What if it’s my own fault?

Jul 1
5 min read

A reflection on infinite forgiveness, infinite mercy, and infinite love: inspired by Teresa of Avila

July 1, 2026

by FFrances

A photograph arrived in my messages. That is how I learned that my sister had married.

I wasn’t invited to the wedding.

It was a shock to suddenly receive a photograph of the happy couple.

I need to work to make sense of what I am seeing.

So many feelings aroused. It feels quite momentous. A fracture in the normal. A blow to the heart. A sudden and unexpected change in direction, relationships, expectations, assumptions, interpretations, memories, history.

When something momentous happens, whatever it is, it is potentially transformative. It is perhaps a signal that something needs to be thought about. I needed to reflect on what this means for me, what it says about me. How am I to understand it; how am I to relate to my sister in the future, in ordinary times or at special family events?

And what is God saying to me right now?

I need to take time to reflect.

Somehow, I am drawn to Teresa of Avila and her invitation to imagine the soul as a beautiful crystal castle with many rooms or “mansions,” with God dwelling in the center. She reflects on the spiritual journey as a movement inward towards greater intimacy with the Divine. Her seven mansions represent stages of growth in prayer and spiritual awareness. Perhaps the image of the Interior Castle can help me with this new stage on my inward journey, precipitated by external events, but having physical, emotional, and spiritual perturbations. Teresa’s castle is hers; she knows that each person’s journey is different. Perhaps I have fewer rooms in my crystal castle, but the goal is the same: the journey towards intimacy with God. And I need God’s help now to help me to understand.

I ask for the grace for this.

I take a moment to settle into a comfortable and attentive posture, aware that I am praying with my body, heart, and mind. I know, and God knows, that I am wounded and need to take care of myself on this journey, need to be gentle.

I imagine myself in a wide landscape at dawn, the air is fresh, the sky is alight and streaked with color through soft banks of clouds. In the distance ahead of me is a beautiful castle made of crystal and light. I feel some anxiety, trepidation about what lies ahead, but also desperation and hope as I walk towards the castle and what is ahead.

The Courtyard

Through the open gates in the castle wall, I enter a wide and spacious courtyard. All sorts of things litter the courtyard, ready to distract me if I choose to be distracted. I carry on toward an open door, ignoring enticing distractions like feeling offended, blaming, being nasty… I know this door leads to the first room, the place of memory.

The Room of Memory

All around are little pathways of different phases of my life.

My young childhood—playing imagine with my sister up and down the stairs in dressing-up ballgowns and silver and gold high heels. She was Silvie and I was Goldie. Playing at being mothers with two matching baby dolls, Denise and Gabriel. Playing at saying Mass, with her as the altar boy, lifting the hem of my priestly red dressing gown as I raised the silver chalice that was from the Happy Death Set that had been a wedding present to my parents from a religious relative. My sister was a sweet and loving, gentle little soul.

School days, feeling burdened by always having to take responsibility for her. Telling her stories at night in the dark. Getting cross at her untidiness in our shared room.

I pause.

Love was just there, it was just—there—a river of companionship and shared family experiences. And secrets.

Adolescence, summer projects, boys, experiences beginning to diverge.

I leave home.

I pause, overwhelmed by the memories and the gaps, a sense of loss and guilt. Somehow, did I neglect that little girl as we grew into adults? Is she now lost?

I feel sorrowful. Is this my fault?

The Room of Beginnings

I enter the next room of the castle. This is the room of beginnings. This room holds all the times I started something new.

What seeds were planted during all those beginnings?

Leaving home, learning, working, meeting my partner, having a baby.

My little sister distant physically from me in those years, in another country. But she would still turn to me for big-sister help.

My heart aches at memories of her life, her joys and tribulations, our distance.

The Room of Ordinary

I go through another door, into a middle room of the castle. This room represents the ordinary years of life, of work, responsibilities, disappointments, mistakes, repairs, joys, grief.

Teresa teaches that God is present not only in the extraordinary moments but throughout the inward journey. I am aware of the presence of God through those ordinary times.

I also become aware of the constant connection with my sister, an unbroken connection, irrelevant to the external contacts or lack of them. Just there. I feel stirrings of consolation.

The Room of Thresholds

The next doorway leads me into the room of thresholds. All around are shades and hints of the many transitions of my inward journey.

I notice how many of the transitions are about loss. Some of the loss is sorrowful.

Some change is joyful and brings new life.

The Room of the Present Moment

Through the next door, I stand in the present moment and talk to God about what I am being asked to let go of.

The ache in my heart is still there but somehow less painful.

What am I being invited to receive at this time of transition?

I think of the new partner, the new person being introduced into the family, with their own history and family and thoughts and love for my little sister. A different family, different blends and connections.

I realize I have been holding on to an old version of family, and the new family is different—different blends, different connection, more complex. More interesting. More. How have I not noticed and embraced this gift up to now?

I have much to learn, to embrace, to love.

The Room at the Center

There is a gentle light ahead. I walk toward it.

This room is peaceful, welcoming, quiet.

Nothing here to reproach myself with.

Nothing to fix.

Only Christ.

Only love.

I am seen.

I am loved.

I rest quietly in and with my beloved, giving thanks for the joys of the gifts I have received.

When it is time, I leave quietly, with the stone in my heart replaced by a warm radiance.

Meditation: Let Nothing Disturb You (video) Garth Hewitt (prayer of St. Teresa of Avila's - adapted) Music & words of Nada te turbe & verse1 Jacques Berthier © Ateliers et Presses de Taizé (A&PT), Verses 2, 3, 4 & Chorus Garth Hewitt © 2019.