Three Years in the Desert

Three years. That’s how long it took me to finish this devotional.

Not because the saints were slow to speak, but because I was slow to listen.
There were weeks I wrote every day, and weeks I didn’t write at all. Days I was on fire, and months where the page felt like a mirror I didn’t want to look into. And yet here we are—Day 30 complete. The last saint entered. The last amen whispered. The litany finalized.

And still, I don’t feel done.

Because what do you say after three years of writing about purity in a world that mocks it? What do you say after praying through the lives of thirty souls who bled, burned, wept, and waited—just to remain faithful?

You say thank you.
You say, “I needed this.”
You say, “I’m not the same.”

This wasn’t just a book. It was an exorcism of shame and a slow resurrection of hope. It was me, at my desk, arguing with God—and then handing Him the pen.

There were moments I wanted to quit. Moments I thought, “Does this matter?” But every time I’d try to walk away, a saint would interrupt. St. Agnes with her fearless silence. St. Mark Ji with his long wait for absolution. Kolbe with his offering. Rose with her fire. Carlo with his innocence.

They didn’t let me go. And I pray this little book won’t let you go either.

To the one who’s made it to Day 30 with me: this was for you.
To the one who’s barely made it at all: this is still for you.

And to the saints, who sat beside me in the silence: I’m yours.