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Do not think the title of this post is an advertisement for cannibalism. It is all very figurative. I do not mean that I taste good in the physical consumption of my body.
But I am willing to give you a taste of my soul, if you'll have it.
So, I have been chipping away at my application with the Handmaids (that's another blog article still waiting to happen), but I am getting there! One of the requirements of said application is an autobiography, of six to eight pages in length. I finally finished mine! (By finished, I mean, wrote the draft…I'm letting some friends read it for feedback.)
Anyway, I wanted to give you, my dear blog readers, a snippet, really the first few lines, of my autobiography. Who knows? Perhaps it will be the last bit of nonfiction I write about myself…barring the prayer journal, if the convent gives me that sort of thing. Hope you enjoy this brief glimpse into my soul. Keep praying for me. :)

Image found on Pinterest. Original source unknown.
Excerpt from "Consecrated One: The Narrative of a Discerning Soul

I believe I have very little to tell you. Even if the story of my life up until the present moment should be recorded for you, including all my memories, all my deepest feelings, all my dreams, and all my future hopes, it would still be so incomplete. Not just because I am only twenty-three and therefore have still so much of my life to look forward to; no, it is also, I think, a feeling that St. John articulates so well, that “all the books in the world could not hold the life of the Lord” and what He did while on Earth. I do not pretend to have as world-changing a life story as that of Our Lord, but I do think it possible that in the unique personhood that makes each human being different from another—in every thought left undisclosed, every fading memory, every fleeting desire, every future possibility left hanging in the balance of the Road Not Taken—this unique personhood surely is enough to fill the world’s books. And why shouldn’t it? If we contain in these short-lived bodies nothing less than immortal souls, then of course that which makes us unique, that which comes forth from our souls, would have enough worth and dignity and wonder and complexity to rival the contents of the world’s largest library. Such is the weight of our souls.
I suppose I have just revealed to you one part of me. I tend to be a bit long-winded, especially about poetic things, or philosophical things, or religious things. And no matter how many words I spend explaining my reasons for the incomplete knowledge of me that any biography can give, I do realize that the Lord knows every part and all of me, and that is a strange sort of comfort.    

 


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