This week we had the blessing of receiving for a day many relics accepted by the Catholic Church. Relics for the Catholic Church are parts of a saint's body or some of their belonging which are kept as a sign of reverece and respect. Does that sound weird? Yeah, maybe at first. But then, you get there. The church is filled with the essence of people who loved God above everything else. There is a piece of the manger of Jesus. A piece from His cross, a part of the spear that pierced his side, a part of the veil of the Virgin Mary and the cloak of St. Joseph and you can't help but stare at everything and soak it all in.

There is a sense of wonder that you get from meeting people who love God so much. It is almost, at least for me, a sense of curiosity. What causes them to love so much? What is feeding all of this love that they give? Do they ever feel sadness? Are they ever hurt?

All of the saints I have seen pictures of are always smiling. There is something about them. There is a peace about them. There is a different type of love about them.

This week I was blessed with the possibility of being close to a piece of the actual cross of Jesus. I was in line, a very long line, waiting patiently to see Him. My hair was wet because I rushed out of the shower when my mom told me to come to the church. I was nervous. The same type of nervous you are when you go to school not looking your best and you fear running into the guy that you like. I wish that I had been able to dress nice, as silly as that might seem. I was in line to see the cross of Jesus. I couldn't believe it.

I couldn't hear anyone else in the room. My dad was telling me a story about a saint, and although I was chirping in when I could, in reality, I could not feel my arms or my legs, I had a statue of a baby Jesus in my arms and I rocked Him as if He was a real baby and not made out of ceramic. People even tried to signal for me to come over so I could be in front of them in line. It was surreal. I couldn't put Him down. I could feel my heart beating so hard and so loudly that I was afraid that everyone could hear it, but at the same time, I didn't care.

Once I got to the table that held part of the spear that pierced Jesus' side, a piece of the thorns of His cross, and a piece of His cross itself, the world felt silent around me. I touched the figure of Jesus in my arms to the casings so it could become a second-class relic, a religious object that has touched a relic. After I was done, I left to the back room so I could see the relics of the other saints, but I couldn't stay away from the cross of Jesus. I went back there a second, a third, and a fourth time. The last time, I couldn't hold what I felt inside me anymore and I fell to my knees, placed my hands on the floor, and cried.

On the table above me was a piece of the cross of a man who loved us so much He decided to die for all of us. We spit on him, laughed at Him, called Him names, and in turn, He asked God to forgive us because we did not know what we were doing. On the table above me was the greatest gift that I could ever receive from the greatest act of love ever done. And so, I cried.

I can't tell you exactly how long I was there for, but I left the church when they took the relic and put it away around midnight. I talked to one of my mom's friends and we talked about how beautiful it all was, and it was then when I realized something.

Grades really don't matter. Being nice to people does. Blowing people off because you would rather get an extra 10 minutes of studying for a final, matters. If we claim that Heaven is our goal but we don't do everything, and I mean EVERYTHING in the name of Jesus, then aren't we doing things backward? We should offer everything up to Him. Our sorrows, our sufferings, our loves, our happiness.

In a room full of relics I felt peace. Even though I had two of my hardest finals two days from then. I was able to spare close to four hours, and I don't regret it because honestly, five years from now I probably will not remember my grade for those classes, but a lifetime from now I will remember that God gave me the grace to be closer to the cross than I know many have.

There is a quote that I like that says, "If God asks you to fall, do it. Chances are He will teach you how to fly". And honestly, saints are just people who God taught how to fly, and if Heaven is as safe and as beautiful and as peaceful as a room full of relics, I just pray for suffering and sorrow and everything that I could possibly offer up when it seems that God is asking me to fall, because above all, with His grace, I wish for Him to teach me how to fly.