nothing is lacking

I do apologize for my lack of internet presence these past two months. It is near impossible to keep up with these things while at camp. Know that it was a successful and amazing summer full of love and learning. But, more on that later…

Currently, I am working on some final postings on my travels. I am super excited to share them, but as I was looking through photographs of my time abroad, I came across a picture that I wanted to post immediately as it reminds me of beauty’s convincing power. The photo shows part of a sculpture that sits in front of the Design Museum in London.

“Though human genius in its various inventions with various instruments may answer the same end, it will never find an invention more beautiful or more simple or direct than nature because in her inventions nothing is lacking and nothing superfluous.” –Leonardo Da Vinci

I beg you to take an honest look around. Examine the clouds in the sky, the sun and the stars, the tree in your front yard, the spider forming a web, the mother and child shopping near you at the grocery store. As Thomas Dubay has said, “beauty does convince if only we give it a chance by receptivity and goodwill.”

it's still may

While visiting Notre Dame in Paris this week, I was reminded that May is the Virgin Mary’s month. Along the side chapels, like many churches, paintings are displayed depending on the chapels’ themes. However, Notre Dame’s are special. A sign titled “The ‘Mays’ of Notre Dame” explained: “[f]rom 1449, the goldsmiths of Paris would offer to Mary a green tree as a gift for the 1^st of May, the month devoted to her. Then later on, works of poetry in [a] chest of gold. Even later, painting[s] by famous painters.”

In a side chapel of Notre Dame, Laurent de La Hyre's painting The Conversion of St. Paul, hangs. It is a 'May of Nortre Dame,' from in 1637.

Dang! My good friend Marisa had given me a heads up on Mary's month while I was still in Roma, but everything got so chaotic that it kept slipping my mind. I had BIG plans to use May to do BIG things spiritually and increase devotion to Mary; what happened? With only a few days left in the month, I had precious little time to make this month special for my Heavenly Mother.

I started by reading. The May Magnificant had wonderful things to say. The editorial by Peter John Cameron illuminated the concept of Mary as soil. Quoting Pope Benedict XVI, he says “[t]o be soil for the Word means that the soil must allow itself to be absorbed by the seed. Mary’s maternity means that she willingly places her own substance, body and soul, into the seed so that new life can grow.” Later, Cameron writes, “[t]he key, then, is simply to do what the seed does: to stay close to Mary the soil… The Word of God who once brought forth Something New in the womb of Mary will be able to take root in us. Through our devout union with Mary, the Word of God will fuse with our personal humanity.”

Then today, in all my Marian spirits, I was blessed enough to plan a visit to the Chapel of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, the location where Mary appeared to St. Catherine Labouré to instruct her to have the Miraculous Medal struck. A wonderful thing to do for anybody at anytime, but it was particularly fitting for me this week as it is May and St. Catherine’s body is there, and she happens to be my confirmation Saint.

Mary appeared to St. Catherine here; the apparitions from which the Miraculous Medal comes. Now, the fresco on the wall depicts Mary's visit to St. Catherine. The statue of Mary behind the alter is the same image that appears on the medal. And, just below the mosaic to the right is where St. Catherine's body rests. Click here for more on the Chapel.

Saint Catherine understood Mary’s significance. When her mother died, she said, “Now you will be my mother," while looking at a statue of the Virgin Mary. At this time, Catherine was only a child.

We have just over four days to make this month a Marian one. What will you do?

Now, if you want to celebrate Marian May with a prayer....

Holy Virgin, I beg you: enable me to receive Jesus from the Spirit, according to the same process by which you bore Him. May my soul possess Christ, thanks to the Spirit through whom you conceived Christ. May the grace to know Jesus be granted to me through the Spirit who enabled you to know how to possess Jesus and bring him forth. May my littleness show forth the greatness of Christ in virtue of the Spirit in whom you recognized yourself as the handmaid of the Lord, desiring that it be done to you according to the word of the angel. May I love Christ in the Spirit in whom you adored Him as your Lord and looked after Him as your son.

- Saint Ildephonsus of Toledo

i owe it all to strangers

I’ve just carried well over half my weight in luggage across Europe. This is not a joke; I weighed my luggage at the airport: 42 kilograms in total (for the non-European-minded, that is more than 92 pounds). Not including my purse, with which I smuggled in quite a lot of weight. The baggage itinerary looked as follows—Roma to Lucca, changing trains in Pisa; Lucca to Milan, once again changing trains in Pisa; Milan to London by plane; London to Exeter, changing trains in Reading. Exeter to London, changing trains within the city once to arrive closer to the hotel. GAH!

Lucca, my first post-Roma stop, was beautiful. But, I needed a lot of help

getting there with all my stuff from studying abroad for four months.

Thank goodness for easyJet’s no carry-on luggage weight limit, because I definitely utilized it—my carry-on bag weighed 15 kilograms, excluding my giant purse which I had to zip inside of it because of their only-one-carry-on-bag rule. Essentially, I stuck everything heavy I could manage into that duffle and the “light” stuff went to the checked bag. But, that bag was still wildly overweight, and there is a steep charge for every kilo you’re over. Yet, the woman must have felt bad for me, because she didn’t charge me, “oh, it’s okay this time,” she said.

Now, though I traveled alone, a complete packrat fool to all passersby, I did not, because I could not, take my luggage around alone. I was rather dependent on other people. Not just did I enjoy the help of others but also literally relied on their good spirits.

We’re not as independent as we think. And, being independent isn’t as great as it sounds. Relying on others is humbling and allows us to connect with the rest of our human family. Reflecting on this whole luggage and travel experience, I’m reminded of a quote from the Thomas Dubay book I am reading. He says, “who can count the sufferings and sacrifices and smiles of our parents, brothers and sisters, friends and, often enough, mere acquaintances, and at times complete strangers?” Each illustrates human beauty and without such, I wouldn’t have made it through this journey.

So, to:

the Portuguese woman in Lucca who helped me carry my bags through the pedestrian subway,
the girl who pointed out the lift at the Pisa station,
the countless people carrying my bags up the narrow TrenItalia steps,
the man who lifted my bag over suitcases and baby strollers on the way to Milan when I got on the wrong coach and had to walk the length of the train to find my seat,
the guy who let me exit the train before him in England, allowing me to more easily pull my bag out,
Katie, who heroically carried my heavy duffle all the way from her flat to the station without complaint,
the concierge who took my bags off my hands in my London hotel,
and my Dad who is now helping me carry everything around as we finish our travels,

thank you!

procrastination rules

“I am the biggest procrastinator.”

Famous quote. You hear it all the time. If you’re in high school, you hear it every week. If you’re in college, you hear it every day. And, if you’re in college and it’s finals week and you’re in your school’s library, you hear it every hour—at least.

I am not sure who’s won this title of “biggest procrastinator,” though I know I am certainly in the competition. Regardless, given that I’m now finished with my finals and about a week into summer vacation (!) and my home school, William & Mary, holds their last final today (good luck to those still finishing!), I am going hash out the highlights of my procrastination capabilities during this semester’s exams.

My main reason for procrastination was a philosophy paper. It was due Sunday night. By Tuesday, I thought I’d better start, but of course I didn’t. So, I promised I would the next day. But, Wednesday came around, and I had to make that same promise. Then, it became Thursday and then Friday… still no thesis yet. Friday evening I was determined to work, but procrastination came in to play big time when my roommate, Gabby told Catherine and I we had no choice but to go out with her. Now, when French fries from Elliot’s versus and empty word document face off, there is a clear winner.

We love Elliot's!

Procrastination rule #1: even if you have a deadline, a procrastinator never freely chooses to say no to a night out. Summary: Friends are greater than School.

Okay, but let’s backtrack. We covered Friday, but why wasn’t I working on the paper Thursday? Well, on Thursday, I was only thinking about shoes. After my Italian class, instead of heading to the library or the apartment to start writing, I chose to pick up my newly purchased package from Amazon: a pair of gray and pink extra-high top converses. After a purchase like this, I couldn’t just leave them sitting in the box as I abandoned them to my world of writing. So, I laced them up and tried them on and started outfit experimenting. Yep, that was Thursday.

Procrastination rule #2: always have a good outfit ready to study in because you should look good when you do schoolwork. After all, people see you during a test, and only you and your teacher see the grade.

Now, to my excuse as to why there was no progress on my paper before Thursday: I was sitting on our balcony reading Problem Solved, a design book by Michael Johnson. I wanted to finish it before I had to return it to the library when I left Rome. This made finals time not only crunch time when it came to classes, but also crunch time when it came to reading this book.

Procrastination rule #3: if you have something other than a textbook on your bucket list of books to read, the good procrastinator starts reading those books right as a big test day comes up. The point of studying is to learn, so as long as you’re learning something, you aren’t be a bad student, even if it is learning fonts instead of a foreign language.

However, my best method of procrastination this semester was by far climbing the dome of St. Peter’s, because, when you are studying in Rome, this kind of thing is readily available. The climb was more than 500 stairs (I didn’t count, but I believe the sign and my Lonely Planet guidebook), and it was more than worth it. The view of the city is fantastically 360° and after spending the last four months getting familiar with Rome, I could easily point out tourist landmarks, in addition to my apartment and other favorites. After I had spent a few minutes sight-searching, it started to rain, but I waited it out, continuing to soak up all the Roman goodness. Then, the most amazing thing happened, the rain stopped, and a rainbow appeared across St. Peter’s square. How often are there rainbows in Rome? I have no clue, but this one was the first I heard of during my four months, and I was atop St. Peter’s dome to witness it.

Procrastination rule #4: if you happen to be in the Roman vicinity: a visit to St. Peter’s is a must when it comes to procrastination. God will end up rewarding you.

A full rainbow forming over St. Peter's and the city; lucky I was outside and procrastinating instead of inside and writing a paper.

Of course, the Spring 2010 Procrastination List is much longer than those I’ve listed. The exhaustive list includes everything from baking bread to eating dinner out with Tommy and Catherine to Old Bridge gelato runs to visiting nuns and speaking with priests. Yet, despite all this nonsense, I did finish that paper; I am now a junior in college! Wonderful. I’d love to hear how you procrastinated this semester, or a favorite procrastination story from the past—I’m always looking for new ideas, and I still have half of college to get through. Happy summer, everyone!

5 reasons why my 4 days in portugal were the best of my spring break

Besides the fact that I got sick in Sevilla, so obviously Spain couldn’t be first, and I was only in two different countries for spring break, Portugal was not just a default winner. It earned its position. (Note, I promise I am in love with Spain. See my post on La Sagrada Família if you don’t believe me, but sometimes you just have to pick favorites). Regardless, here is why Portugal took the cake:

1. St. Anthony is Portuguese. For the record: he may be St. Anthony of Padua to most, but he is not Italian and is equally St. Anthony of Lisboa. In Lisbon, there is a Church built atop his home, which we visited. After St. Anthony helped me find my John Paul II crucifix here in Rome, visiting his hometown was an extraordinary highlight of my time abroad and another amazing St. Anthony experience. His feast day is the day before my birthday, and at some point I would love to go to Lisbon one June to celebrate.

I love St. Anthony of Lisboa! Posing by San Antonio,

the Church built over the Saint's home in Lisbon.

2. The pastel de nata is a famous pastry of Portugal and possibly the most delicious pastry I have consumed in my lifetime. We devoured ours in Belém at Pastéis de Belém, a pastry shop that has been open since 1837. The recipe for the pastel de nata, or pastel de Belém as it is called there, comes from the Heironymite Monastery, and “follow[s] the ancient 'secret recipe' from the monastery. Passed on and known exclusively to the master confectioners who hand-crafted the pastries in the 'secrets room', this recipe remain[s] unchanged to the present day,” according to the pastry shop’s website. Besides housing this wonderful food, Belém is as historically important as it is beautiful. Even so, if you don’t make it to Belém when you’re in Portugal (though you ought to), at least eat the pastel de nata somewhere else.

Paul holds up a pastel de nata as I drink my cappuccino

in Pastéis de Belém (above). And, (below), the whole

gang enjoying every minute in Belém.

3. Fatima, the Marian apparition sight, (second in fame only to Lourdes), is in Portugal. And, it is an easy daytrip from Lisbon, where we stayed. To be in the place where Mary appeared to Lucia, Jacinta and Francisco was such a blessing. Even though, as a Catholic, I am not required to believe the Fatima story, I do trust in it fully, trying to follow the teachings of many holy people that have come before. John Paul II said “I've been on a pilgrimage to Fatima as most of you, dear pilgrims, with the rosary in my hand, Mary's name on my lips and the song of God's mercy in my heart." You may not know (as I didn’t until recently,) it was during these apparitions that Mary revealed, among other things, the “O my Jesus” prayer, which many say at the end of each decade of the Rosary. Essentially, being in Fatima inspired in me a greater devotion to the Rosary—what more could I have asked for?

The Basilica of the Rosary in Fatima contains the bodies of the children

to whom Mary appeared and is right next to the spot where Mary appeared.

4. Sintra is in Portugal. Castles. Palaces. Nature. Estates. Gardens. Cory and Paul made fun of the fact that every eight minutes I was wowed by the views and kept calling everything my “favorite,” and Paul tried to get me to go without saying “guys, this is REALLY cool,” every other sentence. That failed miserably, which gave Cory a big kick. But, in Portugal, I felt like I could be a princess, and there is nothing wrong with that.

Inside the Moorish Castel in Sintra is like a magical land.

5. Cabo da Roca, the most western part of Europe happens to be in (guess) Portugal! “Here, where the land ends and the sea begins...” claims the monument there. Standing at the edge of cliffs that drop 140 meters before where the water is then crashing around is terrifyingly powerful. The wind was strong on the coast and it was rather chilly. I was closer to the East Coast than I have been since mid-January, and that tugged at my heartstrings more than a little. Looking west, towards home, I literally felt my heart pulled in that direction. Cory and I joked about just swimming all the way to school. The vastness of the world along with the creativity of our Creator is made very apparent here.

The wind (above) is so strong at Cabo da Roca, the most western part of Europe, but the sky was beautiful as we watched sunset begin.

And (below), Cory spots America!

Paul throws my backpack off the 140 meter cliff. Awesome.

Obrigada, Portugal. I cannot wait to visit this land again.

back to barcelona - what la sagrada família and gaudí will teach you

March 1882: where were you? Not around, I’ll assume. That was 128 years ago. 128 years from now, in 2138, where will you be? Again, not around, I’ll assume. After all, 128 years is well over a lifetime. Gosh, it is long enough for five or six generations to pass.

Incredibly enough, it was just over 128 years ago that the construction of La Sagrada Família, the famous church in Barcelona, began. (However, its story dates back even further—back to 1866). Architect Antoni Gaudí, whom you have certainly heard of, at least in name, was in charge of its design. His work was and is incredibly unique, strikingly loud and delightfully refreshing.

I have visited La Sagrada Família two times in my life thus far and hope for a third trip one day: the first time with my parents when I was just a little baby, a vacation I am sure I appreciated and understood immensely, and just recently with my friends Cory, Paul and Octavia when I saw Barcelona over spring break. La Sagrada Família experience is difficult to explain. When I saw it, I became obsessed with it. It is impossible to just look at; you must study it. I was uninformed of the whole story behind the work. I didn’t understand what half of the symbolism in the architecture was, and most of the details that have taken years to plan and longer to produce went over my head. But, despite my ill education, Gaudí’s work made something move in me. And, after actually researching it, I respect not only the building, but also the man. Unquestionably, Antoni Gaudí was a person to look up to.

Almost 19 years after my first trip to Barcelona, I've returned, and

with the continual construction since 1882 of La Sagrada Família behind me, I couldn't be happier to be back to see this amazing Gaudí masterpiece. In Gaudí's own words, "La Sagrada Família is made by the people and is mirrored in them. It is a work that is in the hands of God and

the will of the people."

However, before I gush too much about Gaudí, more background. The church isn’t finished yet, but it may be finished in the “first third of the 21st century,” according to the Sagrada Família website (and, trusty Wikipedia says it should be finished in 2026, confirming this former hypothesis). Its construction is, and had been since the beginning, funded entirely through donations; with, to quote the Sagrada Família website once again, the “ultimate aim of being a catechistic explanation of the teachings of the Gospels and the Church.” The symbolism I mentioned earlier really does explode from the church: the facades with extensive summaries of Jesus’ life, the towers representing the apostles while pointing us to Heaven, the interior, the structure, the stained glass, the geometry. The list goes on and on.

The Nativity facade (above) of La Sagrada Família impresses everybody. This part of the church is genuine Gaudí work, completed before his death in 1926. Paul and I having fun (below) taking photos outside of the church with the Passion facade in the background. This facade was built after Gaudí's death, but in obedience with the architect's desired design.

Gaudí himself put over 40 years of work into the church, only to be hit by a tram in 1926 outside of La Sagrada Família and die a few days later. He never saw it remotely close to completion. Near the end of his life, he lived, worked and breathed La Sagrada Família, and no other projects were even on the radar. Reading about his devotion to both this church and the Church inspires. And, even though Gaudí would only see one of the bell towers completed, he humbly understood this sacrifice and had no problem leaving the fate of La Sagrada Família in others’ hands. “There is no reason to regret that I cannot finish the church,” he said. “I will grow old but others will come after me. What must always be conserved is the spirit of the work, but its life has to depend on the generations it is handed down to and with whom it lives and is incarnated.” He was fittingly buried in the crypt of La Sagrada Família, which is where Masses are held. With Gaudí missing, the church’s construction is a collaboration of different artists, but the concept is that Gaudí’s intentions are remembered behind everything and his ideas preserved as much as possible. A plan with which Gaudí would unmistakably have no qualms.

The ceiling of the crypt of La Sagrada Família depicts the Annunciation. The crypt is where Gaudí was buried and also where we attended to Mass.

I really cannot imagine dedicating the better half of my life to any project, much less one I knew I could not finish. He was an artist with a purpose and a pursuit; his purpose glorifying God and his pursuit Heaven. We should all be like that. We are all called to be like that, because in 128 years we won’t be here, but we’ll be somewhere else.

planned parenthood admits abortion “kills”

I’ve run across similar Planned Parenthood pamphlets before, but I was again reminded of such a few weeks ago when Bryan Kemper blogged about it.

Above, Planned Parenthood pamphlet, (zoomed in below).

Yes, in a 1952 informational brochure about contraception, Planned Parenthood was honest in at least revealing abortion to be what it is: killing. I do not know how Planned Parenthood now gets away with lying to the public about abortion. The unborn are suffering greatly from these lies and so are women.

Sadly enough, on Planned Parenthood’s website now, they claim “abortion procedures are very safe.” Well, it is definitely not safe for the children, and certainly harmful to the women, in more ways than just one, (click here to read more about the ways in which abortion hurts women, an article by an ex pro-choicer which I strongly recommend).

One problem facing the pro-life movement today is that to be feminist is to be pro-choice. As Erika Bachiochi explains in the article I have linked above, the feminist movement proclaims “[i]f you want to stand for women’s progress, the line goes, then you have to stand for abortion.” However, true feminism embraces womanhood and all this entails, including pregnancy. “While these pioneering feminists endured the painstaking fight to change male-dominated political and economic institutions, the ‘pro-choice’ feminists of the 1970s and today instead sought to change the very nature of women, convincing many of them that, if they’re to be equal to men, they must simply become like men,” Bachiochi says. This feminism of our day is a sick form of sexism disguised under the name of women. Susan B. Anthony was the most feminist of us all, and she was pro-life. Why is that connection now so foreign to modern perception? If you want to stand for women's progress, you must not stand for abortion. Real feminists protect motherhood. Real feminists fight for the justice of the unborn. Real feminists are pro-life.

In the time it has taken you to read this blogpost (approximately 90 seconds), more than three babies were aborted in the United States.[i]

Pro-woman. Pro-life.

---

[i] According to 2005 statistics from the Guttmacher Institute.

we are Easter people

“We are Easter people and alleluia is our song” said St. Augustine. This is certainly true, but why are we Easter people?

Simply, we are Easter people because Easter is vital to our humanity. Without Easter, there would be no promise of salvation and no reason for suffering. We’d be here on Earth with no hope at all. It is today that we remember the glorious strength of Christ.

In his Easter message, Pope Benedict XVI said, “Easter is the true salvation of humanity! If Christ—the Lamb of God—had not poured out his blood for us, we would be without hope, our destiny and the destiny of the whole world would inevitably be death.” Christ conquered death. And through this, rescues us from our own mortality. Only when he died and rose again was his purpose fulfilled. Only through death can he give life.

I was blessed enough to attend the Easter Vigil Mass at St. Peter’s last night. In his homily, the Pope spoke of salvation and baptism. He said, “this cure for death, this true medicine of immortality, does exist. It has been found. It is within our reach. In baptism, this medicine is given to us. A new life begins in us, a life that matures in faith and is not extinguished by the death of the old life, but is only then fully revealed.” He continued later by saying, “it is God who clothes us in the garment of light, the garment of life. Paul calls these new ‘garments’ ‘fruits of the spirit,’ and he describes them as follows: ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.’ ”

St. Peter's is ready for the Easter Season. This photo is of the square

just after midnight on Easter morning when the Vigil Mass ended.

We all spend a lot of time searching for these fruits, love most especially. But, it is hard to perfect ourselves and truly answer the call to holiness we have each received. However, as Benedict said, this process has already begun through our baptism, we must now accept the graces, deny ourselves in light of God’s will and seek goodness: a daily struggle, of course. But, Benedict explained “this changing of garments is something that continues for the whole of life. What happens in baptism is the beginning of a process that embraces the whole of our life—it makes us fit for eternity, in such a way that, robed in the garment of light of Jesus Christ, we can appear before the face of God and live with him for ever.”

May you remember your baptism and all it means for new life in Christ this Easter season. We are all new in Christ’s victory. Sing Alleluia, for it is sincerely our song. We are Easter people. Buona Pasqua!

Happy Easter; He is Risen. Alleluia!

duty of a moment

I recently read a post on my friend Beth’s blog about how difficult it is to know how much we should invest in others, especially others that may only be in our lives for “a day, an afternoon, an hour.”

Just hours before reading the post, I had found myself in the elevator, heading up to my apartment. The two people sharing the elevator with me were both clearly American students. There was that awkward moment in the beginning of the ride where I thought about saying something, asking a question, striking up conversation, but then thought too hard; the moment of opportunity passed. So, the three of us stood patiently in silence. It was just a short ride up five floors, not worth chatting anyway. A few minutes later I was at my door, unlocking my apartment and setting down my schoolbag.

However, Beth’s point was that people are inherently worth investing time in, even those we do not know. She said, “you invest in them, knowing that you might never see them again.”

Beth’s writing immediately clicked with me. Living can’t be about giving when we know there will be a long term relationship or conversing when we are guaranteed another exchange, or avoiding awkward moments by staying quiet in elevators. Our humanity has got to run deeper in our veins than this comfort-seeking attitude.

It is okay to meet somebody and then “move on to new adventures,” as Beth put it, since we are, in the process, “leaving His fingerprints… even if we forget each other.”

Maybe not every elevator ever time, but sometimes it is our duty of the moment to say something, even something seemingly unimportant, to the person standing next to us.

Don’t let the sun set before you’ve given

somebody else a reason to hope (1 Peter 3:15).

we have the Church Triumphant helping us: St. Anthony, thank you!!

In 9^th grade Christine, my youth minister, gave each high schooler a crucifix blessed by Pope John Paul II. This was about six months before the Pope’s death. I wore the crucifix throughout high school, a reminder of Christ’s sacrifice and the history of man’s redemption.

Summer of 2008, while working at Mar-Lu-Ridge, I lost the crucifix. I spent a lot of time looking for it, but that mountain is huge, and it could have been anywhere! Miles of trails and roads, swimming pools and cabins, it was so unlikely I would find it. And, despite praying for St. Anthony (patron Saint of lost items) to intercede for me, the JPII crucifix didn’t turn up.

I was so upset about it. This wasn’t just some earring or piece of jewelry—it was a religious article, a crucifix. And, after all, it had been blessed by John Paul II! But, my brother, Math, gave me a strong wake up call, telling me that while it was a blessed item, it was still a thing, just a thing. No matter how much it meant to me, the crucifix was not necessary to love God or do His will. If I was getting so upset over losing it, maybe Christ was trying to teach me that the real importance of the crucifix wasn’t in the thing itself. I was so wrapped up in it, the crucifix, that I over looked Him, my God. I had forgotten why I even wore the crucifix.

By the time camp rolled around again the next summer, I had long since learned my lesson. Of course I was (and still am) attached to worldly things and have struggles with materialism, but improvements were in the works. In fact, for my birthday that summer, my parents gave me a new crucifix. Wouldn’t you know, but that crucifix fell off my chain just a few weeks later. I was disappointed, especially since it had been a gift from my parents, but I was in nowhere near the same state I had been the previous summer—no angry crying, no frustration, just a general disappointment at my inability to be cautious. It is just so hard to be careful at camp when you are swimming, jumping, running and going crazy 24/7.

Matt and I pose with our group from week six on top of Shock Rock at camp last summer. With craziness like this, how could I have expected to not lose a crucifix?

A little later that summer, I was waiting for my campers to come out of the camp store when a fellow counselor, Miss Clare, excitedly told me that her camper found my recently lost crucifix! A little boy walked up to me and told me how he had found it in the dirt outside the dining hall. When he opened his hand to show me, I saw that it was indeed my crucifix, but it wasn’t the new one. It was my JPII crucifix from ONE YEAR previous!! I almost couldn’t believe it. St. Anthony had certainly interceded for me, how else would that crucifix have weathered one year on a lonely mountain? Through Christ, St. Anthony had protected that crucifix through icy snowstorms, dirty mud, hungry animals, food trucks, trampling children. I just had to be patient along the way. Once I had learned my lesson, Christ heard my prayers, as well as those of St. Anthony, and let me have my crucifix back.

Now, I am in Rome (see photo to the left of me in the Roman Forum with the JPII crucifix!), one of the greatest places of religious history. Wearing it alongside my Mother Teresa medal, the crucifix went here with me of course. But, this past Thursday, I was late for Mass. When I got off the bus, I had to run about ten minutes to get to church. My jacket was flying open and I remember thinking about how my medals were flying around. However, for some reason I didn’t think to hold them safely as I sprinted. I made it to church a few minutes late, but later that night, when I got to the apartment, I realized I was missing my JPII crucifix. Irritated at my own recklessness and pretty sure that I must have lost it on the way to church, I decided to wait until the morning to look for it. Catherine and I prayed for Mary and St. Anthony’s intercession, and in my anxiety to find the crucifix, I promised St. Anthony a blogpost of the story if I found the crucifix… Still, I kept in mind Math’s advice; it was only a thing.

Friday, my alarm woke me up at 6 a.m. I eagerly shot out of bed and got ready for my search. I’m not sure what my reasoning was, but I planned to walk to the church from my apartment first, then look inside the church, then try to retrace the steps from the church to the bus stop, even though I knew it would be near impossible to do so. I was so hopeful as I started out; St. Anthony wouldn’t let me down. As I walked the route (each passing Roman thought I was insane because I was literally staring at the ground and walking slower than slow), I realized how massive my prayer was. The sidewalk and street were practically the same color as the crucifix, and what I was looking for was little. How was this going to work? Getting a little unsure of St. Anthony and myself, I continued praying and begging, St. Anthony, please, please, please help me look.

I was almost to the church, and still nothing. Momentarily forgetting which way to go, I began to cross the street. I realized my mistake and turned back. But, for some reason I didn’t move in the direction of the church. I have no idea why, but I stepped back and decided to take a second look for the crucifix on the corner I’d just been by. This was the corner I had to turn sharply to get to the church on the way there the night before. After several minutes of search, I figured it wasn’t there. I carried on towards Santa Lucia to see if the crucifix had maybe fallen off inside.

However, as I took a few steps away from the corner, I heard something under my shoe. Before looking, I knew immediately that it must be the crucifix. I tried to keep my expectation at bay, though, just in case. I moved my foot. Lying in the middle of the sidewalk was a tiny, one-inch John Paul II crucifix. My crucifix, no doubt. I clutched it tightly in my fist and holding it to my chest, tears started streaming down my face. This was real.

My crucifix blessed by John Paul II is now safely back onto the chain which it belongs. It is pretty tarnished and beat up, but that is just what happens when you have gone though so much. I owe finding it (both times) to the beautiful intercessions of St. Anthony, the patron Saint of lost items.

You can call it chance or luck, but I know differently. Rome is a huge city with millions (literally) of people, and I covered a huge distance traveling from the bus stop to the Church and then back to the apartment. It could have been anywhere—down a gutter, in the stomach of one of the thousands of dogs here, scooped up by the street cleaners—literally anywhere. It could have been picked up in the wheel of a Vespa and dragged miles across Rome. If I hadn’t doubled back after crossing in the wrong place, I would have never stepped where the crucifix was waiting for me.

St. Anthony, thank you! For all of you whom I asked to pray for the intercession of St. Anthony to find the crucifix, thank you. Christ, for hearing these prayers and granting me this blessing, thank you.

We will just have to see if I lose this crucifix again, (I hope not!) and if St. Anthony will help me out yet another time. However, regardless of what happens to my crucifix from here on out, what I have learned from it will stay with me.

Faith is real. Prayers are real. Saints are real.

I keep this card depicting St. Anthony in my journal. A Priest inside St. Peter's gave it to me just a week or two before I lost the crucifix while dashing through the streets of Rome.