Joan of Arc is my confirmation saint.
I admired her from the first time I read her biography. She was just a child when she found her calling, and in those days, young girls who approached powerful officials weren’t taken seriously, at all. She had to persist, until she finally WAS taken seriously – or else he gave her an army just to get her to stop bugging him, and probably figured she would get herself killed and he wouldn’t have to deal with her, anymore.
In those days, too, wives and daughters were beaten regularly by their husbands and fathers, and she experienced that so often that it no longer affected her. It was not a nice time to live in.
Her courage and faith were unwavering, and she did indeed succeed in winning France from the British and placing its proper ruler on the throne.
After she had achieved the mission for which she was called, Joan indulged her pride, and perhaps a bit of vanity, and was brought down. Without the guidance of her saints or God’s permission, she engaged in one more battle and was defeated for the first time. Then, when she was captured by the British, the newly installed prince whom she had just helped enthrone left her twisting in the wind.
Imagine – not even 20 yet, and being repeatedly and treacherously interrogated for hours on end, yet holding fast the entire time and not cracking. In the end, all they could find her guilty of was wearing men’s clothing. But, they burned her as a heretic, anyway.
Imagine, at that tender age and all alone, learning you’re going to burn at the stake — one of the most awful ways to die! She held up a cross throughout the entire ordeal, and one of her executioners declared, “Heaven help us, we’ve burned a saint!”
I’ve prayed to her when I’ve needed the courage to leave my comfort zones and face scary situations, and more and more, I’ve learned to trust God.
My mother had wanted me to name her confirmation saint, Theresa, as my own, but my father told her to let me choose the one who spoke to my heart, and so I did.
