My father died when I was nine. It was sudden an accident and, just as suddenly, life changed. Dads chair in the dining room was empty; there was no Dad to run to early on Sunday morning and pounce on to wake up. The only things left of Dad were the smell of him on his sweatshirt and the tapes hed left behind that no one else liked to listen to. My dad, the man who had taken me on an early morning run that day, and had let me sit on his tummy while he read me the comic strips and watched the football game, the man I had hugged that morning after he cut off a rose bud from the garden he was now gone. Only an ache, a lonely, empty space that I couldnt explain was left.

 

       I think I changed, after that. I had been a bit of a tomboy before, disorganized and mischievous, the despair of my mother but Dads little girl. I never worried much about anything. I didnt lose that part of me because my dad died. The experience made me discover something new about myself, or about God. God was close to me, like he is always close to people who are suffering. I knew he was near me, that I could talk to him. I could trust him. I could tell him everything and he would understand.

 

       It wasnt that I couldnt tell Mom anything, or that she spent all day moping around the house. She never cried in front of us children but I didnt want to make things any harder for her, so I kept my questions for God.

      

       One ordinary evening, as I looked at her over the dinner table serving us our meal, listening to stories about our day at school, hearing my teen-age brothers complain about not being able to go to some party, I perceived something in her that I hadnt before. She was all alone.

 

       I left the table and went up to my room. I sat on my bed and began to think about things. I dont know who it was that I made the promise to, to her or to God or maybe to my Dad, but I would never do anything to hurt Mom. I would spend my life trying to please and make her happy. And my Dad, too, looking down from heaven: I wanted to make him proud. I promised that I would try to study to be smart like Dad was, I would train to be an athlete like he was; I would try to be obedient and to be grown-up; I would never leave Moms side.

 

       But all the time, I think that God was telling me: Dont rely on those you love most. Rely on me.

 

A WOMAN FOR OTHERS

 

      Were going to Dallas, Mom announced one morning, all of a sudden.

 

      I, now fourteen, put down my coffee cup.

      Were not moving again, I said.

       They asked us to go and help to start up a school.

       In Dallas? In the United States?

       I already said that, Mariana.

      But you never asked me.

 

       Moving from Mexico to Spain was one thing wed done that shortly after Dads death so that we could go back to be with Moms family but Spain to the U.S.? Another move? A new language, new people, beginning over again ? I was happy where I was, with my friends, with my school and our apartment. 

 

       On the plane, I was by myself in an aisle seat, staring out the window at the Atlantic Ocean underneath us. We had flown from Madrid to Paris and were on our way to New York to catch yet another flight to Dallas. It was so unfair. We were going to a place where I would not know anything or anyone the language, the people, the food, the fashion, nothing.

      

       And then I thought of my dad.

      

       I remembered on one of those morning runs, as I panted trying to keep up, he had explained something to me about his work:

       Mariana, you know theres always something good wherever you go. You just have to try and make the best out of it.

      

       I made the decision, as the stewardess was approaching with the drink cart that I would try to make the best out of it. I sealed the decision with a diet Coke.

 

MEETING UP WITH...

 

      Oh come on, Mariana, Tracey said tossing her hair. Its not like its so bad.

       We were planning for the prom. There were roughly three thousand ideas for the theme and Tracey and I were sorting through them, but they were all so girly.

      We could do something more fun, I said. I dont know something like a world you know.

      I still like the sea idea.

      Its so Little Mermaid though

      Oh, come on. Youre such a boy, Mariana. I made a face, and Tracey laughed at me. Dont worry, Brian doesnt think so. Brian was my boyfriend.

      Okay, I forgive you, I said.

      I still like the sea idea. It would be so different. Plus your prom dress is going to match.

       Tracey, dark blue matches with everything.

 

       Moving to the States was only awful for about a month, and after that, everything fell into place. I was doing okay at school, I had good friends, track was going well, and I had an incredible boyfriend. I was happy. Sort of. I was restless inside. I felt like I should be doing more, like I could be helping more but how?

 

       That was when I met two people who showed me the secret to happiness.

 

       The phone rang one evening during my freshman year. It was one of Moms friends.

       Dont spread the word, the voice on the other end of the phone said, but you are invited to a private Mass with Mother Teresa tomorrow.

       The Missionaries of Charity were inaugurating a home in Dallas for unwed mothers and Mother Teresa of Calcutta would be coming for the grand opening.

      

       Be good, Mother Teresa smiled and patted me on the face. She was a miniscule old woman, but she still managed to fill the whole room as she made her way through it, smiling and talking to the people eager to meet her. I stood watching her. There was something but it was hard to describe. I didnt have any idea what a saint was; but I saw in her someone who was really happy, the way I wanted to be.

 

       The second person who showed me real happiness was Pope John Paul II. This was a little more long distance.

      Whats your name? asked a pretty girl with thick eyeliner and long straight dark hair.

      Mariana, I said.

       We were sitting, waiting for our bags to come off the airplane and be sorted onto the baggage wheel. All of us looked faded from the long flight.

       She grinned at me.

      This is going to be amazing. I cant believe were going to be able to see the Pope.

      I just nodded. I wasnt incredibly excited about that; but she seemed to be.

       My names Yvette, by the way.

      Youre in Regnum Christi, right?

      Yes; what about you?

      My mom is.

      Is that how you heard about World Youth Day in Compostela? 

       It definitely wasnt my idea to spend a month of the summer on a pilgrimage to World Youth Day in Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Again, without consulting me, Mom had bought the ticket and signed me up to go on a World Youth Day pilgrimage with Regnum Christi. Traveling sounded great but I was uncomfortable at the thought of spending a whole month with people Id never met. What would they be like? Would I fit in? Would they be weird? Would they think I was weird? Would I have fun or just spend the month waiting to come home?

       Were going to have the most amazing time, said Yvette again. Ive been waiting all summer for this. The Pope is so awesome; I cant wait to see him! We really have to pray to soak it all up.

       She jumped up to get her bags off the conveyer belt. This was something new. Id never met a person my age that talked so openly about praying or was so enthusiastic about the Pope.

 

       The others were the same. They were a close group that knew and got along with each other. I soon felt included, accepted and considered. Everyone was so open and natural. The interest and friendship they showed were real. Nobody talked badly about anyone else - first surprise. Nobody tried to pretend they were someone else - second surprise. We were real friends. It was the beginning of the most amazing time, as Yvette had said.

      

       We made it, like the medieval pilgrims, to Santiago de Compostela. It was the night of the prayer vigil, and there I was with my candle, huddled close to the rest of the group in the field. We were surrounded by hundreds and thousands of other young Catholics, who prayed, sang and talked until the moment the Holy Father arrived. The TV projected his face on the big screen, and there, I saw the same something different in him as I had in Mother Teresa. I was silent, straining to hear his voice echoing over the loudspeakers.

       and Christ was a man for others, said the Pope.

       A man for others. What did that mean? I wondered. I had been discovering Christ as a true friend on the pilgrimage. He was a man for others; a man for me, and he was inviting me to be his friend.

       No one has more love than he who gives his life for his friends.

      

       Yes, I thought, I want to love you, and you are my friend, but where am I supposed to start?

 

YOU HAVE MADE US FOR YOURSELF, O LORD ...

 

       I didnt have to wait long for an answer. It was my last year of high school and in order to graduate, I had to complete a certain number of service hours. I volunteered with the Missionaries of Charity in that home for unwed mothers where Id met Mother Teresa. I spent my Friday nights for the next six weeks cleaning, sorting donations of food and baby formula and befriending the girls who went there for help. Mopping floors wasnt as glamorous as going out with my boyfriend or winning a track meet but I would drive home happier after an evening of volunteering than any of those other times. Even after I had completed my service hours, I continued going back to help.

 

       So, what are you doing next year?

       It was right before a meet. Jaimie and I were warming up on the field. I groaned inside: the Senior Year Question again. Couldnt people think of something else to talk about?

      Im not sure yet, I said coolly, and turned around to stretch a different muscle.

 

      It was true. Everything I thought of seemed to not be the everything that I wanted to do. I wanted to get into international relations like my dad. I wanted to be a track star. If I kept training, next year I could make it for the Olympics. I wanted to study science and math at college. I wanted to serve more, and help more people. I wanted to

      

       The more I mulled the issue over, the more I saw that what I most wanted to do, before I did anything else, was to give something back to God.  He had given me so much: my good health, my family, my faith, my friends. I asked myself: what can I do to pay him back for all of this? I am so small. What could I give to him? The words I had heard at World Youth Day suddenly came back to mind:

      

        No one has greater love than to lay down ones life for ones friends.

      

       My life. I had my life. Couldnt I give him a little of it? Yes, I could. I decided to be a co-worker.

       Mom supported me, and as for my boyfriend Brian, giving up a year in missionary work as a Regnum Christi co-worker didnt seem to pose any major obstacles to our plans. We were sure that wed get married later. Waiting a year would make the relationship mature.

      

       I saved up my money, bought a couple of big suitcases and booked my plane ticket. I was going to give God a year.

 

AND OUR HEARTS ARE RESTLESS...

 

      Being with the other co-workers was like being with the group of friends Id made at World Youth Day the same real friendship. However, getting to know the consecrated women was something new. They intrigued me. There was something about them. Id wake up before all the other co-workers, get ready quickly and slip into the back of the chapel to listen to them pray their morning prayers. Serenity would settle in as I listened to the Gregorian chant of the Veni Creator (Come, Holy Spirit) before beginning their meditation. Longing arose in my heart, but I held back from sharing it with anyone else. Since my fathers death, I tried never to burden others with my concerns.     

 

       My co-worker assignment was in Barcelona, Spain.  Living side-by-side with the consecrated, watching them work and pray and interact with each other made me ask myself why they were so happy, so really happy, the way I had seen Mother Teresa happy Why did I feel so at peace and at home with them? Why was I happier now than I had ever been?

       I never said anything about it, because I feared another question that lurked in my soul: could God call me? But the questions kept bothering me so much that I finally confided in my spiritual guide.

      Mariana, she said, Dont worry, God will give you an answer. Be open to him and trust hell show you his will and give you the strength to follow it.

 

       The end of my co-worker year came too quickly and the question was still there, in my conscience like a prodding finger. Did God want me to be consecrated? I couldnt leave without knowing.

       

       Mom, I said into the receiver, Ive decided to give another year.

       Static silence. Then Moms voice from the other side of the Atlantic:

       Really, Mariana, another year? Youre going to get married, arent you? And how are you going to tell Brian?

       How was I going to tell Brian? What would I say? Hope you dont mind waiting another year until I find out if Ill come back or leave you for good?

       Well I crossed my fingers and prayed that hed found someone else. I knew that he had been dating a few other people over the past year: Maybe hes found someone else, Mom.

      The least you can do is to tell him yourself.

      Im coming home for the summer, Mom. Remember?

 

       I wasnt looking forward to that summer. I was flying across the Atlantic for the fifth time in my life to spend the summer at home with my family and to break the news to Brian.

 

       The moment came for our big conversation. I was so happy to see him again, but at the same time my stomach was tied in knots. I hoped he would say: Ive found someone else. We sat down to dinner and searched through the menu for the silliest dishes we could choose. We laughed about the lobster cassoulet and the description of a roast beef sandwich like usual. I loved looking at him, seeing him again, laughing with him and at the same time, I was so afraid. The question clouded the dinner I didnt want to ask him or to tell him, but I knew I had to. I wanted to give God the first chance in my life. 

      

       The waitress took our orders and removed the glossy menus.

       Mariana, he said finally, serious now, looking at me. Ive been waiting till you came home to tell you this. You know that Ive been dating some other girls, and Im more sure of this than I ever have been - youre the only one. I want to marry you.

      

       Oh Lord, why?  Please tell me this isnt really happening.

      

       I looked down at my plate.

      

       Did I really have to do this? I thought to myself. Maybe this is a sign that God wants Brian and me together. Ill kill him if I tell him. I cant, I cant do this to him.

      

       Mariana my conscience spoke up.

       Im sorry, I said. Ive decided to give another year.

       His face fell and I could see all the disappointment inside him, but he only nodded and looked away for a moment. Then he turned to me and said:

       Are you sure?

       Yes.

       Okay. Okay. If you want to wait, Ill wait for you.

      

UNTIL THEY REST IN YOU

      

       Mariana, its so good to have you back!

       

       I didnt think so. Returning to Barcelona was something I both desired and dreaded. It seemed like everyday I would feel the pull of Christs call more strongly, but everyday the thought of my mom and of Brian and of all my dreams would pull me in the other direction with equal intensity.

      

       I could no longer deny it that Christ was calling me, but could I say yes? Could I really do what I had to do in order to follow him? Do something that I knew would hurt the people I loved most?

      

       God knew the hurt I was going through, even though at times I thought he couldnt understand how painful it was. As the weeks in Barcelona passed by, he gave me constant gifts of love and reassurances of his presence. There were small signs: Gospel passages that invited me to trust in his grace, good advice given to me in confession, a sense of peace and security when I prayed before the Blessed Sacrament. And there were big signs as well.

       One afternoon, two co-workers and I were helping out at a retreat in a local parish. We knew that this particular parish was not the most orthodox, but we figured that was all the more reason to offer our help. We expected some of the activities to be a little bit different from what we were used to, but nothing could have prepared us for what took place during the Mass.

      

       The décor and the readings were strange, and we felt uncomfortable from the beginning of the Mass, but at the offertory we started glancing nervously at each other. Instead of bringing up unleavened wafers for the consecration, an ordinary loaf of bread was laid on the altar; a valid but illicit way of celebrating the Eucharist.

       This is my Body.

      

       I watched in disbelief as the loaf was passed around for each communicant to tear off his own piece. Crumbs fell from hands onto sweaters and were shaken off onto the carpet. I couldnt believe it. Christ was present in every bit of that bread and was now strewn about the floor.

 

       As soon as the retreatants left for lunch the co-workers and I fell to our knees to gather up the scattered pieces of the Blessed Sacrament. Christs humility was too much for me. He was allowing himself to be literally trampled upon. There, touching my finger to my tongue to pick up the crumbs, I prayed as I never had before. It was a simple prayer, but it came from the depths of my heart.

       Jesus, these people are good people. They wouldnt be setting a day aside for you if they werent looking for you. But no one has ever told them that you are here in the Eucharist. Thats why they threw you on the ground. I am sure that I have often stepped on you and brushed you away; not physically, but spiritually, because Lord, I am stubborn and selfish and blind.

       I am so sorry, Christ, please forgive me. If my poor, weak and simple life could in any way serve you or help you to touch even just one of these souls, if my life in turn would be for you a consolation, if my heart given to you could be an instrument, then take me, Lord.

       Here I am. Take my life.

 

       I had done it. I had offered him my entire heart. Why had I made Christ wait so long? I suppose I had expected that the moment of saying yes would be something cataclysmic, heart wrenching, painful and dramatic. It wasnt. It was simple and sweet and silent and left me overwhelmed with peace and joy.

      

       From then on, prayer stopped being the torture it had been for the past year. When I prayed, I no longer felt like I was playing tug of war, or fighting a lost cause with someone who wanted to make my life miserable. I no longer saw Christ as my opponent, but rather, as a most loving partner. It was like falling in love. Everyday I discovered something new about him, something that made me more convinced about him and about my vocation.

 

       However, this newfound feeling of nearness to Christ didnt take away the sacrifice. Every decision implies a renunciation. I thought a lot about my mom and about my boyfriend. I had to break the news, to say goodbye, and to leave. Were it not for the grace of God and strength I received from prayer, I would never have been able to do what to me seemed impossible.

       Telling my mom was the hardest thing I have ever done. My heart broke to see her cry. She wanted an explanation, she wanted certainties and she didnt want to lose me. But, just as God was guiding me, he was strengthening her. She didnt understand at first, but she gave me all the support that she could.

 

       Then came Brian. We had gone out to dinner again and were sitting talking over dessert. We talked about college, about some job offers hed gotten and then he began to talk about the house he was planning for us, and the ring he wanted to buy. It was then that I told him:  

       Brian, I cant marry you.

       He looked at me in disbelief.

       I continued, I know what Im going to say is hard and that you might not understand, but I have a vocation and Im going to get consecrated.

       Silence.

        Mariana, but dont you love me?

       Yes, you know I do! I told him, trying to choke back my tears.

       How can you do this?

       How could I explain?  I wasnt doing this because I didnt love him, or because I didnt want to get married. I did love Brian, very much, but I knew that Christ was asking this of me, and deep inside, I knew I loved Christ more, and I wanted to belong to him no matter what it cost.

      

       I stayed up late that night, long after Brian had brought me home, crying. It was a deep-felt hurt. All I could do was offer it to Christ.

       Jesus, I prayed, You know the only reason I did it was for love of you. Help me. Give me your strength. Help Brian to understand. Help Mom, too. Take care of them, Lord.

      Mariana, dont you think I love them more than you do? They are in my hands. Id never ask you to give them up if I werent going to take care of them. The closer you are to me, the closer I am to them. Trust in me.

 

      It was the answer to my prayer.

 

      Ten years have gone by since that night. Maybe leaving those I loved was the hardest thing Ive ever done, maybe it wasnt, but it was worth it Christ has been worth it, my vocation and my mission as a consecrated woman in Regnum Christi have been worth it, and I wouldnt change my life for anything.

 

      Christ is my life. After ten years I can attest to the fact that what he promises in the Gospel is true: Whoever leaves father or mother, or boyfriend or a future family or the Olympics for his sake will receive a hundred fold in this life (with suffering) and eternal life as well. It is true. Christ himself is this hundred fold. He is the reward of a consecrated soul. Having him, there is nothing I lack.