Christians struggling with self-love: This song’s for you.

Recently (no joke) I learned that there’s no such thing as a person who’s “got it all together.” Have you ever gotten choked up thinking about how much God loves you? It’s hard to believe, especially when we’re oftentimes putting ourselves down, pointing out our flaws, and focusing on our failures. (Not to mention others’ flaws and failures.)

Sunday at Mass, Father George Montague, SM, told us in his homily that the gift God wants to give us all is the Holy Spirit — his very love. When we know we are loved, he reminded us, we feel like we can do anything! We’re more generous, more loving toward others. That’s why, he said, the fruits of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

A beautiful song that reminds me of God’s personal love for me is Danielle Rose‘s “The Saint That is Just Me.” Here she is singing it; lyrics are below the video.

O I thought Iʼd be heroic and inspiring.
I wanted to offer you the greatest sacrifice.
Like all the saints whoʼd gone before me,
I tried to prove my love for you, and so to gain the prize.
I thought Iʼd be a martyr like Cecilia.
I hoped Iʼd disappear like Saint Therese,
Or wear a hidden crown of thorns like Rose of Lima,
To heal the sick and raise the dead.

When you hung upon the cross looking at me,
You didnʼt die so I would try to be somebody else.
You died so I could be the saint that is just me.

I wanted to be poor and free like Francis,
To cut off my long hair like lovely Clare.
To be faithful like Mother Teresa in the darkness,
Lord, wonʼt you make me just like her?
I tried to kneel for hours in the chapel corner,
To persevere like Paul with all my sleepless nights,
To stay awake and trim my lamp with ten wise virgins,
To really give the devil a good fight.

When you hung upon the cross looking at me,
You didnʼt die so I would try to be somebody else.
You died so I could be the saint that is just me,
Just me, you died just for me.
Just me, just me, you died just for me.

You saw that I was perfectly imperfect.
O happy fault, the sin of Adamʼs pride.
Thatʼs the reason that you became man,
And bore the new Eve from your wounded side.
If it werenʼt for my sins or wounds or weakness,
Then you wouldnʼt have married me upon the cross.
Why do I fear being seen naked and broken?
Thatʼs why you came; ʻcause I need you that much.

When you hung upon the cross looking at me,
You didnʼt die so I would try to be somebody else.
You died so I could be the saint that is just me.

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