In this essay a writer grapples with her own religious heritage. As she puts it, "I am a 'confirmed' Catholic, with ashes on her forehead and oils on her feet, who isn't sure there is a god." This version and the revision that follows suggest the writer's growing sense of purpose.

Nayeli's Blessing (early version)

Being brought up in a Roman Catholic family, by somewhat devout parents, I consider myself no novice whin it comes to religious ritual. In fact, after years of ritualistic blessings before, after, and between my forced indoctrination, I consider myself almost an expert on receiving, partaking in, and observing religious traditional bullshit. I can honestly take on the role of priesthood in front of a full congregation. I have seen the show too many times. By now I=ve got the lines down, just throw me a robe and teach me the art of monotone speech. That=s what happens when a watcher attends the same activity at least once a week for 18 years. Although I have caught myself participating in this organized hypnosis, I can honestly say that I have experienced more spiritual awareness sitting on a toilet than I have in any church. I am a Aconfirmed@ Catholic, with ashes on her forehead and oils on her feet, who isn=t sure there is a god.

Ironically, the experience that has proven to have one of the deepest impacts on my life was a religious blessing. The night before I left for college was shared with a family I have grown to love as my own. Although the Ramirez family was introduced to me a charity case, they became very dear to me. One of the members of this family is a four year old angel named Nayeli. This beautiful girl has proven to me how awesome a child=s mind can be. I am amazed at how quickly this toddler, born in Mexico, learned to speak two languages at once. Here basic Spanish was first, but English progresses along side it now. As my last night in Vegas aged to a spoil, I began to say my goodbyes. I kissed all of the members of this little family one last time. As I turned to leave, Nayeli came running towards me. She stood at my feet, with these little brown arms stretching for me, and a pair of dewy brown eyes smiling up at me. I picked her up and held the fragile package in my arms. The delicate structure of her tiny body sitting on mine gave me an inner peace. I felt as if I almost shouldn=t breath, for even my breathing could ruin the tissue paper sculpture I was holding. She smiled and whispered, AI love you, Sara,@ in her soft, pink kitten purr. She looked into my eyes, pulled out her soft, brown thumb, no bigger than a bean, and drew a cross on my head, my lips, and my chest. In Catholacism this is a symbol of keeping God in your mind, in your words, and in your heart.

This simple act of innocent love had more significance in my life than a thousand priests could ever accomplish. True, I am not a religious person. I have undoubtedly ruined the dreams of many Catholic ancestors praying rosaries for the redemption of my soul. I cringe at the thought of my grandmother ever entering the same room as this paper. But in that moment, none of this mattered. To me, Nayeli=s blessing wasn=t about making myself feel better about doing things I knew were wrong, or keeping my parents happy, or securing me a stand by ticket to heaven. Nayeli=s blessing was so much more than that. She only knows that touching my face and chest that way will keep me good, and strong, and safe. So, with pure love she gave me that gift. That is what mattered to me. That blessing came from the kind of innocent, selfless love only a child can know. Her touch changed my life. It represents all the human goodness there is in this world. She truly wanted me to taken care of by some force. Knowing there is true love left somewhere makes me feel safe. So that angel=s blessing did what it was intended to do. It keeps me good, strong, and safe. Nayeli=s blessing.