Duc in Altum

As my last semester of college is beginning, and I'm preparing for my next stage in life, many people have wondered where I'm going next, and what I plan on doing. After all, I've spent the last four years earning a B.A. in English and a minor in Latin. What does one do with degrees such as those?

            Well, go live in the woods with nuns. Naturally.

            Though I've secretly (and not so secretly) enjoyed a wide gamut of reactions from people as I've told them about my after-graduation plans, I still feel like an explanation is owed.

            On May 26th, 2018, I'm officially moving to De Pere, Wisconsin to do just that: live with nuns in the woods.

            But there's a lot more to it than that.

            This summer when I was working as a Totus Tuus missionary teacher, I happened to have dinner with a family whose daughter is in formation to become a religious sister. This Sister happened to be home on home visit that week and joined me, her parents, and my missionary team for dinner.

            It was then that I got my first introduction to the Missionaries of the Word. A brand new religious order, there are only four Sisters that compose this community, with foundress Mother Mary Catherine, a former Missionary of Charity who used to work alongside Mother Teresa.

            After a brief introduction to the order via dinner conversations with the Missionary of the Word's only postulant, I went on my way and continued life rather undisturbed. It was later, then, after my first semester of senior year began that I really began to reflect in earnest about what I wanted for my life after college.

            It was then that the Missionaries were placed on my heart again. After further research, it appeared that they offered a 'Missionary Internship' program, specifically designed for post-grad young adults. This Missionary Internship is designed to give young adults a place to live in community, discern their vocations, pour themselves out in service, and become formed by taking theological and catechetical courses offered by a priest affiliated with the Missionaries of the Word.

            While in Wisconsin, I'll be assisting the Sisters in their apostolate, mainly leading teens and young adults on wilderness expeditions that double as retreats. When not assisting with their retreats and other apostolic works, I'll be praying, attending classes, and growing in virtue and community life. I'll be living with other young adults (both male and female), four nuns, one priest, and one Border Collie named Friar Tuck. Right now I am slated to be living in Wisconsin from May 26th to August 15th. However, there will be a mutual discernment between the Sisters and I as to whether I'll continue my internship and formation for up to a year.

            I, of all people know how surprising this might be. This was not in my plans or my imagined future after graduation, and so I surprised myself when I began investigating this. As I'm fully aware this is a hardly typical path of a post-grad young adult, here are some questions you might have:

            1) Q: Ok, but like really, why are you doing this?

                 A: There's no one answer to this very valid question. A few reasons of many would be, I have a great God-given desire to be formed. To have my interior (prayer) life formed by people holier than I, to have my whole person formed in virtue and discipline, to have my intellect and perspective formed by new experiences. I have a deep desire to gain self-knowledge, and that is something that this opportunity offers me. This will especially be good for me as I make the transition from my college life of being an active member in a vibrant Catholic community, to an adult with no ready-made community living in a largely secular world.

            2) Q: But isn't this a huge risk?

                A: Yes, this is a risk. A big risk. And it scares the crap out of me.  But our God is a God of Providence. And we must take that on faith and trust he will provide for me during my time in Wisconsin and beyond. I prefer to think of this as an adventure.

            3) Q: Does this mean you're going to become a nun?

                 A: Maybe. I won't deny that the idea of becoming a nun or religious sister is deeply attractive to me. Another motivation for me going to Wisconsin is for vocational discernment, or figuring out what God might be calling me to. They say that if you're interested in a career, you should 'try it out', and I can't really try out being a nun unless I live with nuns. While I'm in Wisconsin, I'll be keeping the same schedule and doing the same apostolic works as the Sisters, so hopefully this will broaden my perspective and understanding of religious life and be an invitation for God to speak into my life regarding my vocation. I am hoping while I'm in Wisconsin to gain some clarity in this.

            4) Q: How can I contact you while you're in Wisconsin?

                 A: Any ways you have previously. I will still be using my phone while there (though I maybe won't have the best reception, or respond quickly to texts/calls). I'll also still have all my social media and my laptop. Also, if you want to go on retreat with the Missionaries of the Word (and the interns who will be living with them) here's a link to check it out!

            5) Q: What can I do to help?

                 A: Please, pray for me if you're the praying type. Keep in touch with me while I'm there. Send me good vibes, send me text messages, send me love. Send me all those good things.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blogpost. Pray for me, and my prayers will go with you also.

Amor et Pax,

~Grace    

For more information about Catholic Youth Expeditions and the Missionaries of the Word, click here.

The Trouble With Rom-Coms

I have recently begun to notice that being a college aged woman has afforded me with unique position in life. And a unique set of supposed desires.

For instance, Friday nights not spent out on the town are supposed to be spent with "my girls"-- "my squad", "my sistahs", or whatever monikers you want to put on my group of female friends. Stereotypically, a night like this would include make-overs, fuzzy socks, gossip, nails, and yes-- the typical Rom-Com.

I don't have anything much against Romantic Comedies. I don't. Aside from the fact that I don't typically like them. But I understand why other people do.

And maybe it's because of college(or rather in spite of it), but I have found myself developing a taste for the occasional Rom-Com. Though, I'm still pretty selective about the ones that I'll give the time of day.

After all, as my homie Oscar Wilde once said, "Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life".

And at first I thought that sounded rather pretentious. But after watching enough Rom-Coms, I think that phrase might be more accurate than I originally gave Oscar credit for.

Here's the problem with our Rom-Com culture. Especially for its prime viewers-- largely college aged or twenty-something women who are often single, a bit lonely, and more than a little salty about it.  

You see, in our culture, we have begun to use Rom-Coms as the barometer of a healthy relationship.

A few things I have noticed from my Rom-Com viewing. And note, I am no expert nor do I claim to be a film connoisseur,  as there is many a Rom-Com that I have left untried.  But Rom-Coms typically feature young adults who are:

1) dating

2) single and soon to be dating

3) friends with benefits

4) recently divorced and looking for a second chance

Note: there are rarely Rom-Coms that feature young married couples.  After all, normally, the man gets down on one knee and pops the question at the end of the movie. After some hilarious mishaps, a cheesy over-the-top date...and a scene or two of passionate sex if the couple hasn't already been living together for a while.

Hm. It seems these Rom-Coms don't really make a convincing case for chastity--- do they?

But why is that a problem?

Surely, chastity is impossible, unrealistic, and an invention of the patriarchy, right?

After all, we have birth control now. Women can have sex as casually and carefree as a man. Ah, sweet liberation. Why do we even need chastity among consenting adults anymore if pregnancy can be avoided?

Well. I can think of a few reasons.

It may seem strange for me to say that we let Rom-Coms set the barometer on our relationships. It may seem like a foolish, naive ravings of a virginal college girl.

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't.

But here are a few things I've noticed:

I've also noticed that we females have developed a sort of 'check-list' of sorting and figuring guys out. If one of them takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, makes you food, says you look pretty--- then he's doing everything right. And I agree, he is doing things right. Just not....everything. Most of the time, it is here that a check-list ends. But it seems we've left off a few steps haven't we? Is he virtuous? Does he care about your deeply held moral convictions? Your religion? Does he want the same future as you? Does he treat your family with respect? Is fidelity important to him? Does he pray with you? Too often, I feel like we fall into the trap of making a surface-level check-list and as soon as a man fulfills the basics, we consider him worthy to be handed our hearts and bodies. In fact, if he complete said check-list it is almost assumed we are obliged to hand over our hearts and bodies--- no strings attached.

But sure, any frat-boy can buy flowers at WalMart. But it takes a man to lay down his life for you.

And in some bizarre way, I think this all stems from our desire for our lives to imitate what we see on those screens. After all, how many times do we say 'it was so perfect, it was just like the movies', or 'I wish we could just have a night like that one scene in '______'

After all, life seems so much easier in those movies. In those movies, there's no screaming match or slammed door that can't be fixed by passionate sex.  

After all, in those movies, the perfect proposal and engagement ring solves every ill or past heart-break.

We can assume that these fictional couples live happily-ever-after because we are never invited to see what happens after the end credits. But I don't think it's a secret that in world setting the bar for the highest divorce rate in human history, it goes to show that many couples believe putting on rings in the sight of their friends, family with erase and censure any reservations or problems.

And I daresay in many couples cases (though definitely not all, as each marriage situation is different), perhaps it is because Mr. Right, had to meet only one very short list of requirements to be considered  to be doing everything right.

With phrases thrown around on college campuses like 'Ring Before Spring', and other euphemisms for marriage it seems like many of my generation rush into marriage without taking the time to plum the proper depths of the other person, the relationship, and the possible problems therein.

After all, if the marriage or relationship doesn't work out, well.....he must not have been 'The One'. Time to go back to the drawing board...

And I don't mean to sound overly-critical, (though no doubt I do to some), but this honestly comes from a place of compassion and pity. After all, for a variety of reasons too numerous to name here, we women often-times as soon as puberty shoves us out onto center stage as terrified and newly metamorphosed adults, we are gripped with a deep-seated insecurity and feelings of insufficiency.

An insecurity that leads us to sleeping with the pretty boy who bought you the fancy dinner, because after all, don't you owe him, and isn't this what first dates are for, and maybe, just maybe this will make him... stay?

After all, he bought you flowers.  Check.

He smells good. Check.

He's funny. Check.

These standards  we create based on our falsified views of love and romance, create cultural expectations and a sort of formula our relationships  are supposed to follow.

These expectations inevitably poison us and keep us in a cycle of relationships that aren't good for us, despite the fact, that on paper, they show the hallmarks of the ideal.

A Nigerian writer, speaker, and women's right's activist, founder of Culture of Life Africa, Obianuju Ekeocha, once wrote that girls in Nigeria had relatively little trouble understanding the privacy and sacredness of sex, and living lives of chastity and abstinence, but now "many African girls are no longer sure about moral sexual ethics thanks to the wide-spread influence of Western media, movies, and magazines."

Hm. Curious how that works.

Because, here, we have been taught for so long here in the Western world, that our personalities and hearts are not enough to make a man stay. We owe him our body too. It's practically expected. And isn't it expected that we move in together. I mean, we've been dating for over a year now and

After all.

 He dresses nice. Check.

He paid for dinner. Check.

He tells you you're pretty. Check.

And please, please, maybe he could be the one. Because if you don't take him, then he's gone. And then you won't find anyone half as good. Maybe the next one won't even check off half the list. And then you'll end up having to settle.

We always talk about settling. About missing out on true love and settling for someone less than our absolute soul- mate. But as a culture we are settling. Big time.

We've settled for our partners asking for nude pics over texts and thinking that's sexy.

We've settled for  our partners watching porn and calling that healthy

We've settled for our partners ditching after a year or two or three of cohabitation and called that a break up.

We've settled for Facebook messages and called that communication.

We've settled for a dinner and sex and called that a first date

We've settled for Netflix and sex and called that chilling

We've settled for an 'I'm sorry text' and called that reconciliation

But you see, I don't really blame us. I can't. Without any examples of what real, true love looks like. Without any examples of self-sacrificing, messy, faith-based, grounded love, how could you expect any different? Without any idea of what intentional dating or sacramental marriage is lived out--- how could we ever be expected to do anything else but for us to live in a casual dating and hook-up culture where marriage is merely a thing 'some people do' rather than a goal of all dating relationships?

Without these examples, without these witnesses, my generation doesn't know where to begin. When all we have are examples like this--- no wonder we are locked into this cycle.

When condoms are handed out on college campuses under the pretense of 'health and wellness', no wonder it feels unnatural to wait.

When abstinence is equated with repression and is treated like a burden-- no wonder it feels impossible.

And when Rom-Coms are no longer treated as fiction and treated as some sort of standard---

no wonder we are in a marriage crisis.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against a Rom-Com night with my roommates. I don't have anything against Rom- Coms. But I do have something against what they have done to our culture.

I want movies that give me an example. I want movies that treat chastity as casually as most movies treat sex. I want movies where couples are chaste and authentic and don't draw attention to themselves for being such. (As well-intentioned as the movie Old Fashioned is, it isn't exactly fraught with realism). I want movies where couples uphold each others' dignity and keep each other accountable. I want movies were couples fight for, die for, and are real with each other. (And more real than just making fart-jokes around each other). The kind of real that doesn't just involve wearing no make-up, or telling the truth. A kind of real that involves  caring for each other-- body and soul, not just pondering if we even have a soul (sorry, John Green, your couples don't quite fit the bill). A kind of real where couples care for each others' virtue, values, and spiritual health. A kind of real where each person has the end goal of sanctity for the other person.

A kind of real where a couple doesn't settle.

Now, this may all seem very idealist. But then again, I have always been one to dream big. But for me, that kind of fairy-tale love where the prince slays the dragon, climbs the tower, and sails the ocean for his love sounds like a far better and more desirable love to me. And far more sustainable and tangible than a love composed of carnal desire and quirky mishaps followed by the right dash of charm and humor. *Cue recent acoustic cut of popular song playing in background while rain softly patters on windowpane*.

 Maybe that's why GK Chesterton once wrote expressing the sentiment that 'fairytales are more than true...'

The trouble with Rom-Coms, and with Art, is that sooner or later, life begins to look a lot like them.

But if my love is merely to be composed of Polaroid moments, Instagram-worthy selfies, and casual sex, not directed towards any other purpose than pleasure or fun then really---

Is it love at all?

Omnia Gratia Sunt.

Dear Millennials, Your Professor is Not God

                I still remember how it first happened. The first thing that unsettled me about public college. You see, I had been warned about the 'crazy, liberal university professor', but throughout my first few weeks of public college, I had yet to detect any alarming amounts of heresy. After all, I had gone to public high school, and surely, if going there was not enough to make me recant my Catholic faith, college should be no trouble. Right?

                Yes, I had been warned about university professors, but I was not prepared.

                Sitting in my freshmen literature class, I sat and listened to one of my professors lecture. And she seemed reasonable. And she seemed educated. And she sure as hell knew what she was talking about. But as I scribbled down notes in my notebook, a growing feeling of unease took root in me until I was raising my hand and asking:

                "But like, what are you saying?"

                My professor looked at me, a cocktail of frustration and confusion herself. This was a simple concept, why was I not grasping it?

                It was only after I left the room, my heart beating in my throat, my ears hot and head spinning that I realized where the sense of wrongness came from.

                I had just sat in a classroom and been force-fed what I realized later was modern gender theory against my will, and no one had said a word. They had let it happen.

                And what was worse----was my professor was teaching it like it was fact.

               

                Now, I'm wise enough to know now in my junior year of college that every professor teaches from a bias. Every professor. And even if a professor tries to keep politics out of the classroom, it inevitably creep in. As humans, our world-view affects so many things about how we live our lives, what we think is important, what we believe, how we act, what we love, where we dedicate our time, and what we view as progress. And as adults, whose world-views are naturally so firmly integrated into their persons for decades, it would be silly to ask professors to check all of those things at the door. But I was not prepared for those professors to present those world-views as fact, however un-Christian, however extreme they may be.

                As time went on, I became more aware of this phenomena, this sneaky indoctrination. While I'm not trying to cast the stereotype that every college professor is a crazy liberal anti-Christ seeking to corrupt the souls of innocent freshmen, while I know that most professor's intentions are far from malicious---indoctrination does happen.

                And it is subtle.

                After that English class I felt a sense of dread to return to that class every day. That professor had taken all of my deeply held convictions, the Truth about human identity, sexuality, and all that wonderful good I had gleaned from studying Theology of the Body, and tossed it aside as if it were archaic, fanciful, unintelligent, bigoted, and incorrect. She had treated what I knew to be True as if I were asserting that the Earth was the center of the solar system. In one class-period she had scrutinized me until I felt I needed to apologize for something---- something I knew not what. And she had been quite subtle about it.

                She had used words like archiac, out-dated, heteronormative, cultural, insignificant, exclusively, biased, conjecture, hypothesis, and social construct when describing my ideas, and words like

                progressive, inclusive, movement, revolution, and equality to describe hers.

                In a culture where students are conditioned to believe the person teaching them as the ultimate authority, I was automatically inclined to agree with my high-brow intellectual-type professor. After all, I didn't want to be considered retrograde. I didn't want to be the enemy of progress. I didn't want to be bigoted. To be behind the times. To be ignorant and politically incorrect.

                But the more I listened to her talk, the more everything began to unravel. In her world-view, truth is what we make it. And in my world-view, human-made truth is no truth at all.

               

                I gradually became more aware of the biases that permeate the college campus. I began to pick up on buzzwords and talking points of the modern, liberal agenda. And even though I could begin to recognize when a teacher began to pass off biases as facts, I couldn't help but keep my deep-seated annoyances. Because, as a Christian, I can pretty well assume that my ideas are in the minority on a college campus. Than in any given class-room, most of the other people are inclined to disagree with me. That's okay. I've gotten used to that. And Jesus warned us about that with His whole 'and the world will hate you' bit. But one thing I couldn't fathom about some of my professors is that they automatically assumed everyone was as liberal as they were. They assumed that everyone nursed hatred against the supposed patriarchy, who worshipped Bernie Sanders, and was a poster-child of Buzzfeed. One thing I couldn't fathom was how easily they put us Millennials into a box and expected us to live up to the stereotypes of our generation. What confounded me was how some professors assumed they could get us to jump up on board with their ideology with little resistance.

                But I soon began to realize, that I was confounding them too.

                Not every professor I have had at my liberal arts university teaches from the assumption of a liberal and oh-so-2016 world view. Not every one of my professors has been on the front-lines championing the newest fad, hot-button issue, or idea of the day. Not every one of my professors has been sallying forth into what they sincerely hold is revolutionary territory, not recognizing that absolute Truth does not change-- but most of them have. And that does not make them incompetent educators. Far from it. Most of them are truly intellectual, bright, smart, funny, compassionate people. But that doesn't make them right.

                I remember a conversation with one of my professors, the same one who force-fed me gender theory my freshmen year of college. I remember when, throughout the course of a conversation in her office, she found out I am Catholic. And Catholic because I choose to be. Not because my parents made me. Not because I had been indoctrinated as a child. But because I recognize the eternal Truth and beauty of it and actively choose to be.

                And she was silent. And she looked at me, then. With a sort of surprised awe and genuine confusion that a young, bright, Millennial girl could champion ideas she considered so unintelligent and retrograde. That I, living in a liberal hot-bed in middle-class America could care less about third-wave feminism and more about Divine Femininity. That I, a top-student in her class could care less about modern gender-theory and more about Theology of the Body.

                This information, for such a miniscule moment, rocked her world-view. Because here I was: The Other. The other she had been targeting with her lectures for months. And I was sitting in the front row of her class making A's on papers.

                I am not the only one who has faced these biases. I am not the only one who has witnessed a professor turn a lecturer's podium into a pulpit to proselytize all manner of  biased thought. I am thankful I am surrounded by a group of friends who are helping me challenge the stereotypes of Millennials. Good friends who can inspire the same sort of awe in professors. (or outrage in some cases).

                But despite all of this, I am thankful.

                My professors have broadened my political awareness. They have made me more culturally and socially conscious. They have also challenged my idea of The Other. Because it is hard for someone to be the other when you love them. It is hard for someone to be nothing more than your ideological enemy when you have laughed with them, and learned from them, and received advice from them, and yes, respected them.

                And though our professors may be wrong on some things. And though they may preach from a Gospel of culture--- they still deserve our respect. We need to respect them and obey them, but we can do that without taking every word from their mouths as capital-T Truth.

                  Render unto Caesar's what is Caesars, render unto God what is God's--- or something like that.

                 Just because a professor has a PHD, something reasonably attainable for anyone with enough drive and means, just because they have a certificate that labels them an expert in a given field of study, it does not mean they are experts at life. It does not mean they know the Truth. It does not mean they know the secret and hidden workings of the world veiled before an undergrad's eyes.

                Just because your professors may have a god-complex it does not mean they are God.

                And this was a hard lesson for me. But I have learned it well. I wanted to be intellectual. I wanted to be smart. I wanted that attractive confidence and slight arrogance of someone who is knowledgeable, cultured, and in control. But I realized that something was even more attractive--

integrity. And not compromising my values for the sake of the newest trend or scholarly conjecture.

                And so I am happy to be considered old-school. I am happy to be made out to be a fool for Christ.

                If we are going to survive in this culture that will silence us for our beliefs, we have got to be comfortable with appearing to be idiots. Bigots. Uneducated. Politically incorrect. And anything else we may deemed by popular media to be.

                Are we any of those things?

                                I would wager probably not. I would wager that we may just be right.

Because when has anyone ever really wanted to hear the Truth? We crucified Jesus for saying it.

                And we, His followers, shall be crucified for it now. But love those around you enough to speak the truth. Love them enough to be the one voice dissenting against the multitude. But a respectful dissenter. A polite dissenter. Don't be belligerent. You don't always need to come in with both guns blazing.

  But know no matter how tactfully you share the Truth, you will be unpopular. You may be mocked. You may be that kid. But someone has to be.

                Know that you have things to learn from your professors. But they have things to learn from you too. Eat the apple--- but spit out the seeds.

                We let our professors dictate so much of our lives. We let professors dictate how we spend our time. How we feel. What we study. What lengths we will go through to impress them. We let our professors dictate so much. But do not give them more authority than they are due.

                As St. Teresa of Calcutta once said:

                                "In the final analysis it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyways".

                Omnia Gratia Sunt. 

A different kind of 'coming out'

I have heard a lot of stories about 'coming out' recently. On my Facebook feed, at slam poetry events, on TV, through word of mouth. Stories about individuals from the LGBT community sharing their sexual identities with those nearest them. While I wish to neither discredit nor comment upon these narratives--- I  do want to talk about a different kind of coming out. One that I'm more familiar with.

You see, I don't have a lot of experience with 'coming out of the closet' in the way it usually means, but I do have experience with a different kind of coming out. One that no one ever talks about. A different kind of coming out that has not been all over Facebook, slam poetry events, TV or word of mouth. Because it is far more unusual. And far more misunderstood.

When talking to one of my coworkers a few weeks ago, he said something that made me pause:

"Telling people that I'm a seminarian is basically like coming out. Except people usually have to ask me what a seminarian is first."

My life, especially since coming to college has been filled with dear friends, myself included, who have sought to discern their vocation and God's plans for their lives. And many of those nearest to me have considered entering religious life of some kind, whether it be entering a convent to become a nun, or have considering applying to seminary to pursue the holy priesthood-- I have often been struck by the stories of these friends. By their journeys.  By their bravery and courage.

Because it takes bravery and courage to admit to feeling drawn to religious life. To admit feeling a call to a vocation other than marriage. To admit feeling drawn to something so outside the norm. To admit being drawn to a life that is so often misunderstood and misrepresented in the culture. It takes a lot of courage to admit to wanting to follow Jesus so badly that you'd be willing to give up anything, even the dressings and appearances of successful American living. But God, it seems, has put into my life a myriad of brave souls who have heard this call and have chosen to answer it in their own unique and courageous ways.

Through being a part of a vibrant young community of Catholics all seeking to pursue God's will for their lives, I have often been struck by the narratives of many others and their 'coming out' to those nearest them. Though there is no guide-book to telling those in your life you're considering being a priest or a nun, I've often been shocked by the ignorance, selfishness, and outright hostility of those  who are meant to be the support system of those young Catholics discerning their vocations.

My co-worker in Catholic ministry, a seminarian-- a Priest-In-Training if you will, who had just finished up his first of eight years of study and formation, recounted to me one night how difficult it was to tell his family about his decision to enter seminary. And how difficult it is to keep telling people about his decision. He's faced tears. And mocking laughter. And disapproval.   

And his story is not an exception.  I have sat in convents with girls my own age as they've explained how much they've risked and how much they have left behind to even set foot on convent grounds. I have heard of girls getting yelled at, threatened, given the silent treatment, and nearly disowned for wanting to pursue a life as a bride of Christ. I have heard stories of seminarians avoiding telling their parents for months about their acceptance into seminary for fear of their inevitable backlash. 

I have sat in dorm rooms with crying friends who have lamented to me about their struggles and the lack of support of people in their lives. I have tried my best to encourage friends to find the courage just to ask for permission from their parents to go on one discernment retreat. I have sat in cars with tearful companions as they read me text messages from family members who have met their discernment with anything but compassion.

And strangely enough, vocations to the priesthood or religious life are something that even those far removed from the Catholic Church feel like they have the ability to comment and pass judgment upon.

This past semester at school I took a short-story writing class. And like most things I write, nearly all the stories produced in that class were fraught with strong Catholic undertones. The first story I turned in for my peers to critique was a story about a two sisters, one of them on the cusp of entering a cloister, and the other struggling to understand. It was and is a story very close to me, one inspired from my observations of my friends' discernment and my own glimpses into religious life. I remember coming into class the day of my scheduled critique beyond nervous to hear my feedback.

At first my classmates talked about the mechanics of my writing, the plot of the story, and so on. But then we stumbled upon the elephant in the room---- that this was a religious story. That it is focused on religious life.

"I think she's being so selfish," one of my classmates said, referring to my character who was a nun-to-be. "I mean, if that were my kid who wanted to abandon her entire family to go into a monastery, I'd fight it tooth and nail."

                Selfish. Abandon.

"Did anyone else think this character was being selfish?" My professor, whom I knew to be a practicing Catholic, asked.

A flurry of hands were raised amongst the surrounding seats.

"Hmmm," my professor said, scanning the assorted hands. "I have to ask you this," he said, turning back to my classmate. "Is entering the military selfish?"

My classmate looked at him. Blinked. "Well no, you're sacrificing your life to serve your country and others."

"Right," my professor said. "And entering religious life is sacrificing your life to serve God and others."

Both of them left the conversation at that.

But I have noticed that while you'd be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't think entering the military is heroic (even if only to avoid seeming unpatriotic), the same idea of selflessness does not extend to religious life. While nearly everyone can agree that our soldiers need to be thanked and supported at all costs, a much slimmer minority thinks the same about religious. Even though nuns and priests are on the front lines every day fighting things like poverty, illness, and for the souls of Catholics and non-Catholics alike, the idea that the choice to enter religious life is selfish is one that I have still encountered a handful of times. Everyone can applaud a man in uniform, but very few will applaud a man in habit or collar.

I have found the attitude, even among Catholics, that those discerning religious life are young, naive, religious fanatics who have somehow developed a rather inconvenient and embarrassing new hobby.

Discerners are often treated like little children who have taken up a fascination in some weird or shameful lifestyle. Like a precocious child who boldly exclaims that they want to be a unicorn or a pirate when they grow up--- or something as silly or impossible. How often discerners are not taken seriously.

"If you dated more you'd changed your mind."

"Someday, when you grow up and like boys you'll say differently."

"Get a real job and then you can decide."

"No, because I need grandchildren."

"Why can't you just be happy  with a nice job and a good spouse just  like everyone else?"

...just like everyone else.

A little English lesson:

 vo·ca·tion

vōˈkāSH(ə)n/

noun

noun: vocation; plural noun: vocations

1.       a strong feeling of suitability for a particular career or occupation.

"not all of us have a vocation to be nurses or doctors"

calling, mission, purpose, function;

The fact is, as Catholics we believe that this "calling" as described above is placed on one's soul by God since that person was conceived.  Yes. Even since that person was conceived. A vocation is not only a calling, but it is a life's purpose. So as beautiful as the vocation of marriage is, marriage is just that--- a vocation. A separate and different vocation. Meant for only specific people. And so for some people, it is not their life's purpose. And no amount of pretending, or wanting or the wishes and advice of others, will make it so. While it's ultimately one's own choice whether or not to discern, accept, and follow that vocation, whatever purpose God has created you for will not change.

And therefore no. Those called to a religious vocation can't just ignore the call or pretend it doesn't exist.  While not following God's will won't necessarily end in abject misery, it will inevitably keep one from one's full potential, and will often result in restlessness or lack of peace. The fact is, those called to a religious vocation are different. They have been set aside for a different call. And no--- they can't be just like everyone else.

Most can scarcely fathom what would make someone actually want to be a priest, monk, nun, or religious sister, and for those discerning religious life, the desire is often mysterious as well. But it is also strong. And genuine. And to have such a desire dismissed, questioned, denied, or shamed by others is an added hurdle to an already challenging road to tread.

In a society ruled by relativism that operates on the mantra "live and let live", it seems crudely ironic that those seeking to give of themselves to the service of all of mankind are often met with such obstinacy.

Live and let live...exactly like the rest of us do.

So why am I writing this? Why does this really matter?

Because people need to be aware. And those discerning need your support.

Because there are people in your life, whether or not you know it, who have heard that still, small, voice. There are people among you who have had that desire to follow Jesus even at the cost of their own lives. There are people among you who hide all of these desires, all of these fears, all of these joys deep, deep in the quiet of their hearts for fear of judgment. There are people among you who are scared. There are people among you who are dying for someone, anyone to understand.

Here's the thing: Those discerning a call to religious life should not have to hide. Those discerning religious life shouldn't have to cry every time they get off the phone with their parents. Those discerning religious life shouldn't have to feel sick every-time another career counselor tries to give them unwanted advice for the work force. Those discerning religious life shouldn't have to be made to feel selfish or silly or foolish or childish. Those discerning religious life shouldn't have to jump through hoops to investigate the lifestyle. Those discerning religious life shouldn't have to spend months working up the courage to tell their families. Those discerning religious life shouldn't have to accept the mockery and the awkward silences from their friends. Those discerning religious life shouldn't be made to feel like freaks. Outcasts. Fanatics.

And whose fault is it that they so often do feel this way?

Right. Ours.

Once a soul begins a quest for Christ, Satan does everything in his power to pull that soul away from Our Lord. We don't need to help him in that.

Parents: I know, I know, I know that you have dreams for your children. And you want nothing but happiness for them. This is good. This is just. This is beautiful. But parents, please, please, please learn how to let go and let God. Because here's the thing--- we either trust that God is who He says He is-- a shepherd that cares for the ones He calls, or we're really just wasting our time here. Have faith. Have courage. Meet the religious community. Talk to priests. Ask questions. Be supportive. God could be using the vocation of your child to even sanctify you. It may not be easy to accept that one day you may have to give your child and the life you have planned for him/her to God, but God is the one that gave him/her to you in the first place.

If you want your child to be happy, authentically and profoundly happy. If you want him/her to fulfill their life's deepest purpose, then please, let them pursue God's will for their lives--- God's will which is love and mercy itself.

And for everyone else: someday someone may come into your life. A timid soul who shares with you such wild and wonderful dreams that involve a life you could scarcely imagine. Please support them. Please encourage them. Please be there for them. Because you might be the only one who is.

In my own journey with discerning my vocation, those in my life have responded with overall grace and compassion at my 'coming out' to them. And I thank them for that. But it still not easy to 'come out'. The more times I do it does not make it any easier. Though my knowledge of my own vocation is far from certain, the fact that someday I could be looking like something out of Sister Act and having an 'Sr.' in front of my name has earned me my fair share of unwanted advice, awkward silences, and tense moments. But I have it easier than most.

 There are future nuns and priests walking among us. They may not be the most outwardly devout. They may not be the most vocal. They may not be the most worthy or qualified. But they are the ones that Christ has chosen. They are the future of our Church.

Someday, sometime, some young soul may 'come out' to you about their discernment of God's will for his or her life. It may be unexpected. It may be confusing.  It may require some faith. It may require some questions. It may require some getting used to.

But you don't have to understand it, you just have to listen.

Omnia Gratia Sunt.

A Letter to Catholic Parents--- From the One Teaching Your Children

                This summer I had the extraordinary privilege of being a Totus Tuus teacher for a diocese a state away from my home. As a Totus Tuus teacher, I was paired on a team with two men (one of them being a seminarian) and another college aged woman. Each week, we traveled to a new parish to put on a week-long Totus Tuus 'camp', where during the day we taught catechesis to children aged 6---11 and gave witness at night to middle-schoolers and teens aged 12--18. All sixteen of us teachers arrived in late May for our training week, where under the direction of our priestly bosses, we devised lesson plans on the Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary, the Lord's Prayer, different types of prayer, Mary, and the saints. We were then divided into four teams of four and sent to "go proclaim the Gospel".

                And it was not easy. But it was beautiful. By far one of the most grace-filled times of my life. As I am not currently an education major, and the only interaction I'd had with children prior to Totus Tuus was in a summer-camp environment, I was looking forward to my time playing teacher. I was excited to evangelize and to spread the faith. I was also excited to be welcomed into a new parish community each week and have the opportunity to live with host families who would shepherd me into their own family for my brief stay.

                But by the end of my first full week of teaching--- I began to notice some trends among my students.

                Now, I don't pretend to know the situation of every family, nor do I claim to have exclusive, Divine knowledge of every household, but from spending time in the classroom with your children, Catholic parents, I have noticed some definite trends.

                It may be presumptuous for me to speak, me being twenty years old and with no children of my own. But, I noticed some things in those classrooms, a side of these children that not many people--- not even their parents probably get to see.

                It became apparent to me very quickly which children prayed with their families. It became obvious very quickly which children were well catechized at home. And it became very obvious to me....which children weren't.

                Now, I am fully aware how hard it can be sometimes to get children excited about the faith. Especially when we live in a culture that imposes a myriad of things as supposedly more important than Jesus. Instead our culture seeks to boil down the idea of "practicing Catholic" to Mass on Sundays and prayers before meals--- which, honestly, should be the bare minimum that a Catholic family should do together.

                Yes. The bare minimum.

                Why?

                This summer I taught ten year olds who could not name the three Persons of the Holy Trinity, despite having been in Catholic education their whole lives. This summer I taught many, many elementary school children and high schoolers who did not know how to pray from their hearts. Who knew not how to speak to their Lord in a form other than a memorized prayer gleaned from Catholic schooling. This summer I taught ten and eleven year olds who had not been to Confession since their first Reconciliation at the age of seven. I taught children who had gone several years without receiving the Eucharist, the source and summit of our faith. And I wish that these were rare exceptions, but other findings have dissuaded that line of thinking.

                As I looked at these students who, though having spent a decade of their young lives in the faith, knew so very little about what the Church actually teaches, I couldn't help wonder how many of them would keep the faith as they got older.

                Statistically speaking, 1 in 10 American adults are lapsed Catholics or Catholic in name only.  And looking at my students who held such a precious and invaluable innocence, my heart was sad.

                At each parish, parishioners would thank us for the work we were doing, saying how needed it was. And I agree, supplementary catechesis is a large need in our church, and a beautiful ministry.

                But I also began to realize that though I taught a full eighteen lessons some weeks, my being there was only a dip into the ocean of needs my students have.

                Because my students were hungry. They wanted answers. They wanted to know about Jesus.

Even some of the most unenthused students, would often times jump at the chance to participate in the Mass we celebrated each day. Whether it was serving, lectoring, or presenting the gifts, even some of the most lackluster students would grow excited at the chance to participate in the liturgy. Because some deep part of them understood it was important.

                Even if it wasn't treated as such at home.

                In one lesson, during my last week of teaching, when I was speaking about the importance of Mass, one student raised his hand.

                "Sometimes I have soccer games and we don't go to Mass--- is that okay?" he asked.

                I responded as gently and as charitably as I could that no, it is not okay to miss Mass because of soccer, and that maybe he should ask his parents to take him to Mass even on weekends when there is sporting events.

                He nodded and I continued with my lesson.

                Afterwards, when parents arrived to pick up their children, I found myself cringing. I figured it was only a matter of time before a parent approached me, angered by what I had taught. Because surely, it wasn't my place to tell their children that they had to go to Mass, was it? Surely it wasn't my place to....tell the truth?

                Earlier in the summer, I had a mother approach me with a vaguely accusatory and wary tone asking me what I'd been teaching her children. I responded, confused, that I'd been teaching lessons completely in line with Church teaching, that we'd been teaching things from the Catechism of the Catholic Church. She pondered my answer and proceeded to ask me why, then, did her children come home every night with questions about Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory?

                I thought to answer her concerns with the fact that questions are only a natural part of learning, that her children are merely curious about the faith. But something stopped me as our conversation unfolded, and a new realization set in. These children were not taught at home. They were not catechized at home, and it wasn't so much that this woman was mad at me for catechizing them, after all--- wasn't that what she was paying me to do? Instead, she was mad that her children were approaching her with questions that she herself did not know how to answer.

                Like so many of my students, it seemed that Totus Tuus had sparked a natural curiosity in this woman's children. They longed to take the lessons that they had learned and go deeper. They longed to dive into the 2000 years of Church history and learn more.

                But throughout my summer, I noticed so many students whose curiosity would be sparked and I couldn't help but wonder how many of them would subsequently go home to parents who would not herald and honor this quest for Truth. I wondered how many of them would go home to parents who would  squelch this curiosity with indifference or indignation to hide the embarrassment of their own lack of catechesis.

                 Subsequently, a large majority of the high school students I taught did not appear to have any kind of faith development at home. Many of them didn't know how to come before our Lord in adoration. Many of them did not know how to pray from the heart. Many of them, by their own admission, spoke to no one, not even their parents, about their faith. And so any and all of their prayer experiences are kept inside of the Church walls and within the week that they were shepherded to Catholic youth programs or Church camps, and so stunted from bearing permanent fruit in their daily lives.

                I often times noticed a clear distinction from the catechized kids than those not catechized at home. The children I taught who were clearly catechized at home were often-times (but not always) more respectful, more patient, and more willing to admit wrongs.

                It seems to me that the children who have been taught to respect Christ in the Eucharist have a much easier time respecting authority figures, even me, their temporary teacher. It seems to me that the children who have been taught to be patient and attentive during Mass have an easier time doing so in the classroom or elsewhere. It seems to me that the children who have been taught it is right and good to say sorry to God for our sins have an easier time saying sorry to their fellow students as well.

                And I know that there are exceptions. And that willful, wild, and disobedient children appear in every family, no matter the piety of the parents. And I know that the behavior of the child does not always reflect the enthusiasm of the parents for the faith--- as it is, ultimately, the child's decision to accept the faith or not. But, as a general rule, there was a clear contrast between my students catechized at home, and my students whose religious education were kept to 45 minute slots in Catholic schools and the hourly Sunday Mass.

                So here is my impassioned plea.

                

               Catholic parents, here is a letter from one who has taught your children. And it seems to me while there are many Catholic parents in the world, there are so still many Catholic parents who only really do the parent part of the equation, and not the Catholic part.

                But here's the thing: by their very nature, Catholic families are supposed to look different than other families. As Catholics our very lives are supposed to look different than the secular world. Our families and lives are supposed to be a beacon of light in the world.

                And for those who do teach the faith at home, I saw that light. I saw it in the faces and the innocence of your children. I saw it in their respect, their kindness, their reverence, their charity. 

                But for those who do not teach the faith at home, or expect the occasional Mass to really give your child a relationship with Christ that is so desperately desired and needed--- I beg you, begin anew. Begin now. Please, educate your children at home. As a family. Make it a family quest for Truth. Learn with your children. For what a tragedy it would be for you to give your children the whole world and not give them the one thing that really matters---Jesus. What a tragedy it would be for them to gain the whole world, yet lose their souls.

                Because we don't have an excuse. Here in America where Catholic Churches are abundant, where there are so many at-home resources for catechesis and religious ed, where we cannot claim to face any kind of danger from transmitting the faith at home unlike our brothers and sisters in the Middle East--- there is simply no excuse.

                Parents, I have spent time with your children. And they are hungry. And they are searching. And they have such a need for Jesus. And what I did for them this summer--- is not enough. It is simply not enough. I have seen this vast ocean of needs in each of your children and  have prayed before the tabernacle in helplessness.

                Because I have but a bucket to remove some water from this ocean.

                I, a mere lightning bolt in your children's lives, here one moment gone the next, need your help.

                I need you to teach them at home. Because your children have such beautiful souls. And beautiful gifts. And beautiful hearts, as I'm sure you already know.

                And the Church needs them. The Church needs your children with their souls, and gifts and hearts. The Church needs them badly. And She wants them.

                As does Her bridegroom, Christ Jesus.

                The Church needs parents who view their holy vows as the vocation--- the mission--- that it is. Because if not, the cycle of cultural Catholicism continues. The number of Catholics in name-only increases. If not, how much harder will to be for your own children to fulfill their own vocation of sainthood if they have to search for places to be fed? How much harder will it be for them to stay in the faith if their own parents, their own family, is not cheering them on?

                Please, Catholic parents, your children have beautiful souls and beautiful potential.

                The world already has a lot of parents.  

                But the world needs more Catholic parents who are committed to spreading the faith.  I need your help. Because what I am doing is not enough. I only have a bucket on the shore of the sea.

                Please, water the seeds I have planted. Please, teach the faith at home. Please, treat your marriage and parenthood as the vocation it is. Do it for the Church. Do it for the good of this world. Do it for your children.

                Their very souls and salvation depend on it.

                Totus Tuus Ego Maria Sum.

               

Faith Like A Child

"'Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.'" (Mtt 18:3)

             It was a Wednesday afternoon and we were in the organ loft of the church. I had a dozen seven and eight year olds with me, and trying to get them to pay attention to Father Andrew on this church tour and not to wander away felt a lot like herding cats.

            It was my first week as a Totus Tuus summer catechetical teacher for a diocese a state away from my hometown. I had been assigned to work on a team with three other young Catholics, to travel to a new parish in the archdiocese every week to minister to elementary and high school students, to share my faith, and teach supplementary catechesis.

            While only a week in, I was already feeling the demands that the job had placed on me--- mild sleep deprivation and a growing fear that I was nowhere near qualified for this job.

            But as we stood in that organ loft and gazed at the church below, the pastor of this parish pointed to each stained glass window in turn and told my students the story behind each. I listened as best I could while also corralling my students, making sure none of them leaned too far over the balcony or decided to play on the spiral staircase that lead up here. But as I paced behind my row of students, I realized that two of them were missing.

            Turning, I realized that two of my kids had wandered away, to the back of the organ loft to where a tall crucifix stood beneath the stained glass window of St. Cecilia.

            One little boy, aged seven, knelt below the crucifix, eyes closed, head bowed, hands clasped in a perfect picture of prayer. A little girl, the same age, stood next to him, her head tilted as she looked at the face of Jesus.

            My heart swelled.

            I walked back to where they stood and the little boy didn't so much as twitch as I drew closer, still wrapped up in his private act of devotion. As I drew near to the little girl, I noticed a delicate frown on her face.

            "I feel bad for Him," she whispered, her eyes still on the crucifix. She reached out and placed a thin finger in the wound in Jesus' side. "That looks like it really hurt."

            I stood there for a moment, breathless. Unsure what to say. The little boy raised his head and looked at me too. I nodded. Swallowed hard.

            "Yes," I said. "He did that for you."

            A look passed over her face, then. A look I couldn't quite identify. She nodded. And suddenly Father was telling all of my students to line up at the staircase as we descended into the main church area below.

            There have been several times so far this summer that I have been struck by the faith of children.

            How easy it is for them to trust in God. How confident they are of His love. How they long to show any form of devotion to Him no matter how small.  How much they take delight in being pious.

            I have taught a wide gamut of students so far this summer. From students in low income areas, to students in some of the richest suburbs of the city. I have taught students with a disheartening lack of Catechesis, to seven year olds who could explain the complexity of the Immaculate Conception to me.

            But I have noticed something in common no matter the age or demographic of the students: when I tell my kids how much Jesus loves them--- they believe me. They believe me without hesitation.

            When, for a warm-up exercise, I asked my room full of third and fourth grade students what they would most like to have as their last meal on Earth and several of them without hesitation responded 'The Body and Blood of Christ', I was struck again by the purity of their faith. If I was asked that same question, would I say the same thing? Certainly not at that age.

             When teaching about saints, I am struck by the eagerness in which these children wanted to pursue sanctity. They want to be saints with ferocity.

            Not to say I don't have difficult children. I always have children who think they are too cool for the Church. I have kids who think it is boring. Who don't care. Who are already saturated with the culture. And while none of my kids are ever truly present at the Mass we celebrate each day, I notice how eager they are to help in the liturgy in some way. How, as a general rule, they desire to be good.

            Which made me wonder--- when did I lose that same eagerness? Surely I had it once. I remember thinking to myself when I was nine years old that I was going to become a saint someday. After all, I had reasoned to myself, how hard can it be?

            But now, at the age of twenty, jaded by the secular world and my own concupiscence, I still long for sainthood but see it as a much more formidable goal.
            While I am still a practicing Catholic who desires Heaven very much, I don't have nearly the singularity of mind that my students have. As one of my little ones prayed aloud asking the Virgin Mary to help get her to Heaven, I realized that some of these students trust in prayer far more than I. I realized that they want Heaven perhaps more than I do now. How easy it is for them to see what matters.

            I found myself wondering as I observed my students--- when did I lose it? That childhood eagerness. The certainty of God's love. The certainty of my own calling to greatness. My own desire to please the Lord. When did it fade? When did my priorities become filled with other things? 

            I am still searching for those answers.

            But what I know, more than any other one thing, is that I have much to learn from my students this summer. From their innocence. Their unrestrained joy. Their trust and hope for the future. They are the ones teaching me.

            That same day at the end of our church-tour as I watched my little ones kneel before the tabernacle and say good-bye to Jesus as we left the church, as I watched them all concentrate so earnestly in prayer, I prayed something of my own:

            Jesus, give me a fraction of faith and innocence that these children have. Let me be like them, Lord.

            No wonder Jesus told us to be like the little children. No wonder He told us to guard them from sin. We need to make sure that they keep the faith. That they don't become lukewarm. They they don't lose the way they are now. Because their innocence is inspiring. Their faith is uplifting.

            Let us all be like little children.

            They sure have a lot of wisdom to impart.

            Totus Tuus Ego Maria Sum. Amen.

[Please keep me and the other Totus Tuus teachers in your prayers. We still have two more parishes to travel to this summer. Please pray for our success and endurance. God bless.]

They Caught Fireflies

This summer I was a mother to hundreds of girls. As a camp counselor at an all-girls summer camp for ten weeks this summer, I experienced the challenges, joys, and complications of spiritual motherhood and got insight to what actual motherhood might be like.

                While most of the girls I was a counselor for this summer were happy go-lucky and innocent, there were some girls there in desperate need of mothering. It was in my second assignment of the summer that I began to understand how deeply some of my campers were hurting. My second assignment of the summer I was assigned to middle-schoolers--- my favorite age group. I had 25 girls aged 11--14. All of them were pretty good kids. We'd had very little problems with them and they were energetic, fun, and enthusiastic.

                As our two week session progressed, my group became increasingly tight-knit. My girls really began to reach out to me and my co-counselors and bonds were formed.

                I had campers begin to explain their lives to me. To begin to explain their troubles. To begin to ask for help.

                Bullying. Parents who didn't understand. Parents who were absent. Feeling left out. Feeling restless. Useless. Beginning to question their sexual orientation. Beginning to question their worth. Their identity. Struggling with body image. Struggling to fit in. Placing all of their worth in boys who asked too much. Placing their worth in their number of friends or how much they were liked. Placing in their worth in things that would pass.

                This camp wasn't a Christian camp. Not that that was a problem, but it took me out of my comfort zone in a sense. Normally, when offering advice, I was prone to offer spiritual advice along with other courses of action. But now, without even being able to say "I'll pray for you" to my campers, I knew I would have to change up my tactics. I felt a bit like a fish out of water.

                And each time, I tried to offer them as much comfort, support, and love as I could. But it was hard without being able to explicitly tell the capital-T Truth to them, especially when some of them were already buying into the lies of the culture. It was hard to explain things without Jesus. And to be honest, I felt a bit useless.

                Since the summer had started I'd found myself time and time again getting spiritually frustrated. Normally, when I'm home in the summer, I'm a daily communicant. But since coming to camp, I'd had to forego daily Mass and I'd even had to skip Sunday Mass once or twice because I couldn't find a ride. I'd barely had time to pray since this was a resident camp and I was working an average of 15 hour days, and often found myself falling asleep in the middle of Compline each night. Without being able to speak freely with my campers about religion and without having adequate time to pray, I was finding myself drained, frustrated, and impatient. It was not a pleasant feeling.

                Your children are hurting, Lord, I found myself praying. How do I reach them? How can there be healing here? Mary, help me be a mother to them.

                I began to feel like I wasn't making an impact on my campers. Like I couldn't reach them in the ways that were most deeply needed. I offered them my kindness, my support--- but was it enough? Was letting one of my campers be team captain when we played a game enough?  I felt like I was barely making a dent into their ocean of needs. I was fixing a flat tire with Scotch tape.

                  On days when I felt particularly drained and frustrated, I looked at my campers with sadness.

                What hurt the most is that some of these kids didn't know how to be kids. Already they were so bogged down with cares of the world. With difficulties and cares far too great for their age. I was trying not to be a curmudgeon muttering about the 'kids these days'. But surely I didn't have to deal with half this stuff when I was growing up??? My kids were hurting. And there was only so much I could do, because I wasn't their parent. They would be gone in week and a half's time-- and who knows what would happen afterwards. My heart hurt for them. I longed to provide them with something lasting. Something they could hold onto.

               

       One day as I was taking my girls to the health lodge to receive their nightly medication, I trailed behind my girls listening to them banter and watching their silhouettes walk before me against the backdrop of the setting sun. My heart ached for love of them. They were full of so much purpose. They were so greatly needed. So greatly necessary. All of them. They could do such marvelous, needed, wonderful things. But I feared for them. For their innocence. Would they ever reach their full potential if they stayed saturated in such a poisonous culture? If no one reached out to them and helped--- really helped them--- with all of their pressing needs? Without proper guidance, would they ever become saints?

                I hoped so. I said a prayer right then that they would. I wanted my brave, intelligent, good-hearted, funny, witty, wonderful girls to be saints. More than anything, I still do.

                As the sun sank lower and my girls were finally done getting their medication, we needed to return to the campsite. I was still pondering how to help my girls. How to help them be kids. How to provide the love they needed. How?

                We cut through a meadow in the center of camp. The fireflies were out now, dotting the tall grass.

                One of my girls whipped around to face me. Her eyes were wide. Wider than I had ever seen them with child-like glee. The setting sun highlighted her freckles. "Can we take a minute and catch the fireflies?" she asked. "Please? I know we gotta get back--- but can we catch the fireflies first?"

                The innocence in which she asked me was so different than her usual demeanor. This camper, whose wardrobe regularly consisted of band T-shirts and ripped jeans, who put on a tough demeanor to ward off the other children, who seemed 'too mature' for a lot of the things we did, who already seemed so worldly, so jaded, was asking me for a favor--- to catch fireflies.

                How on earth could I say no?

                I gave a nod of consent, and with wild abandon, my campers ran from me and began to chase the twinkling lights across the field.

                I watched them, laughter bubbling up inside me, a smile forming.

                Though these girls really were facing hard odds. Were facing a culture that was weighing on them far before their time. Though they had worries, cares, and responsibilities, too great for girls their age to manage. Though they faced monsters far greater than I'd ever dreamed---I realized then how important it was that they were there at camp.

                While the outside world may be rough, scary, and a survival-of-the fittest. Though the outside world was the complete antithesis of what childhood should consist of. Though they weren't allowed to be children in the world from which they came--- in camp world, they could be kids. I realized then how important it was they were here. How important camp was. How important child-like amusements were. How important it was that here, separated from the outside world, they could express once more the innocence they once had. They could be themselves. They could be free.

                Though I could not provide for them exactly what I wanted to provide. Though I could not give them the advice I really longed to. If I could not provide a fix to all of their problems--- at least I could provide moments like these.

                And for now. This was enough.

                I stood in that field in the setting sun and watched as my brave, wounded, and scared spiritual daughters seemed to drop all their cares and truly be children, truly be free, for the first time in a week. I watched as they truly forgot to try to be 'cool' try to be 'liked' try to be 'good enough'. I watched as they had fun. I watched as they acted liked kids.

               

                I watched as they caught fireflies.