Beloved

Small Wonder, Daniel Zolan, 1988

For a time, now, I've struggled to identify the good which exists in me, in my own soul. It’s funny, because before returning to my faith, I used to think quite highly of myself. I could easily fill a resume with my own strengths and qualities. Too much of that was pride and overconfidence. Now, I have trouble naming even one or two things I excel at.

When I try to see what God or others see in me as virtue, I cannot. It’s as if my virtues have been completely hidden from me; I see sin and defect. Of course I know there is goodness and value in me—for I am made in God’s image, and He doesn’t make trash—but I am tempted to not believe it because I cannot see it. I begin to doubt; I ask God why He made me with so many flaws, so bereft of virtue. I blame Him. I accuse Him. My sins are Your fault, I say. You made me like this—You could have made me perfect, or at least better than I am, but you choose not to. And then I wonder: does He even love me? Do I even love Him?

To some who lack the context to understand such things, this thinking might be mistaken for low self-esteem or depression. It isn’t—it’s more of a spiritual dryness, a desert where the desolating sands have temporarily blinded me to the goodness and beauty I would prefer to see within. For now, I have to choose to believe there is goodness and worth in me. It is a leap of faith, and trust. In many ways, I relish this difficulty as a fitting gift from God, for it keeps my ego in check. For if I see only ugliness—if I can find no virtue in myself—I cannot take the credit from Him. I am not the source of goodness, not even that which appears to depart my own hands. There is no good that does flow through God, from God. And so I see there is great hope and beauty in this small, personal struggle. What’s more, this state of spiritual dryness has allowed me to receive a special gift from Him, which I might not otherwise have valued.

I was praying before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament a few days ago, trying to tell Him some of the things on my heart and mind, when I was struck by a thought, an unexpected consolation: My soul pleases Him. It pleases Him the same way a child’s drawing delights a parent; it is not perfect—it is full of visible defects and errors, stained and crumpled and not quite beautiful—but it is still a sweet treasure to Him, something precious He wishes to preserve. He doesn’t expect my soul to be flawless, for I am His still-growing child. He only wishes me to continue to try—to pursue holiness—to keep reaching for Him. I have pledged Him my soul, and He does not reject this gift; rather, He is proud of my efforts, proud of me. I bring Him a Father’s joy. He wishes to keep my soul near Him, always, because He cherishes it—because He cherishes me.

1 John 3:1-3

“See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God’s children now; it does not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. And every one who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure.”