There is a girl. . . . She is an idealist. As a young girl she imagines with excitement the great and colorful potentials of life. But as she grows, people and achieved goals always disappoint. There is a longing in her heart for perfection and she thinks that if she tries hard enough, makes the right decisions, and works patiently on others in her sphere, bringing them along toward her own lofty ideals, she can finally create that sublime place.
She has some relationships with boys, few and far between, but these too fall short of her yearning, her ideal. They are decent enough, as far as boys go--better than most even, likewise chaste and respectful, but it seems there is always something missing. Their human frailties she tends to focus on until she sees nothing else and the thing dies on the vine over time, both sides sad and confused.
She hears of a place where young women like her have gone to escape the wiles of the world, where they devote themselves to sanctity and service. Is this the answer, she wonders? Within her burns a yearning, a craving that clearly can't be satisfied by the world, by men, nor even close friends and family. There is something more--there must be, she determines! Why else such a strong desire for it? Who or what put that there if there was not the possibility of ultimate satisfaction?
She gives away all she possesses, says a few farewells, then enters the order to pursue the rest of her life in daily, steadfast, earnest service and solitude. . . .
[to be continued]