
Her whole life, she sometimes thought, was a chronicle of falling short. She had longed to become a martyr in a crusade, but that desire was not realized. She had yearned to purify the church, but succeeded only with her famiglia, and perhaps not even then. She wished to be an instrument of peace but sat unemployed and marginalized in Florence. She still hoped that her book might advance the store of grace in a small way. Yet what she most desired was to place her body and her whole self on the altar of sacrifice. That greater gift, so earnestly offered, seemed to be ignored by God, and that, she concluded, had to be caused by some imperfection in herself.
Somehow, I take comfort in knowing that even saints got discouraged.
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