I found this little book a while ago, placed at the end of a pew in a church. It did not have anyone’s name in it, but I picked it up during mass and held it in my hands. As I picked it up, prayer cards began to slip out of the book. An entire person’s story was held in this tiny leather book.
I didn’t know what this person looked like or what their name was, but I felt that I saw their heart. I saw the saints they looked up to, I saw the prayers they frequently meditated on, I saw the wisdom they had underlined. I saw the collection of treasures and memories they collected.
Seeing this prayer book, I realized that I wanted the same for myself. I wanted someone to know me by my soul, not my body. That those who think of me or wonder about me think of Jesus and wonder if Jesus. Not because I deserve to be compared to our generous Lord, but that I want to be so little that one would only see Who holds my heart.
Though I never met this brother or sister, I am so grateful that for a brief moment, I was able to see their heart.
