Lilies and Roses

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She had crazy, curly red hair, and the biggest blue eyes you'd ever seen. She hated math and lizards and bugs. Her favorite movie was Mulan, but mostly because one of the previews was for Tarzan. She was ridiculously shy with strangers, but had no problem bossing her sisters around. She loved swimming and reading and singing and reading and running and reading and mostly reading. She knew Jesus, and she knew He loved her. She loved her mommy and her sisters and her cousins, but most of all, she loved her daddy.
Daddy was superman. He could fix everything. He gave the best hugs. He killed every spider. He was king of tickle fights, and could save anything that fell into the toilet. He would roll the windows down and everyone would sing country songs at the top of their lungs. Not very well. He was the funniest person she knew. She didn't understand most of his jokes, but every time they went to the store, he made the check-out ladies laugh. He carried her on his shoulders so she could see the fireworks. He took her fishing and taught her how to filet her catch. It was gross, but she didn't care. She was with him. He got up with her at night when she didn't feel good. He prayed with her before she fell asleep. He held her when they watched tv. Half the time she didn't know what they were watching. It didn't matter. He taught her how to play cards. He taught her how to make lemonade. He taught her how to dribble a basketball. He held her hand.
She thought he was perfect. He was her hero. She loved him more than anyone, and she knew that he loved her. She sang songs, danced dances, painted pictures, did chores, picked daises. She did anything that might make him smile. Even the tiniest "That's very nice." was worth it. He was big and strong and he loved her. From bad dreams to scary people, he would fight off every evil. He was her safe place. She trusted him. He would protect her.
Time passed. She went to school, but then Mommy decided to teach her, so she came home. She studied, and played with her sisters, and she grew. They moved a lot, but she was used to it. Sometimes they didn't live in houses, but that was ok. She trusted Mommy and Daddy. It was like an adventure.
More time went by. The little girl was smart. She was good at seeing things most other people missed. She started to realize that things weren't always good like she thought. Daddy was sick a lot. Sometimes he slept for a very long time. Days. Weeks. She was supposed to be quiet then. Mommy kept teaching her. She learned about Jesus. She read books about saints and learned that Jesus was special. He died for us, and the saints loved Him a lot. So much that sometimes they died for Him too. She went to Mass every morning. When she made her First Holy Communion, she was the most excited of all the kids. She knew Who she was meeting there, and she loved Him. She prayed for her family, especially for her daddy. She waited for him to get better. She waited for everything to get better.
Mommy and Daddy started to fight a lot. She didn't know they could yell like that. It was scary. She cried. Mommy promised it would be ok, but she still didn't understand. Sometimes Mommy cried too. She tried to make Mommy feel better, but it didn't always work. Daddy slept more than before. Sometimes, when he was awake, he was angry. She didn't know what she did wrong. She thought maybe if she did better it would be ok again, but no matter how hard she tried, it still wasn't good enough to make him happy. It was never like before. Now, when she did it wrong, he yelled. She didn't know he could be so loud. She was scared. Disappointing Daddy was the worst thing that could ever happen. She had to do better. Mommy kept taking her to church, but it was different. Mommy wasn't happy anymore.
She went to school. She was shy. She was different. She didn't wear the right clothes. Most of the time, she didn't understand the jokes that made the other kids laugh, and when she did they didn't seem very funny. It was hard to make friends, but she found some. She found her first best friend. They laughed a lot. She learned how to be funny. She learned how to blend in. She couldn't tell anyone about her family, because they wouldn't understand. Besides. If people found out, they would see all of the things she did wrong. It was getting worse. Mommy was always tired and sad. Daddy yelled more. If she really messed up, he hit her. She could never tell. People wouldn't understand that it was her fault. Mommy and Daddy said people would take her away from them. She learned how to hide. She learned that she could see what was hurting the other kids, and that she was good at making them feel better. She learned how to fix things for her friends.
Mommy kept taking her to church, but it was different. Now the girl was angry. God could have fixed it. He could have made Daddy better. He could have given them more money. He could have given them a house like the other kids. He could have made her less different. She was so angry. She decided she didn't want to love Mommy and Daddy anymore. It hurt too much. It wasn't fair. She hated them. She hated herself. She told God that she hated Him too, but she didn't mean it. Her heart just hurt so much. 
Her best friend took her to church. She made friends in the youth group. They were nicer than other kids, and their jokes were really funny. She was still a little different, but they didn't seem to care too much. She met a new youth minister who seemed to understand her more than anyone else. Everyone talked about Jesus. She acted like she understood. She went on trips with them. They were safe.
She was fourteen. The youth group went to a conference in Atlanta. There were thousands of other teens. They were all wearing tshirts and jeans, just like her. They all talked about Jesus. She fit in. They sang songs she knew. She lifted her hands like they did. It was fun. She listened to speakers. They told her God was a Father, and His love was unconditional. It sounded nice, but she didn't really understand. Saturday night. Worship music. Three thousand people on their knees. She knelt too. Incense filled the air. She looked up. The lights were dim. The priest carried the Eucharist in the Monstrance. There was a spotlight on the Eucharist. She started to cry. She started to sob. An entire hour. She couldn't stop. She didn't know why. All she knew is that everything in her, her mind, her heart, her soul, knew that was Jesus. He died for her. He loved her. "I'll never know how much it cost, to see my sins upon that Cross." It didn't matter if she did it right or not. He chose to love her anyways. Now, He was in front of her. She kept crying. She begged for forgiveness. She told Him she loved Him. She started speaking in tongues. That was new. She cried. The priest took Jesus' precious Body back to the chapel. She stood. She lifted her arms. It was different. It wasn't because everyone else was doing it. It was because she was in love. She was free. She was His. That night, she shared a tiny piece of her heart with the other kids in the group, and she wasn't shy.
She came home. She was going to do everything right. She had Jesus now. She was going to make it better. It didn't work. Daddy was still sick. Mommy was still sad. She still fought with her sisters. The house was still dirty. She couldn't do it right. "If they knew who you really are, they would be disgusted with you. Hypocrite. Liar. Phony." At home she was angry and sad. It still wasn't fair. She kept going to youth group. There she was happy. There, she was safe. They understood her. They said she was good. Jesus was there, and she loved Him. Time passed. The cycle kept spinning. It kept getting worse, but she knew, if it ever got "really bad," she could go to the youth group and it would be ok.
She was fifteen. It was summer. They couldn't live in their house anymore. Mommy and Daddy stayed in the car, and the girl and her sisters moved in with a strange woman. They slept on the couch. The woman had different men spend the night. The girl felt dirty when they looked at her. She and her sisters left the woman's house. They lived in the car and slept in the storage unit. It was hot. Daddy was always angry. He yelled. He called her names. He pulled her hair. He hit her. He choked her. She hated him. Real, raw hate. For the first time, she knew what it was to choose to turn away from God. Things changed again. Mommy and Daddy said they were moving. Far away. From Florida to Ohio. She was losing everything. No more friends. No more youth group. No more safe place. No more hope. How could she expect Jesus to love her when she turned away from Him? She knew He still did, but she couldn't see why. "Dear Jesus, I don't understand. My heart is breaking. I don't know what you want, but if you lead me, I will follow you. I will trust you. I love you."
She got to Ohio. They lived in a shelter. She turned sixteen. Daddy hit her, again. They kicked him out of the shelter. Mommy and the girl and her sisters moved into a house just for women and children. She started junior year. She made friends. She met a boy named Daniel. She told him her story. She didn't tell anyone else. She went on a retreat. She felt Jesus' love again. He told her to forgive her daddy. "I don't know how, but if that's what you want, I'll do it. I will trust you. I love you."
They moved into an apartment. Daddy moved back in. He never hit her again. Jesus softened her heart of stone. She learned how to love her daddy again, even though it hurt every single day. Mommy was still sad and angry. Daddy was still sick. She made more friends. People liked her. They said she was good. God took Daniel. She cried. It hurt. She met his family. They hurt together. They loved. They had something she had never seen before. Still, she couldn't trust. They didn't leave. They pushed closer and closer. She was scared. Sometimes she ran. Sometimes she hid. She couldn't let them see her. They stayed. God worked.
She was eighteen. She went to college. She was free. It was safe. She made friends. She started to see Jesus for who He really was. She started to see the lies in her heart. He spoke truth. Her family kept getting worse. Mommy got more and more sad. Daddy got more and more sick. Her sisters made more and more bad choices. She made more and more friends. She met a man that she called "Father."He showed her love she didn't know was real. God changed her heart. She cried.
Spring break. She went home. Daddy went to the hospital. She hates hospitals. She stayed with him. Every day. She was there.  Medication. He couldn't move or talk. So much pain. She had to go back to school. Mommy made the nurse turn down the medication so that she could say goodbye. She told him that she loved him, and she would see him soon. She told him to get better. He couldn't open his eyes, but tears ran down his face. She had to be strong. He held her hand. It was like before. His big hand, her little one. Different, though. This time, she was holding him. They said he was getting better. He was. One month later, Mommy called. "Daddy died." Her heart broke. She fell down. She cried. She went to the chapel. She curled up on the floor. "If this is what it takes to love You, I'll do it. I trust You. I love you."
Time passed. Nineteen. Twenty. She hurt. She healed. She moved in with Daniel's family. Her family. She was scared. She wanted to run. She couldn't trust, couldn't let them in, couldn't let them see her. They stayed. God worked. New baby brother. "You give and take away; blessed be Your Name." More school. New countries. Growing. Healing. Less lies. More truth. More prayer. Abba, Father. Jesus. Holy Spirit. Love. Hope. Faith. Eucharistic Amazement.

Twenty-One.
Twenty-one years of life. Twenty-one years of pain and beauty. Growing. Agony. Ashes. Life. Love.
His unconditional love. His mercy. His greatness. His story. My heart.

"God gives us what we need to fall in love with Him."

My story is how He made me into the person I am today. It's a very simple story, really. There are a lot of details, but what it comes down to, in the end, is that He loves me. He loves me. He pursued me. He fought for me. He protected me. He guided me. There were so many moments of pain and loneliness, but He was always there. So many lies of being unwanted. Unworthy of love, not precious enough to be protected. Lies. Evil. Grace wins. Love wins. I know Him. I know Truth. I am in love with Him in a way that not everyone else understands, because they haven't walked that road. I'm on fire with the need to help them understand, to see beauty in their own ashes, to let Him in.

"Let Me love you."
He's said it over and over and over again, and I'll I've been able to say is "I don't know how. I want it, but I don't know how. You have to do it. I need You. I will trust You. I love You." Sometimes that's all you can say. He gives us what we need to fall in love with Him, always. Joy or pain, it is a blessing, because it teaches us how to fall in love. We learn to give love, we learn to receive love. It's a beautiful mess of grace that is bigger than our weaknesses.

One month ago, He asked me to step out in faith, to step out on the water. I said yes. It's been a month of peace and joy, but also of attack and fear. Lies that have reared their ugly heads and done what they could to convince me that I have to protect myself, that I can't trust, that I can't "do it right." His grace has always been there. I don't know what's happening tomorrow, but I know that right now, He has given me exactly what I need to be in love with Him. That means loving Him with every part of me, and letting Him love every part of me. Opening my heart. Trusting. Letting myself be loved.

It's hard. I get scared. He is always there. He gives me thousands of little confirmations that it's ok. Like last night.

There are only three flowers in the whole world that I've ever given two cents about. First, it was sunflowers. I always liked them because they were different, and because they "Follow the Sun." They were my favorite for a long time, but this summer, that changed. I fell in love with roses. They are Our Lady's flower. Her example has, in a million ways, taught me how to say "I trust you. I love you." Knowing her, growing in relationship with her, has opened my heart and led me to Jesus more than I could ever really describe. This summer, He told me that I am His rose. I didn't understand until I talked to Miss Eva. She explained that sunflowers can pretty much be planted and abandoned, and they'll do just fine. Roses, well, they take work. TLC. Lots of attention. "Let Me love you."Roses.
Lilies are my other favorite. In ancient Christianity, the lily represented purity. That's why it was used to decorate the tombs of virgin martyrs, like St. Philomena. Most of you probably haven't heard about the huge role she played in God's plan for Chris and I, but it's pretty darn ridiculous, in a good way. Purity. St. Philomena. I love lilies.

I love roses and lilies so much, that the other day, I actually went so far as to google image search "Rose and Lily bouquets". They were beautiful. I mentioned this to no one.

Last night was the one month mark for Chris and I. Now, most of you know that I am NOT good at handling it when people make a big deal about things. This was no exception. There were several times throughout the day when I thought "I am so glad he didn't give me a teddy bear or something." Let's face it, one month isn't exactly a huge deal anyways. We went on a walk last night. We got to hang out with some friends, and then we prayed a Rosary. When we said goodnight, he handed me a card. I'd seen it earlier and guessed what it was, so I'd prepped myself and didn't roll my eyes or anything obnoxious (which is what I usually do defensively when he does nice boyfriend-like things for me and I have small internal freak outs). I walked down my hallway, opening the card. Before I could read it, I opened the door to my room, and there, on my desk, was this:

In case you can't tell, those are lilies and roses.
"What in the world made you pick lilies and roses???"
"I don't know. They just seemed pretty. There were other flowers, but I was kind of drawn to those."

... God. Is. Good.