Her Charism

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was very bad at being sad. Life was often sad for her, as it is for everyone, and she would reflect on the sadness, let it envelop her, and accept it. But she was a little too sanguine to do it well.

When she spoke of her sadness, loneliness, or her cage, she thought she was being wise. Yet everyone around her was brought not insight, but pain. Not swift understanding, but depression. They felt sorry for her, in an aimless sort of way, because her sad words brought them no direction.

Because her charism was not to be sad. It was not to reflect on the melancholy truths of life. It was not to stay confined in the bars of her cage.

No! For it was to find beauty, in even the darkest moments. It was to find joy, in even the grimmest disappointments. It was to find hope when hope seemed out of reach. Because when she was alone, she was never alone. And when she was in pain, it was a redemptive pain. And when she was trapped, it was a nurturing cage.

And when she was happy, the world was happy also. And when she was joyful, then people rejoiced with her.

And when she was healthy, she swept them up in a tide of glorious living, and carried them with her, through the bitterest of storms. This was her calling. This was her charism. And it was this that she set out to embrace, accept, and spread.


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