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.

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peace&love

the pickpocket: part ii

Okay. I still can't get over the pickpocket story even though it has been quite a while since the adventure. What's the big idea?

I think my roommate Kat said it best as we discussed the adventure while exiting the metro station when she said, pickpocketing is like cheating, which is just so dishonest. Stealing, cheating, lying—obviously we teach kids that these are wrong, (which they are), but why?

Well, besides dishonesty, the act of stealing disregards the work of a fellow human being. It is a disrespect of both the person and their rights. Of course, I am not talking about necessity, such as stealing to feed yourself and your family; this is something different. I'm talking about this woman on the metro, the teenager who steals the CD from Borders (probably a crappy CD not even worth stealing anyway), or the politician using funds for dishonest things. Stealing isn't just unloving or not loving, but anti-loving because it refuses to recognize another person's worth in a very basic way. Stealing, cheating and lying go against truth and right order, which I, for one, am a fan of.

Maybe we can't give everybody we meet friendship, kind words, the simple smile. But, if we cannot give our fellow human beings anything else, let's at least give them respect through honesty.

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.

hell is real

I have been in Rome for over six weeks. That is a seriously good chunk of time. Noah was stuck on that crowded arc for less time than this! In other words, a lot happens in six weeks. However, despite all this time, I had yet to see the Sistine Chapel. I live 15 minutes away from it but hadn’t bothered to pay the small fee to go to the Vatican Museums to see it.

Lucky for me (and my education and bank account), there is no entrance charge to the Museums on the last Sunday of every month. Since I was off traveling elsewhere in Italy on the last Sunday of January, I figured I’d take advantage of it this time around.

Well, turns out the Vatican Museums are massive. No, really, they are colossal. I spent about an hour in the Sistine Chapel alone. There is no way I could do justice writing about the complete experience. But, I will do my best to write about The Last Judgment, Michelangelo’s fresco on the Chapel wall behind the alter.

The Last Judgement by Michelangelo is painted on the wall of the Sistine Chapel. Even if the story this fresco tells is extreme, it is so important to keep this perspective in mind. Josemaria Escriva wrote, "[t]here is a hell. A trite enough statement, you think. I will repeat it, then: there is a hell! Echo it, at the right moment, in the ears of one friend, and another, and another."

I’m sure you are all learned people and know about this grand piece of artwork. But, in case you have forgotten, Michelangelo painted it between 1536 and 1541. If your math skills are deteriorating with your ability to recall art history: that would be six years that it took him to paint the wall. Click here for some more background information and to see what the Vatican Museum’s website has to say about the piece.

When first looking at the fresco, one of the most notable characteristics is the vibrant colors throughout the whole painting. Also, I just could not look away due to its sheer size! According to trusty Wikipedia, the work is 13.7 by 12 meters. However, attention to detail is not lost in the grandiose piece. Michelangelo had obviously painted every person with painstaking attention to each element of the body, all the way down to the last muscle. And, it isn’t just a sea of people heading to Heaven or Hell; there are elements that reveal stories of the figures. Possibly the most famous is St Bartholomew holding human skin, as he is known to have been flayed, then crucified. Also, as I learned from my audio guide at the museum, many critics say the skin is Michelangelo’s self-portrait.

Still, the part of the painting that kept drawing my eyes was the man pulling up two souls with Rosary beads. The Last Judgment is probably the most terrifying piece of art I’ve seen. It’s the end of the world, literally. God is righteously judging mankind. In life, judging a person is always held off. After all, ‘only God can judge.’ Well, Christ has come again, and there is indeed judgment to go around. As NSFTM says, “hell is real.” Yet, amidst this seriously frightening reality, there is so much beauty in The Last Judgment, because salvation for many is imminently approaching. It is a challenge to the viewer to change how one is living now, since he or she, unlike those represented in the fresco, still has time. Pope Benedict XVI said “the dramatic scene portrayed in this fresco also places before our eyes the risk of man’s definitive fall, a risk that threatens to engulf him whenever he allows himself to be led astray by the forces of evil. So the fresco issues a strong prophetic cry against evil, against every form of injustice.”

The importance of prayer is manifested clearly through the wall of the Chapel while gazing at the Rosary portion of the image. “Certain souls’ salvation depends on my free decision to say yes to God’s plan,” says the National Catholic Register’s “Guide to the Rosary” as one point for meditation. It is not good enough to hold our hope for Heaven inside of us—we must answer our call to apostolate and bring others to Christ just like the man with the Rosary does in The Last Judgment.

A man pulls two people up into salvation using Rosary beads. This, my favorite part of The Last Judgement, reminds mankind of the effectiveness of prayer.

It is madness that it took me so long to make my way to the Vatican Museums. You can bet that I will be making another trip there. Though, I may just be waiting until the last Sunday of the month to do so. Good art is good art; free is still free.

lily

There are many things that delight: getting a letter in the mail, acing an exam without studying, running a PR. But, above delightful things, there are the uncompromisingly wonderful things, like the piece of news you receive and just can’t stop thinking about.

Well, about two weeks ago, I learned the sex of my brother’s kid. She is still inside her mother, but we know she is a girl! (And, for the record, her existence has allowed girls to now beat boys in number in my family, finally!!!)

My brother, Math, and his wife, Jana, really stress the importance of considering their child to already be in existence. A baby inside the womb is fully human; she has a beating heart, kicks Jana and, as we now know, has female parts. When a baby is born, Math explained, it isn’t a surprise. There is no “if it is a girl…” People act as if it is such a mystery, Math said, as if the baby growing in them is some foreign thing and then comes out human. However, the baby is one or the other: boy or girl. You just may not have the knowledge yet. As Jana wrote to me, “It’s crazy that we've had a baby girl this whole time, and only God knew it!”

A new ultrasound of my niece, Math & Jana's baby, who has been living and growing for about six months. She will be ready to come out and see the world at the end of May.

So, in full pro-life spirits, Math and Jana decided to discover the sex and name the baby; her name is Lillian, the same as my grandmother’s. Math and Jana are not going to be parents. They are currently Lily's parents. Likewise, I am currently, and have been since her conception, Lily’s aunt. All that has changed now is we can pray for Lily by name.

Math & Jana sporting some sweet homemade sweatshirts they made during the snowstorms as they are the proud parents of Lily, (see the above ultrasound). They decided to name her as soon as they found out her sex, showing that Lily is a person even if she hasn't been born yet.

i see snow

Lately, the thoughts occupying most of my brain space all relate to the intense snowfalls back home. For the last week, I’ve been constantly complaining about how badly I wish to be in Virginia for the snow. I mean, over 30 inches, how incredible! Catherine and I kept flipping though Facebook photos of all the wintery fun everybody seems to be having; that certainly didn’t help our negative-Nancy attitudes.

However, to my biggest delight, I woke up this morning to snow in Rome! This is no joke. There were huge, white flakes outside my window. I happily watched the snow all morning while on the bus and in class. I didn’t get to be outside for much of it, but I’ll take what I can get.

Above, snow falls as I walked to the bus stop this morning. This was the first substantial snow in Rome in over 20 years. Below, a nun heads towards St. Peter's in an AP photo from from guardian.uk.co (click here for more professional photos of the Roman snowfall).

Catherine’s 20th birthday is also today! Happy birthday, honey; I’m pretty sure this was God’s gift to you. He knew of our homesick moods and helped lift our spirits ever so subtly.

After all, the last time it even snowed in Rome was in 2005. But really, today’s snow was the biggest in over 20 years, since 1986. Honestly, today’s was baby snow. I can’t really imagine how minor the 2005 snow was. Nevertheless, IT SNOWED IN ROME TODAY, and I am fully satisfied with this fact. And, since God granted me this small blessing, for the next three months I’ll take Rome’s wonder over any Fairfax blizzard. To quote Relient K, “never underestimate my Jesus.” He saved the world already, and with the help of His Father, gives us plenty of little joys, we just have to be looking in the right place.

Above, the snow-covered Lemon Tree

Courtyard at John Cabot. Today Rome

became a mini winter wonderland.

For all those at home, I hope you are enjoying the crazy weather. Please, make a snow angel for me.

Left, snow was actually accumulating in Rome and stuck to cars, trees, buildings, or here, Vespas. It was a sweet birthday surprise for Catherine to wake up to. While I was stuck at class, she was lucky enough to have a snowball fight on the way to the grocery store.