Captured Little Heart

I wrote this article as a part of a Valentine's day essay contest 2 years ago. Apparently they liked it, given it was published in the online newsletter (the original post is here: http://thegorettigroup.blogspot.com/2011_02_01_archive.html).

Happy Valentine's day, to all the single ladies!!


Captured Little Heart
Everyone loves a good fairy tale, although many believe that they are something to be left for children—a fantasy too far from real life. This is a real story about a princess, her capture, and the fight to win her heart by the perfect prince. This is my love story, and it is entirely true.
I was born on the east coast and lived there with my parents, older sister, and younger brother for six years. My loving parents announced to me just after first grade that we were moving closer to my mom’s side of the family, to the Midwest. I, the outgoing, spunky middle child was excited to make new friends. We made the big move, and as far as I knew everything was wonderful.

A year after the switch Dad left to visit his side of the family. I found out soon after that he wasn’t planning on moving back. He still loved us and wanted to see us, but it just wasn’t working out for him to be out there, for reasons unbeknownst to little me. I don’t remember much about that time, but I do remember one thing: Dad made Mom cry. I made a decision that night with no idea how it would alter my life. I chose a life without Dad.

The three of us kids spent the school year with Mom and the summer with Dad, which worked out fine. For years I was civil to Dad, but I had always felt like he didn’t just leave Mom, but he left us too. I secretly wanted to let him in, but my stubborn pride had too strong of a hold on me, and it grew stronger as time went on. The wound was too deep for me to let go.

I am forever grateful to Mom for teaching us the Catechism and to love the Lord with all of our hearts, and the grace we were given through her is immeasurable. Although I knew Christ as the Son of God who died for my sins, I hadn’t yet known him as someone who could fill the hole I had in my heart. I tried to make up for it elsewhere. I thrived on attention, especially from boys. I loved flirting and learned to use my feminine wiles to get whatever I wanted. It seemed like I couldn’t keep good girl friends for long, but that didn’t bother me as long as I had some guy to remind me periodically that I was pretty or that someone was thinking of me. When I was 15 I got my first boyfriend and was swept up in a whirlwind romance. He was 2 ½ years older than me and leaving for basic training for the Army. We made up for our time apart with intimate visits and phone calls that only fed our infatuation for each other. The whole affair spun out of control and I ended it multiple times, but he was the most constant man in my life at that point—and I couldn’t let him go. We were on and off for years, and I filled his absences with late-night hookups. I fell into habits of grave sin, but I needed affection, and boys gave it to me. They made me feel beautiful, appreciated, and wanted.

My lows were balanced with spiritual highs from Catholic conferences and retreats, where I could see the error in my ways and promise God that I would change. However, my broken heart needed that physical person to whisper he loved me and give me kisses. I entered as a freshman into a wonderful Catholic college, surrounded by holy, attractive men who knew how to treat a woman right. It was there that I met a man I thought would be my future husband. He was everything I could have wanted. He respected me; I could see it in his actions. We were chaste, we went by the book, and we even prayed together on the phone! Betrayals and broken hearts in my past made me hesitant, but after much coaxing, I gave him my entire heart. I had a new home in him.

The emotional honeymoon didn’t last. Just over six months into our relationship, he flipped a switch and everything came to a bitter crashing end. I cried and screamed to God, begging for no more pain. I was blinded by my hurt and flung myself at the feet of the Eucharist in adoration. Slowly, the flow of my tears slowed and my breathing began to slow. I heard no voice, felt no touch, saw no apparition. But I calmly returned to my room and listened to music. A song began to play with a soft pace. He sang to me:
“He is jealous for me.”

The words struck a chord in my heart. Someone is jealous for my love; he wants it for himself first. I kept listening.

“Loves like a hurricane; I am a tree bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy.”

I pictured a tree, swaying back and forth by strong but gentle winds. The beat reminded me of a waltz.

“Oh, how he loves us.”

Jesus does love me, but it’s not the same as a man in front of me that I can touch, feel, or taste.

“And heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss and my heart turns
violently inside of my chest.”

All of a sudden it all came together for me. Heaven met earth when God became man, and Christ meets me at my lips in the Eucharist. This was the dialogue of love that I had been longing for: the man to meet me at the altar with an incarnate kiss. Christ is my beloved, the rock upon whom I build my days and spend my evenings dreaming of. I was captured by pain and freed by the Prince of Peace who sacrificed his life for this princess.

Happy Valentine’s Day, from this little heart captured by Christ.