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!

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.

the pickpocket: part i

Every Rome guidebook in the universe warns heavily of pickpockets, as they should. No big deal, though—all cities have pickpockets. In this way, Rome is no different than many other major hubs. I'm sure you have heard stories, or told them yourself, about losing money, wallets or passports while traveling to Rome and other places.

However, I thought when you were pickpocketed it would be while you fell asleep on the bus or accidentally left your bags alone for a minute. I didn't think the criminal ever really had an identity. Of course, these are ideal situations for pickpockets, but fortunately for us and unfortunately for them, it doesn't always happen this way...

A few weeks ago, while heading to the opera, my roommates and I witnessed some serious pickpocket activity. We were taking the metro just a few stops, and it was pretty crowded. As we neared our stop, the man standing next to me started yelling at a woman. He was claiming (in English actually, and very loudly) that she had just tried to pickpocket him. The woman, short, middle-aged with mid-length brown hair (so, basically average in almost every way), argued back, "Do you have a photo? Do you have evidence?" Meanwhile, somebody on the metro said over and over "control your pockets." Pretty good advice to all in a crowded place, but obviously the man was controlling his pockets as he didn't let this woman go through with her crime. The man's wife pulled out her phone and indeed tried to take a photo of the pickpocket. The woman was too cunning for this, however and put her hand up to the phone's camera lens as the wife snapped the unsuccessful photo. People on the metro were kind of shuffling around nervously and excitedly; most everyone was staring.

When the metro stopped, Gabi, Kat and I were just trying to get off in time. The man was holding onto the pickpocket's arm; he and his wife followed her off the metro. As we got on the escalators, we watched the scene continue to unravel below. The pickpocketer kept trying to walk away from the couple, while they continued to yell about the attempted crime, saying "We're taking you to the police!" And, wouldn't you know? Luck seemed to be on their side this evening because as they yelled, an undercover cop came by and flashed his ID and badge and asked what was going on.

Who knows what happened next—we were already halfway up the escalators—but from that moment on, I have paid special attention and certainly tried to 'control my pockets.'

My roommates, Catherine, Kat, Gabby and I dressed up for the opera; it was a compilation, so we saw a variety of pieces performed from several famous operas. Adding to the excitement, we saw an attempted pickpocket in route.

i met our Mother in rome

For those of you who find North American Catholicism underemphasizing the role of the Virgin Mary in the Church, or who are put off by the extreme emphasis of Central and South American Catholicism (Myles, this is you), you need to visit ROMA, the perfect balance of all that is Mary.

Rome is constantly reminding passersby of Mary’s love and faith with the Marian art that is all throughout the city—regardless of being near the Vatican. But, not without still remembering Christ’s sacrifice and His own role as Eternal High Priest. Before I came to Rome, I knew Mary was wonderful and thought I had enough respect for her. I knew who she was; I liked the Rosary; I thought that was enough. But, until I reflect and pray sincerely and consistently on the subject, I will never begin to comprehend the beauty of the Virgin Mary.

Mary humbly lived within a world post the fall in the garden, yet practiced obedience to God in such a way that she was still worthy of that garden. She is the New Eve, whose decision is upon which our salvation rests. It’s about time a lot of Christians turn towards our Mother, who constantly turned towards God. Ad Christum per Mariam—to Christ through Mary. It’s about time I meet Mary, for real, and what better a place than Rome?

Above, Marian Statue in Santa Maria Del Carmelo, a Church about two blocks from St. Peter's Basilica, splendidly reveals to us her importance in the Church as the Queen of Heaven. And below, a Marian statue sits to side of the alter in the Chiesa del Sacro Cuore del Suffragio (Church of the Sacred Heart of Suffering). Mary is almost looking at the tabernacle, keeping our focus on the Eucharist and reminding us of Christ.

But, Mary isn't just in the churches!! Above, two pieces of artwork of Mary and Child are displayed around Rome. The left piece (a mosaic, I believe) is located above an archway which my bus passes through in transit to and from school, and the right (a painting, I believe) is located near the Piazza del Populo. They are both subtle reminders that much of Rome's beauty is religiously founded. Below, an icon of Mary sits with the first lines of the Hail Mary inscribed above it: Hail Mary, full of grace.

Above, a statue of Mary, left, towers above everything in the Piazza Mignanelli, right next to the Piazza di Spagna. This statue is atop of the column of the Immaculate Conception, which was placed here a few years after the Immaculate Conception became dogma. According to Pope Benedict XVI, in describing this statue, "Mary stands high, on guard over Rome" (read a bit more about the column, BXVI & last year's Feast of the Immaculate Conception here). The inscription at the base of the column can be seen in the photo to the right. Below, a statue of Mary stands safely in the corner of a courtyard at my school, John Cabot University, (a secular American university in Rome).

The Memorare

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thine intercession was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.

Amen.

when in rome... speak as the romans speak, in ITALIAN

There’s nothing quite like going to a class for the first time. There’s nothing quite like stepping into a new school for the first time. There’s also nothing quite like flying into a new country for the first time. New experiences are weird. They are exciting. They are enjoyable. They are anxiety invoking and uncomfortable. They are butterflies-in-you-stomach raising.

Last week, I was able to gather up all these experiences, savor them and put them all under my belt as I began studying Italian (new class) at a study abroad program (new school, JCU) in Rome (new city in a new country). When I first signed up for classes here, I signed up for an introductory Italian course because it seemed rude not to. I mean, going to another county and demanding they speak my language, such an American thing to do; I was above that. I planned to be a polite traveler. Yet, I wasn’t respectful enough to sign up for Italian because I was interested in the culture.

When I finally arrived in Rome and began to get acquainted with the city, I witnessed the beauty of everything. Sure, Rome is big and dirty and confusing. But, the architecture is astonishing, the history abundant and the Catholic culture apparent—you cannot walk but 100 meters without seeing either a priest, nun or seminarian.

Catherine and me in front of the Trevi Fountain on one of our first nights in Rome. This city is full of architectural and historical gems, famous like the Trevi, but obscure and hidden ones as well, just waiting to be sought after.

Everything was beautiful, but the language, that is. Even though getting around with English and three Italian words I knew—ciao, grazie, and sì—is entirely doable, it is sometimes difficult to communicate, and always exhausting. I have four years of Spanish to work with, so I can read and understand it fairly well; responding is a whole other cup of tea. I began to realize that taking Italian wasn’t just polite, but would allow me to look ever so slightly less idiotic when ordering gelato or buying a bus ticket. Still, that attitude was totally ignorant.

Orientation passed, I became more familiar with my neighborhood, the bus system and this Roman world I entered. Classes began. When I went to Italian the first week, I wasn’t expecting much. I figured it would be like any language class I’ve taken in the past. But, learning the language of the country you are visiting currently is entirely different. My professor, Valentina, was both adorably Italian and deeply challenging. She told us, “if I go to America, I do not expect you to speak Italian for me.” And, it should be the same for me in Roma.

Valentina warned the class not make Italy a new America or our experience in Rome just an Italian version of America. “I know Italy is a magical land of alcohol, and you cannot drink in the States,” she said. But, she explained that it was so much more than that. She encouraged us to drink and enjoy ourselves, but to “open our eyes” to what the city had to offer. If we didn’t, she warned, “you are wasting four months of your life… and a lot of money.”

Not that English isn’t a great language, spreading across the globe more rapidly than ever—knowing English is definitely a powerful academic tool. But, while I am here I need to study Italian, and not because it is more convenient or less embarrassing, but because it is a gorgeous language that has a lot to offer.

An Italian man declared to me, “you’re studying in the best city in the world!” I laughed at the time, but I’m seriously starting to realize the truth in that.

On the way to my apartment from class, I stopped by the Vatican and snapped some photos. While he crossed St. Peter's Square, and cute Italian man stopped and offered to take one for me. When I told him I was visiting for a whole semester abroad, it was as he shot this picture that he said, "you're studying in the best city in the world!"

I have begun to open my eyes to what Roma, Italia is all about.

Ciao. A presto.