La Virgencita | The Little Virgin
"A woman prays to the Virgin for love and finds her answer in the most unexpected person"
La Virgencita
The Little Virgin
Every Sunday I lit a candle to the Virgin. Every Sunday I asked for the same thing.
"Help me find love, Virgencita. Real love. The kind my mother had."
Every Sunday, she watched me with painted eyes and said nothing.
"You pray more than anyone I know," the church volunteer said.
"Is that bad?"
"Just observant." She arranged flowers by the altar. "I'm Daniela. I've seen you here for months."
"Margarita. I've seen you too."
"What do you pray for? If that's not too personal."
"Love," I admitted. "Always love."
Daniela became my Sunday constant. We'd talk after mass, share coffee, compare notes on Father Miguel's sermons.
"He repeats himself," she said.
"He's eighty. He's earned repetition."
"Fair point."
She made me laugh. That was new. My prayers had always been serious, desperate. She made them lighter.
"Why do you volunteer here?" I asked one afternoon.
"My mother. Before she died, she asked me to keep bringing flowers."
"That's beautiful."
"It's obligation." She paused. "But I've started enjoying it. The peace here. The routine."
"The company?"
"That too."
I realized I was falling in love during Advent. The way I looked forward to Sundays had changed. It wasn't about the Virgin anymore.
"Virgencita," I whispered before mass, "I asked for love. Did you send her?"
The painted eyes said nothing. But something in my heart said yes.
"I need to tell you something," I said after Christmas mass.
"That you've been looking at me like I'm a religious experience?"
"You noticed?"
"I've been looking at you the same way." She took my hand. "I prayed for a sign. Then you kept showing up every Sunday."
"I kept showing up for years before you noticed."
"Maybe the Virgin was making me wait until I was ready."
Our first kiss was in the side chapel, where the Virgin watched from her alcove. I half-expected lightning.
"Is this sacrilege?" I asked.
"Love is never sacrilege." Daniela smiled. "Even the Virgin fell in love."
"I don't think that's theologically accurate."
"Close enough."
We came out to our families, our parish, our community. Some accepted; some didn't. Father Miguel blessed us with trembling hands.
"God is love," he said. "And love is never wrong."
"Didn't you preach against—"
"I'm eighty. I've learned some things were wrong."
We married in that church, with the Virgin watching from her alcove. I swear, when we kissed, the painted eyes softened.
"Thank you," I whispered to her afterward. "For sending exactly what I needed."
"What did you ask her?" Daniela asked.
"For real love. The kind my mother had."
"Did she deliver?"
"Above and beyond."
La Virgencita—where prayers are answered in unexpected packages.
And love is always the miracle.