By: Sunshine Diem

Photo taken November 2025


Does sparkle fade? Does it go out? Perhaps it becomes harder to see. 


It was January. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of the snowplow. I put on my slippers and robe, took a drink of my stale bedside water, and walked out of my room. I drowsily made my way into the living room and propped my elbows on the windowsill. My chin sat in my hands as I watched the plows go back and forth. As I gazed out, I saw a bright shining star. Its glow illuminated my living room.


Eventually, I went back to my room and crawled into bed. The light of the star and the buzz of the plow were gone. It was dark. It was quiet. 


I now question whether something in me has grown dark and quiet, or if I am merely experiencing the ordinary of living in a fallen world. 


The last year left itself scattered across journals and prayers. They were written in joy, in loneliness, and in exhaustion. As I hunted through all of my entries, praying I would find a common thread, I grew anxious. 


There is so much substance within those pages. A lot of prayers. A lot of emotion. A lot of vulnerability. Unfortunately, substance is not the same as understanding.

Then I remembered what I wrote in my very first annual reflection: The writing in this blog will reflect my journey of balance, coming of age, and flying too close to the sun.

I have gathered some of them here now, in an attempt to find light and meaning amongst brokenness.


6/25/25

“This is what I want.

It is simple.

I want to love,

Selflessly,

Without bounds.

To laugh freely.

To cry freely.

I want to drink hot tea and coffee.

I want to smoke cigarettes.

I want to get to Heaven.

That is all.”


Though so much in my life is unclear, my deepest desires have always been clear. 


I long for love. With love at the forefront, I have built a good life… but not a complete one. 


Yes, I am whole in my relationship with the Lord. I know, however, with almost 100% certainty, that I am not realizing all that the Lord has offered me. Essential elements are missing, many of which are yet to be determined. 


My primary vocation is to get to Heaven. My secondary vocation, marriage or religious life, is not locked in… not even close. 


On August 2nd, 2025, I had a vocational discernment meeting with the Sisters of Life. It was an impulsive decision. I was scrolling through their website at work one day, and I began to cry. I could not identify the reason for the tears, but I knew it wasn’t sorrow. I scrolled to the bottom, entered my information, and received an email the following day. 


The conversation was transformational. I was asked to share my entire story, with as much detail as possible. To share, with such vulnerability, and be met with grace and mercy, was incredible. Together, we identified where Christ was moving throughout my journey. He was everywhere - behind every moment, picking me up, forgiving me, and pushing me forward. 


That meeting did not end with me booking a flight to the convent. It did, however, give me a deeper understanding of who the Lord created me to be. 


I went on two first dates in 2025 and zero second dates. This year, I saw someone for two whole months, but eventually the Lord led me elsewhere.


There are three elements in discernment: Divine Initiative, Human Response in Freedom, and Confirmation of the Church. What it all boils down to is simple: What am I to do with the love God has given me?


For me, the answer is still unclear. I do not know where I will be, what I will be doing, or who I will be doing it with. 


7/8/25

“Additionally, I am beginning to learn and understand something about myself. One of my gifts is the ability to make people feel safe, cherished, and loved. People quickly open up to me. I have been a guide in spiritual journeys. I have brought friends out of despair. What lies on the other side of this coin is MY desire to find someone on this Earth who is MY safe place. Someone who chooses me. Maybe this is selfish, but I also understand it to be perfectly human and reasonable.”


To love deeply is to eventually be asked to suffer deeply.


I lost my grandma this year. I also lost my best friend. Two women in my life who not only knew me in intimate, unique ways, but who were pillars in my life. They are gone. One is experiencing her eternal reward, the other no longer speaks to me. It is suffocating to want to call them. What do you do when you want to call someone who can’t answer? What do you do when you want to call someone who won’t answer? 


When you lose someone, you lose a version of yourself. Along with their absence comes the fading of memories. There is a version of me that only existed in their company. I am afraid those parts of me are fading.


My grandmother was the definition of divine femininity. She was poised, graceful, an exquisite host, and loved deeply, even when it was quiet. I was not around a lot as a kid. We lived across the country. Nevertheless, I was always in awe of her. Her garden, her cooking, her servitude, her wit, her smile, her faith. She was everything I wanted to be someday. 


I really can’t articulate the loss of my best friend. I have very little to say, and everything to feel.  A majority of my youth was witnessed by her. We are truly a part of each other. I wake up and think about her. Sometimes I still message her or call. Even though she doesn’t answer, I need her to know how deeply I love her. How deeply I will always love her. I wonder if she thinks about me, too.


These losses have left me feeling still. I am scared to let go of who I was when I walked with these women.


I have never done well with change. Whether it be moves, breakups, death, or changing jobs. I struggle miserably. Every breakup I’ve had, friendship or romance, I’m always the one to reach back out. I miss their heart. I miss the old routine. When I love, I love deeply and without reservation. I fail to see the shortcomings in people, relationships, and situations. I have rose colored glasses glued to my face. When situations change, it makes my head spin. I can’t see how a once-existing love can be there one day, and gone the next. Loss makes me feel still and confused. Perhaps that is why staying busy is so important to me.


I seldom struggle with beginnings. It is the endings that hurt me. Some losses are people, others are ways of living. 


Grief made me simultaneously look backward and forward.


9/25/25

“I am thinking about my future. It makes me emotional.

Not sad, not scared, but emotional.

I am crying.


Today, my sister sent a photo of us as young children, babies really. We were in a creek somewhere in the mountains. In the old days, we would go up there every weekend. We would frolic barefoot through the water and trees. My mom made our soap by hand, beaded jewelry, and stained glass. Our dad made furniture out of the wood he would forage on his hikes. Our camper was a big yellow school bus that was strong enough to climb the switchbacks. 


We were free, connected to nature, creative, and blowing where the Holy Spirit blew us.


My mother was raised by hippies, and my dad was born with a spirit of freedom and adventure. Together, they built a life of creative freedom and bred that into their children. 


They named me Sunshine. 


I have been reflecting on how this critical element of our lives, my life, has slowly dissolved over the years. My house smells normal, not full of incense. I work in an office, and writing is the most creative thing I do.


I have built a good life for myself. My faith is at the center of everything I do. I have friends where love flows mutually. 


But 


I do not walk barefoot in the grass.

I only touch water when I am on a boat.

I do not paint.

I do not make soap.

I do not make furniture.”


Somewhere along the line, creativity became efficiency. 


“I am not grieving childhood. I am grieving a way of life. The creativity, the blowing with the wind, and spending more time outdoors than inside. Being connected by love and expression. I want it back. 


In my future, I see all these elements back in my life. 


I can also see a veil on my head. 


I see myself holding babies that are not mine. I see myself lying prostrate at the altar, surrounded by community and divine femininity. Complete and total surrender. 


I cry when I imagine both of these scenarios.


Oftentimes, single people will say they do not belong to anyone. This is not true for me. I belong to someone. I run to someone. I rely on someone. I cry to someone. I laugh with someone. 


I want to be a wife, but I am not actively searching for it. My contentment, my joy, and my sense of belonging in Christ have the entirety of my heart. A husband would add to that joy, but he would not, could not, complete what is already whole. 


I feel a tinge of sadness at the thought of never marrying, never being a mother, but that feeling is different than fear. 


There will be a veil on my head, whether it be lace or wool.


I am thinking about my future. It makes me emotional.”


Since I do not know what the future holds, I practice love in the present.


In May, I moved into my first “big girl” apartment. Although I live alone, I have a two-bedroom. I do not have a lot of stuff, so why would I need two bedrooms? 


Because I have a lot of love.


I got a two-bedroom apartment because I want this home to be filled with people. Filled with laughter. Filled with joy and company. That second bedroom has been occupied more than it has been empty. I have a friend who lives far away but stays here every time she drives through. My parents stay with me for weekend visits. Another one of my friends lived in that room for a number of months after moving back to be closer to family. 


Filling that room with people fills my heart with love. 


Company and motion illuminate the darkness, but it does not rid it entirely. 


10/1/25


“Dearest Jesus, 

I feel so dreadfully overwhelmed. It is making my mind and soul go numb. I have always struggled with knowing my limit. Even if I did know my limit, would I stay within it? Likely not. My mind is so full of what I should be doing, what I have committed myself to, that I have entered paralysis. It is easier to shut my brain off than to stew. Worst of all, when I shut my brain off, I feel separated from You. Here I am, sitting in adoration, and I feel disconnected. I am tired, I am anxious, I am falling behind… I know You expect a lot out of me. Please help me understand where I can best serve You. I am greatly stressed. I need motivation and rest.”


My joy is undoubtedly full, but I regret to inform you, my happiness is not. I feel weak. My schedule often feels like an obligation. It is difficult to pinpoint what is a result of depression, growing pains, the northern winter blues, losing my spark, or just being glum. I imagine it is a combination. Or perhaps, our world is broken. After all, Adam and Eve ate the apple, and death entered the world.


8/12/25

“I do not fear death.

I do not fear pain.

I do not fear hardship.

Though I once did.

I have found true, all-consuming joy: One that has blinded me from the danger, ugliness, and fear of our fallen world. I look forward to my coffee each morning, even when I wake up with swollen, bleeding eyes. I pick out an outfit, each piece having been worn by someone before me. I wonder what they did in these clothes. I want to hug everyone I encounter, and often do. I am a beacon of light, but I am not the source. I am the ship, but I am not the waves pushing it across the water. I am the paint, and maybe even the canvas, but I am not the artist. This is why I am so joyful… I have surrendered. In my small nature, in understanding my unworthiness, I have laid everything to rest. My job is to share the wealth, because I am not the treasure. He is. He is the source. He is the water and the waves. He is the artist. He is the treasure. 

I do not fear death because in that moment, I will see Him, face to face. That will be the greatest joy of all.”


I am in constant motion in our damaged world.


During a slow season in freshman year, my teacher said, “Sunshine, you are just better when you’re busy.” She said it in front of the whole class. I was embarrassed and upset. I also did not understand what she meant. Better when I’m busy?


Keeping busy has given me two significant gifts:


  1. Depression can’t hit a moving target! When you’re focused on the task at hand, you don’t have time to stew. It’s like chasing the sun, so the darkness can’t catch you.
  2. The busier the agenda, the more opportunities to experience goodness. You meet new people, learn new things, take more chances, and notice all the miracles, all the light, within them.


So yeah, I guess I’m better when I’m busy.


As my vocations reveal themselves over time, it does not mean all of my problems will vanish. 


You know what else won’t vanish: laughter with friends, cooking with my family, smiling faces on the street, and the opportunity to learn every single day. If I have spent the last 22 years hunting and experiencing light, love, and mercy, I can do it for the rest of my life. I will give it for the rest of my life.


Life doesn’t get easier. If we all see and experience pain, violence, and suffering, what happens if we all succumb to it? We cannot rebuild our world in darkness. Someone must hold the candle. We all must hold the candle. Each individual light will collectively illuminate our darkened world.


I have found freedom in accepting the inevitable. I have hope. Life gets harder, but by surrounding myself with goodness, I have found it to be joyful. I refuse to grow cold. We must remain tender, joyful, and in motion inside a world that wounds us. Please don’t let the darkness catch you.


Pax et bonum,

Sunshine