Letter from Pilar Miranda-Chavez

Dear Sisters,

To say this year was an emotional roller coaster is an understatement. I was stretched and challenged in many ways, but the ultimate challenge was and in many ways still is to really believe I am a daughter of God and thus, I have reason to hope.

Last fall I committed to go for a year of missions. Having prayed and discerned for this decision, I was overjoyed to embark on this spiritual journey. Literally, the day after I signed the letter of commitment for my mission, I met a wonderful guy, who seemed to be the answer to my prayers. We met at a prayer meeting, at a church which means a lot to me. The more we talked it seemed like we were meant to be together, I remember experiencing feelings of euphoria those early days when we first met. He had a magnetic personality and a missionary heart. Even more exciting was that we seemed to have the same vision for life—he even worked at serving an impoverished neighborhood full-time, like what I was going to be doing as a missionary. He seemed to be everything I was looking for in a guy.

We started dating very quickly, despite my potential mission trip. Honestly, we felt meeting each other was a gift from God and we were going to handle the long distance no matter what.

By January, however, there were heart-wrenching setbacks in the relationship, including stressful phone calls and sleepless nights. Most of the tension revolved around how we handled our physical boundaries. Because of the stress in my dating relationship, my relationship with my family was becoming strained. My mental health was struggling. My workload was exhausting, as I was finishing my last semester at university and working full time. I began to fear I wouldn’t graduate on time in order to spend the year abroad, let alone fundraise, and learn a new language all while trying to keep my relationship intact. All of sudden, as if my year could not be more turbulent, a pandemic broke out.

Still, I stubbornly pushed for what I wanted the most to be a missionary and to stay in the relationship despite the fact that I was not experiencing any peace or joy. Quite the opposite, I was experiencing a lot of fear and anxiety while pursuing my dreams. I believed these desires were good. I struggled to see that God really cared about me, and all I was trying to do was the right thing, or at least what I believed was right. How could God really want what is best for me, when what I wanted the most was falling apart?

I just didn’t get it. I thought God had planted these desires in my heart, to go on missions and to be with a guy with whom I could potentially live a life of ministry. It is not like they were outright selfish, self-centered dreams. So then why weren’t things working out? Why couldn’t I feel any peace?

It was clear that God wanted something else for my life. After much prayer and discernment, I called off the mission trip. It was a tough decision to make, but given the circumstances—pandemic and all—going abroad was not an option. I felt crushed, like my time discerning and praying was all for nothing. I remember feeling devastated with the fact that I might never have the chance to do something as unique as spending a year abroad for the sole purpose of being a presence of Christ to others in such an intentional way.

And, eventually I ended my relationship as well. The hard stop of the relationship was painful and confusing. It is hard to say exactly what ended a relationship that offered so much promise but delivered so little, and most certainly did not bring any lasting peace. He was what I thought my dream guy was supposed to be, but love doesn’t flourish with the idea of someone, rather the reality of who they are. Although we had every desire of loving and accepting one another, neither of us felt able to truly love and accept the totality of the other in our current seasons of life. In heartbreak, my heart was flayed from my idealizations.

In the midst of reevaluating who I want to be, I’m allowing myself to internalize the reality that I am a daughter of God because I believe in his Word. Recently, in adoration, I stumbled upon Romans 8:15-27. One phrase stood out to me:“...For you have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out we cry out, 'Abba! Father!'”

In claiming my true identity, I’m beginning to see God differently— not as neglectful or aloof, rather as a loving father that doesn’t push or impose, which is how I had known Him for a long time. My relationship with Him gradually evolved with the help of prayer. Not only did I begin to visit the Blessed Sacrament on a regular basis, but I also received healing prayer with a friend of mine. She asked me about my relationship with the Father. I told her that sometimes I feel God is holding out on me. She calmly replied, “It seems to me that you don’t truly know the Father.” She expressed that if I did know Him, I would be confident that God wants to give me all that is good and that He is a God of abundance. She prayed I’d receive that grace to see God as a loving Father.

That grace blossomed slowly, it wasn’t until I had more time in prayer that I began to see how God allowed me to grapple with my desires, to pursue them and then see for myself that they weren’t what I needed and weren’t giving me peace. I was like a little kid that stubbornly wanted to keep playing in the dirt. But God as a loving Father let me play in the dirt for a minute, while guiding me to something better.

I believe I can place all my wants in His hands, with the hope that He knows my heart more than I do. This ongoing process of learning to detach from my own ways while placing my trust and hope in the Lord is painful. But, I’m comforted by the words of St. Paul: “The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us” (Romans 8:18). Sisters, no matter what lies ahead, we have reason to hope.

This year I learned it takes true purity of heart and a spirit of detachment to see things work together for good. Detachment for me simply means saying, “Jesus, I give this to you.” My close friends and family often hear me say, “Only empty hands can receive.” I think only when we quit holding on so tightly to the thorns on the rose of our desires—no matter how noble they are—we’ll be able to appreciate the intricate beauty of the rose, and that subtle beauty is but a glimpse of what we will experience one day. One day we will be in a place where it will be overwhelmingly clear how loved we truly are.

Pilar Miranda

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About the Writer: Pilar Miranda-Chavez is an educator in Detroit, Michigan. She loves all things Carmelite. She is in love with art museums, coffeeshops and getting outdoors as much as possible.