One of the advantages of reading the lives of the saints is that you begin to know heroic virtue when you see it.   It came to my attention the other day that a dear of friend of mine had been busy being just that type of hero.  I knew she had been going through some miserable trials, but I hadn’t known just how self-sacrificially she had faced up to them.

  (I won’t embarrass her by sharing details, and any case, you can almost never explain these things properly.)

    Real heroism, by definition, comes at great personal cost.  And you hate to see your friends suffering.  But it was the most beautiful privilege, to have gotten that little glimpse into her life, and thereby been a witness to unquestionable saintliness, right there in a beloved friend.  All the more moving because my friend is like me, an ordinary Christian who has her share of weaknesses and personal struggles.  If she can answer this call, then maybe when my time comes, there is hope for me, too.

    Just cried with joy all through mass Sunday (having forgotten to bring kleenex, ahem), thinking about the beautiful example she had set for her friends and family, and the miracle of how Christ is willing to work through us in this way.
   
    Lovely stuff.  I was one grateful lady in the pews.  Read the lives of the saints. 

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