“It was him. Always him calling me.”

Ever since I can remember, Jesus has been calling me. When things were falling apart, when another had failed me, and when the noise was too much – he called me. This is a realization he has brought to me now in my adulthood. At the time I lacked the words to tell you what was happening. Even now the words of this world fall short, but I will attempt it. 

Within me there would be an overwhelming desire to be outside. Something entirely consuming and perfectly lovely. No fear in it at all, just a call to "my happy place." Little Sarah would respond eagerly with her whole little heart, rushing to grab her blanket and fill her ballet bag with her treasures before heading out to her tree. A row of three maple trees stood lining the side yard of the house.The middle tree was “my tree”. I would lay my blanket out under my tree and sit. Sometimes flipping to my stomach and scooting to the edge of the blanket to view the day’s unnoticed hustle and bustle. I laid there and watched the ants go about their work, rushing around expertly cutting what they needed from the surrounding forest and carrying objects home which didn't seem possible. Then turning my eyes to grass I would marvel at the sea of green that lay in front of me, how each individual blade was stunning and completely different from its neighbor. Each blade somehow contained every shade of green all at once and glimmered proudly in the light as if it knew how beautiful it was. At other times I returned to my back and rested in the warmth of the sun, gazing through the mosaic of leaves my tree created above and catching glimpses of gold as the breeze played games with them. 

Closing my eyes, I felt a contentment that no matter how much I continued to grow I could never hope to be able to share its entirety with you. It is what you feel in the Father’s arms; it is a fleeting flash of heaven. It is being able to sit in silence to ponder his creation and your place in it and to be so present in the moment that only what is real, true, and beautiful remains. There is no longer a veil of separation. The breeze plays with it just as it does the leaves. All that remains is me and Jesus. 

I didn't know what adoration was until I was 28 years old. A lot happened in between little Sarah with her ballet bag and grown Sarah now standing in church with her two little boys. I walked into the chapel not having any idea what I was walking into and stopped dead in my tracks. I was standing face to face with him – Jesus. 

An eternity passed in the seconds I stood frozen before him. It was as if every moment I had ever spent under my tree had just been relived all at once within that chapel. It was the same entirely consuming and perfectly lovely desire from my childhood–to be so in the moment that all that remained was me and Jesus. He is what my heart had been answering all those years ago. He was what I desired. He was what filled me with contentment. It was him. Always him calling me, training me to be silent, to listen, and to eagerly rush to him when things weren't right. Now the longer I am away from him the more I ache. He is the only one who can fill you: searching elsewhere will only empty you. Sitting before the Blessed Sacrament is to sit in the silence of those days under my tree and to gaze in awe at his creation; to sit in silence and just listen as he holds me. Jesus.