I sat in the chapel the night before a two-week trip abroad, wondering what my prayer life would look like as a vagabond. As a recovering control freak, it was difficult to realize that my predictable prayer life was about to look a lot different. I’d have to embrace praying in different locations, going to Jesus in the tabernacle of my heart instead of tabernacles in churches, and making spiritual communions instead of receiving Him in the Eucharist.
It was an opportunity to embrace the fact that I didn’t have control; I recently realized that when I couldn’t control certain areas of my life, I tried to control other areas, like food. When I controlled what I ate, I felt like I had control over my appearance, something that I’d sought my identity in for years.
When I brought this weakness of mine to Jesus, I heard Him say, I love you, reminding me that I am enough as I am. It’s so much easier to hear these words in Mass and adoration, the ways I was used to praying. Would I still be able to remember the truth when I was forced to pray differently while traveling?
Sadness gripped my heart as I closed the chapel door that night, not knowing when I’d see Him next, already worried that lies about my identity were creeping in.
After long days of traveling, my family and I arrived at our first stop in a village on the Rhine River. It was like a scene out of Pinocchio with cobblestone streets and tutor-styled buildings. And then I noticed a church, the steeple piercing the sky, across from our hotel!
I walked into the church, bringing Jesus the lies about my identity that had already crept in. I prayed in front of a beautiful statue of Mary crying as she held the dead body of her Son.
While praying the third sorrowful mystery of Jesus being crowned with thorns, I imagined Mary saying, “My Son is not being treated with dignity.” As I recalled the lies I believed about myself, I heard her say to me, “Kirsten, you’re not treating yourself with dignity.” I looked up to the statue of Mary, tears in her eyes and realized that she was crying over me, in my inability to see myself the way she sees me.
I allowed myself to rest in Mary’s heart as she gently reminded me of my true identity, and I kept returning to her the next day as we traveled to a village outside of the Black Forest. My family and I decided to explore the forest. It was the eve of of the First Friday of the month, a day dedicated to Jesus’ Heart. I was eager to check out the church in town to see if they were celebrating Mass the next day, where I'd be able to properly honor His Heart. Our hike turned into more of an excursion, my anxiety rising as I realized our dinner reservation was soon, and I still needed to see the Mass times!
The trail led to a beautiful meadow with a little chapel further ahead. I felt a tug on my heart to check it out but there wasn’t enough time. My family didn’t seem to mind I was in such a hurry, so I reluctantly followed them to the chapel.
My mom suddenly said, “Isn’t this a stained glass of Mary’s heart?” My breath caught as I looked at the window and there it was! I recalled the peaceful time I had in the church the night before, resting in Mary’s heart and the truth of how she sees me.
I walked around to the other side of the chapel and there was Jesus’ Heart, in stained glass form! I couldn’t help but smile as tears clouded my vision. Jesus and Mary had called me up this mountain, to this random chapel, all so I could be reminded of His love and persual of me, a day before First Friday that honored His Sacred Heart. Here I was, trying to plan a way to see Him at the church in town when He wanted me to encounter Him in this moment.
It turned out there was no Mass the next day at the other church. But Jesus, in His goodness, knowing there wouldn’t be a Mass celebrated, gave me a different way to encounter His Heart. I prayed on the morning of First Friday on the patio of our hotel room, with a perfect view of the chapel on the hill, where I’d encountered His and Mary’s Hearts the day before.
As the trip continued, I saw Jesus either in a church, adoration or Mass all but one of the ten days that we were there. And here I was so worried I wouldn’t see Him!
Our last night in Germany, we walked into a church full of young people, on their knees in adoration. My eyes couldn’t help from watering with fresh, happy tears, thinking of how Jesus led me to adoration just because He wanted to see me. That’s when it all clicked for me: Jesus knows how hard change is for me. Being in a place full of so much beautiful change, He wanted me to feel at home in His gaze, His love being the one constant that never changed, even across the world.
May we all come to realize the truth: that nothing in this life is in our control, but instead we’re at the beautiful mercy of God’s love. We are in a constant state of change, but one thing that remains the same is Jesus, His pursuit of us and His desire to strip us of false identities so we can see ourselves how He sees us, as His Beloved. May we feel at home in His gaze.
With Love, Kirst
