In May of 1999, CBS aired a miniseries about Joan of Arc. I was just a teenager, but something in me knew I had to see it. The cast was impressive—Leelee Sobieski as Joan, alongside Peter O’Toole, Olympia Dukakis, Shirley MacLaine, Neil Patrick Harris, and Jacqueline Bisset. My parents weren’t too eager about it, but I recorded it on our old VCR, expecting a dramatic story about war and valor.
What I encountered, though, was something far deeper.
Through that film, Joan’s life awakened something within me—something holy. Yes, I knew parts were dramatized, but her courage, her steadfast faith, her willingness to walk into the fire for what she believed—those things stayed with me. Joan of Arc wasn’t just a heroine from a history book anymore. She became a companion in my own spiritual journey.
Over the years, I kept returning to her story. And as life unfolded—its trials, doubts, and moments of quiet struggle—Joan’s example began to shine more clearly. She wasn’t just brave on the battlefield. She was brave in the loneliness, in the silence of prison cells, in the courtroom where her voice trembled but her faith did not. I began to see how much her journey mirrored my own questions—the tension between trusting God and feeling entirely inadequate.
Joan taught me that holiness often looks like walking forward while afraid, holding tight to God even when the world misunderstands you. She reminded me that we don’t have to feel strong to be faithful—we just have to say yes to the One who is.
But Joan wasn’t the only saint who found me.
Some time later, I began learning more about St. Kateri Tekakwitha—the "Lily of the Mohawks." Her life was very different from Joan’s: quieter, more hidden. But no less radiant. Kateri lived with constant hardship. She was misunderstood by her people, often isolated, and suffered deeply after her conversion to Christianity. But her love for Christ was unwavering. She gave her life over to Him with a quiet purity that pierced the noise of the world.
In Kateri, I saw something I had longed for: peace in the hidden places. A faith that doesn’t have to be loud to be true. She taught me that sanctity isn’t always found in grand missions—it’s also found in humble devotion, in silent prayers, in gentle perseverance when no one else sees.
Where Joan called me to be brave, Kateri taught me to be still. Where Joan stood in the fire, Kateri knelt in the shadows. And together, they began to walk with me—one with a warrior’s heart, the other with a heart like a whisper of grace.
I didn’t choose them quickly or lightly. It took time. Prayer. Years of noticing how their lives echoed through my own. Eventually, I realized—I didn’t choose them at all. They chose me. Or rather, God, in His wisdom and mercy, allowed them to find me.
There is something sacred about recognizing the saints who walk with you. It’s not always flashy or immediate. Sometimes, it’s a quiet knowing that grows slowly over time. But when it comes, it roots deep in the soul.
Today, I honor St. Joan of Arc and St. Kateri Tekakwitha as my patron saints. They guide me—through every season of fear, surrender, and hope. One calls me to rise. The other calls me to rest. And both point me to Christ.
Through them, I’ve come to understand that our path to holiness is not one-size-fits-all. God raises up bold leaders and quiet servants. He calls some to battlefields and others to cloistered woods. But always, always, He is present.
And that, to me, is the greatest comfort: knowing that I don’t walk this road alone. I walk it with saints who have suffered, loved, and believed—just like me. And in their stories, I find the courage to keep saying yes.
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