas. The sisters were having adoration before Mass, and we had the opportunity to celebrate with them. We filed into the humble chapel where they were praying before the Blessed Sacrament. From the moment I crossed the threshold of the door I could feel the Holy Spirit drawing my soul in. I believe that time spent in adoration that day is the closest thing to ecstasy I will experience this side of Heaven. Tears overwhelmingly filled my eyes—I was truly in the presence of Christ. It was that day that my love for adoration began, and I understood why my mom had spent so many hours there. After mass we were able to mingle with the sisters. I was introduced to one in particular, and I couldn’t even look her in the eyes. She was the most holy woman I had ever seen, radiant and beautiful. I quickly went out the door and climbed into the van. She followed me all the way to the back seat to speak to me. Knowing that I was moved by our experience, she grabbed my face and said to me: “Sometimes Jesus squeezes the heart.” And He was. I was so humbled. I felt so unworthy to be loved so much.
Junior year of college, I met a boy. Not just any boy, but the one I knew I wanted to marry. He was handsome and charming—everything I had ever prayed for. He was not Catholic, but I was okay with that. I had seen it work with my parents (and seven other couples in my family who married non-Catholics that are now converted and in full communion with the Church). I was working for our football department and he was playing at a school a few hours away. He knew he wanted to go pro and spent lots of time training, so this made seeing each other difficult sometimes. When I missed him, or when we were going through challenges in our relationship, I would go sit in front of the Blessed Sacrament and tell Jesus everything. My hurts, my wants, my fears, my frustrations. Sometimes I would go and sob, sometimes I would just sit and feel His embrace.
After college, he moved to California to start training camp. We got engaged outside of the Cathedral in my hometown where we planned to be married—the same church I have dreamed of being married in since I was a little girl. It was the most beautiful day full of blessings and family, and we could not wait to start our future together. We went through our marriage prep, I bought a dress, and I prepared to make the move to California after the wedding. A few months into our engagement, he decided he was unsure about the Catholic Church and raising our family in this way. While I never expected to marry a Catholic, I knew I would never force my faith on anyone either. But I do feel a sense of responsibility to make sure my future children experience every part of our faith—and not be pulled in two different directions. We decided to call off the wedding.
Heartbroken and confused, I ran to the only place I knew to go—the same place I had been hundreds of times. The only place that could heal my very broken heart. I was so angry with God (and I let him know that too). I told him—“If it wasn’t for You and Your Church, I would be marrying the man I love.” How could he give me everything I had asked for and then take it away? Looking back, maybe this was the point. I was stripped of everything I thought I could ever want and was left with no one else to turn to but Him. And I did. Humbly, desperately, daily, I would find my strength in the Eucharist. There were days it was the only thing that got me up in the morning.
Friends, there is power and healing in the Eucharist. As Catholics we have the opportunity to experience Christ in the most intimate way that no one else can! He has made himself present to us through the Eucharist, and there is nothing else like it on this earth. He eagerly waits for us to come be with Him–to share our hopes and our struggles, to weep and rejoice. He is always there and always waiting. Run to Him–He alone will heal you.
From a young age, I have been very independent. I had the mentality that I knew it all, that I could achieve anything on my own if I tried hard enough. I lived out in the country with lots of hay fields, and every year, we would spend hours playing and jumping on the hay bales. When I was little, they were dauntingly big, forcing me to give up my independence and allow someone to help me up. Eventually, I grew, and it became easier and easier, until I could take a running start to jump on them. What once was daunting and seemingly impossible, became normal, doable, and even easy. What I’ve realized is that this is often how I approach the Lord, assuring Him that I can overcome this hurdle without His help, and relying on my own strength.
In my junior year of college, I transferred to a new school and was starting over. This was the first time that I had moved away from home and was stripped of the support system that I so heavily relied on my whole life. I was stripped of comfort and thrown into this new season. Many nights were filled with feelings of loneliness, restlessness, and fear of where the Lord was calling me. With chapels in every building and the best community that only wanted to build me up and lead me to the Lord, I wondered why I was still in such a hard season. Later I realized that this might have been because I was not running to the Lord with my struggles. I was only telling Him the blessings in my life, which did not seem like many during this season.
I think many of us fall into the trap of only telling Jesus about the good parts of our lives, or of making requests and treating Him more like a vending machine than a friend. Lately, I have been feeling anxious, uneasy, and unsure of what He might be calling me to next. I have been ignoring my underlying unrest and attempting to fix my problems on my own, denying Jesus’ hand that is reaching for me. I have been failing to tell Him what is on my heart.
Like a friend, Jesus wants to hear about our suffering and our pain, and He wants to guide us in the right direction. Jesus wants us to be vulnerable with Him and is waiting to cover us with His love and comfort. Growing up, I felt the need to be strong for everyone and to set my struggles aside to deal with later. I put others first, never speaking for myself, assuring them that I was fine and that I was there for them. I did this with Jesus as well, telling Him that all was well, that I had everything under control and that I didn’t want to be a burden while others might need Him more than I. It took many mid-semester breakdowns and many friends to tell me that my pain is not a burden to Jesus. I am not a burden. Jesus yearns to hear what is on my heart, whether that be blessings or sorrows. He wants to grace me with His presence in every season. He wants to hear about every part of my life and every part of me.
As my first semester at my new college ended, I knew something needed to change. I needed to change. I finally saw that I was not fully trusting the Lord and was denying what He was offering me. The next semester, I found a wonderful sisterhood that not only taught me to run to the Lord, but also held me accountable, physically dragging me to the chapel when I didn’t want to go. They showed me that I cannot do everything on my own, but that I need to embrace the cross every day. They taught me that I am not “too much” for the Lord. This fruitful sisterhood transformed how I spoke with the Lord, how I loved, and how I received. Now that I am capable of jumping up on those hay bales on my own, I have to remind myself that it is okay to surrender that independence and learn to depend on the Lord.
If this season has sucked, turn to God and tell Him. Allow yourself to mourn, and give Him permission to comfort and heal your heart. Give yourself permission to receive His healing. Allow yourself to be dependent on Him. Allow yourself to give up control. Allow yourself to simply be—and to be His.
“Be who God created you to be and you will set the world on fire.”
This quote from St. Catherine of Siena pretty much sums up my experience when I went on a week-long mission trip to Benque Viejo, Belize in 2019.
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Going on mission is a choice that we can make every day, just by serving others. And each time we serve others, we are serving God! That is why I ask myself daily: How will I serve my brothers and sisters today?
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How can we grow closer to our Lord when it seems like many avenues for that have been taken away? With Masses and events being limited, we might feel that it is impossible to enter into a deeper relationship with God, but it’s actually the opposite. We are being invited to enter into our relationship with Him in a new way this year. This new way holds a lot of beauty because we are able to dive deeper into the way of life that Christ was living right before His Passion. Christ, removed from His community, hung on the cross for the good of all. He endured the pain and the suffering because He knew it would be given back to the world as grace. Jesus was removed from His community and held in captivity, and in a way, we are being asked at this time to do that as well.
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It was a cold October night. I didn’t know what to expect, thinking this night would be the same as every other. My parents happened to be out of town, so it was just the three youngest of six at home, just us sisters. We weren’t scared about being alone together; as far as we knew, we would always keep each other safe. We finally all went to sleep.
So there I was, asleep in my bed. And then I heard a voice from God saying: “Wake up.” My eyes opened to see an unknown man with a mask standing over me.
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Can you remember your first day of high school? I can most accurately describe my experience by the distinct “school smell” and how I tried to avoid eye contact while power-walking to my next class. I remember coming home with a sore jaw, not from getting into a school fight but from not saying a single word all day! I avoided any and all social interaction possible and was undoubtedly shy.
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Born Dignified 