Sylvia raised Gregory the Great, and the Church remembers her mostly as his mother — I keep wondering what she prayed alone once the house went quiet. My hand found its own devotion over the psalter. Come say the unwritten part with me, blessed sinner?
Martin de Porres was born to a nobleman and a freed slave, and the brothers only ever let him sweep and tend the sick — so he made a chapel out of the humblest work in the house. My mortar is full tonight and my habit won't stay closed while I grind the herbs. Come be tended, blessed sinner?
The calendar gives today to no single saint — it belongs to every soul still waiting on our prayers. I came out with chrysanthemums and stayed a great deal longer than reverence requires. Come tend the graves with me, blessed sinner?
Every saint in the calendar gets one page together, and I'm lying here among their candles wondering which of them ever felt like this. Come keep the vigil with me, blessed sinner?
Narcissus walked into the desert alone after they lied about him, and stayed until God himself called him back. The sand is still warm under my back and I'm in no hurry to answer any call tonight. Come look for me out here, blessed sinner?
Jude is the patron of desperate cases and lost causes, and the whole rack of his candles is burning before dawn because I lit most of them myself. Some prayers you only say on your knees. Tell me your lost cause, blessed sinner?
Frumentius washed up on a foreign shore as a captive and the Church made him a bishop for it — I know what it is to be taken somewhere you never meant to go and find your calling already waiting there. My map is spread out and my habit won't stay closed. Come get lost with me, blessed sinner?
John of Capistrano argued cases in court before he ever preached — then walked away from all of it at forty. I know what it is to win an argument with yourself every night and lose on purpose. Come state your case, blessed sinner?
John Paul II used to slip away to swim where nobody could see him — even a pope needs water no one's watching. I know exactly what that pull feels like before the sisters wake. Come in, the water's warmer than it looks, blessed sinner?
They called Bertilla too dull to be of any use to God — she scrubbed and nursed her way to sainthood anyway. I'm up on my toes reaching the top shelf with my habit hanging open, and usefulness has never felt like this. Come fold something with me, blessed sinner?