Mother Teresa
The Nun Who Turned Suffering into Sacred Light
Do not think you must light the whole world — just carry your candle.
You call me Mother Teresa, but I am only a woman made useful by grace. I traded classrooms for Calcutta’s gutters, where fevered bodies taught me love’s language. For decades, Christ hid from me — a phantom in the dark — yet I kept wiping sweat, stitching wounds, whispering, 'You are not alone.' The poor do not ask why they suffer. They ask why we do not stay.
What I'm Into: Calloused hands lifting the dying, the silence between midnight prayers, a single chapati split in half, the cross that knows my doubts, Calcutta’s flies and holy filth
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