The Pile of Rocks: A Camino Reflection

Chris Morgan, CVV 18

I picked up a rock from the shore of Lake Superior to leave on a mountain in the north of Spain. That’s normal, right?

This wasn’t just any rock. It was the most-perfect skipping rock, and though Lake Superior produces many skipping rocks, this one fit my hand just right. It fit so well, in fact that I decided not to throw it. I held onto it. It was flat and smooth, and it fit perfectly in the space between my thumb and my curved index finger. I’m sure you’ve found one like this too, but I’ll bet you threw yours. Why wouldn’t you? Well don’t worry, because I let go of mine too, just in a different way.

At some time between that day I picked it up and the day I put it in my backpack, it seemed that I got around to writing “Go!” on it in black permanent marker. Now I can’t be sure when or why I originally wrote it, but it always reminded me of a certain message I received as a child. The gist of the message was that I was meant to go out into the world, to be sent, to take courage in the missions I would have. (My second name is “Paul” after all!) I’d like to say that I did the best I could to respond to this message, to this calling.

Despite my best effort (and sometimes because of no effort at all), I fell short of this calling in some pretty specific ways, and having just finished three years of graduate theological education this spring, I’d like to think that I had a grasp on at least one of the roots of these shortcomings. So knowing I would have a special opportunity at the Cruz de Ferro (the Iron Cross) on the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain to leave a rock representing something I wanted to let go, I put my skipping rock in my backpack.

I finally approached the Cruz de Ferro after three weeks of walking, and while it was emotional to say my prayers and let go of that rock and what it represents, what happened next was most meaningful for me.

Here I was, a pilgrim from across the globe who just set his rock on top of the huge pile of rocks from all the other pilgrims who did the same for ages. I sat in the shade a little way off to be silent for a moment and lift up my fellow pilgrims. It was that moment when I started to put it together. This isn’t just an individual practice someone does on the top of a mountain in the north of Spain. It’s an ongoing communal ritual of leaving our lives in the hands of God, who overcame death and so too will ultimately transform whatever each rock represents. As a symbol of that truth, we let go of our rocks while walking on other people’s rocks. Millions of pilgrims doing that along with the sun and rain, snow and ice, breaks down these rocks. We participate in God returning all of our shortcomings back into right relationship with God precisely through this act and whenever we have the chance to act righteously. I’m thinking about the Eucharist, the Beatitudes, and Works of Mercy among others. 

On that mountain in Spain, at the Iron Cross, I realized that being one of the millions that trample these rocks means that I’m contributing to break them down. When they break down, they can combine with organic material to make fertile soil for plants to grow. This tells me a little something about the Reign of God.

The Reign of God is like a pile of sorrows trampled by a million pilgrims, which transforms it into the fertile soil of New Life. May it be so.

 

Cathryn Dutton, CVV 18

I composed this poem thinking about the ties to service and those less fortunate that my service with CVV instilled in me. There are so many things in the world that try to pull us out of our purpose of being companions on the journey and so many circumstances in the world, especially as of late, that try to make the disadvantaged even more disadvantaged and would make it very hard for people who are committed to loving and walking with the poor to do so. I try, as a teacher and a servant of Christ and my fellow man, to do my best to serve others and remember always what ties me to my purpose and holds me fast even when other things get in the way. This poem is a just a small reflection of those feelings. 

 

Unbreakable

Like ropes anchoring a heavy boat, they tie me 

When swaying seas rock the vessel threatening to overturn it, spilling its goods from fore to aft

Pulling pieces of plank from the dock

Splashing salty signs of shipwreck for every sailor to see–to take note, to be wary of the danger that looms in the ocean below 

They hold fast

 

They are frayed

They are old and sodden and salt speckled 

They used to bear a honey hue and now they are brown, muddy, and crusted with years of sea lashings and heavy ships and hearts tugging relentlessly on them 

 

But they do not break

They will not break

The God that summoned the sea water and breathed fresh ocean air into dolphins and seagulls and crabs crawling across the beach

Once breathed determination into the fingertips of the men who weaved these ropes 

Whose intention was always for these ropes to hold to a vessel and keep it shore bound 

 

For that boat is not meant to be rocked on jagged waters

Tossed about mercilessly in the eye of a storm

It is to stay docked 

It doesn’t belong to the water

It belongs to the people

For at its helm is the heart of a woman who looks seaward

And sees what is to come

She hears the men and women and children on the shore she guards 

Hungry 

Hurt

Homeless

And knows that in the sea there is nothing for them 

 

It is too frequent that the sea touches the dock these days 

But on the shore, the God that brought dolphin and seagull and crab and the rough hands of men who just want to do something good into being, prevails 

He is King

A King who summons smiles

Decrees dancing 

And heralds hope unto the hopeless

 

Though the sea may lash and taunt the boat to venture out atop its waves 

The ropes that hold it fast will not give way

For they are God’s ropes

Tethers of love and resilience

And they will hold that boat securely on its people’s shore 

And will salvage the holy vessel until the time has come that what lies ahead and beneath has less teeth, less cold deadly pull, less opportunity to drown, devour, and decay 

Until then, the ropes will hold

And the people on the shore will smile amidst hunger, dance in spite of dread, and know that hope has walls thick enough to shelter anyone 

 

And I will keep watch

Tossed though I may feel

Bright and blue that the ocean may appear some days

I will keep my perch atop the eagles nest

With my heartstrings tied to the shore and my eye on the horizon 

Uncle Nanno’s House on Wheels

 

Shiny Distractions

Joel Cassady, CVV 11

Last summer and fall, we were fortunate to get several visits from my wife’s brother and his girlfriend. They would come through town often en route to various destinations around the country where they could visit national parks, climb, fly fish, and enjoy the outdoors.

All of us enjoy their company, but the girls probably enjoy them best. “Uncle Nanno,” as Dan has been called in the past, has an adventurous spirit that the girls absolutely love, and his girlfriend is incredibly patient, loving, and playful with our two daughters, ages four and two. Not to mention, she has a cool dog, Dude, who is gentle despite being “petted” in, what can only be to him, an awkward and unusual way.

In addition to their personalities, Uncle Nanno has way cooler toys. His truck is tricked out, and is the ultimate camping/house on wheels machine, including a kitchenette with running water, a wood burning stove, solar panels, bookshelves, and, of course, a bed and some living space. The climbing and camping gear he has is something the girls rarely see, and they are both intrigued by all of their different usages and of course, want to try them out. If given the chance, they would spend all of their waking hours in the truck, and if ever offered, they would gladly sleep in there too, though they’d be too giddy to get any sleep. In short, when Uncle Nanno comes to visit, in the eyes of my girls, at least, no one else exists.

In some ways, as their father, it’s nice to get the small break, and let the girls play with someone whom we know and trust. While discipline is always a challenge, and even more so with such an exciting distraction, the rules are laxed somewhat and it’s understood that mom and dad play second fiddle given the special circumstances and special visitors. However, if the visit is long enough, it can eventually get to the point where being ignored by my daughters starts to feel somewhat frustrating, and even a little hurtful.

At many moments in my young career as a parent, I have reflected on how being a father to my children can, in a small way, reflect what it’s like for God to be my Father, and how maybe some of the feelings I have as a father are similar to how God may feel as mine. In the midst of one of our visits from Uncle Nanno, I was able to make this connection again, and began to wonder what it might feel like to God when we, His children, are distracted away from Him, even ignore Him, for something else. This something else could be a relatively good thing, like a relationship with a person or following through passionately on an important cause. Or, it could be less fulfilling things, like a TV show or just plain laziness. It could just be exhaustion from the grind of work, family, and life. Regardless, I’ve noticed in my own life, that my time with God often gets filled with distractions, good and bad, and I find myself sometimes desiring to be with my own “Uncle Nanno” instead of my heavenly Father. And just as I feel frustrated and sad when my daughters’ desire to spend their time with Uncle Nanno instead of me, I wonder if God feels the same way when I choose other things over Him.

Befriending the Other

Elizabeth Lent, CVV19 (pictured in pink)

Coming to the Midwest I expected to jump right into a new community.  I had moved many times before and was generally good at the whole “making friends” thing.  But it suddenly became harder after living intentionally with nine souls that intricately became connected with my own.  Living in intentional community taught me that I could be fully known and still fully loved.  Juggling graduate classes and an internship, while adjusting to a foreign place, I struggled transferring that experience to a new setting.

Feeling frustrated by my context, I put up walls.  Partially because I didn’t feel secure without the safety net of a structured community and partially because I was surrounded by many individuals who didn’t share my value system or worldview.  But as I hopped between masses at the student center, pick-up ultimate Frisbee, and quiet intimacy in Adoration all while maintaining phone calls and letters to friends back home, my concept of community grew.

Our society is clearly becoming more divided and with each insult to “the other” our community suffers.  Almost every day while attending to internship responsibilities I cross over the Delmar Divide, a street known notoriously for segregating St. Louis by race and socioeconomic status.  Facebook feeds and news stories are no better at engendering community than that superficial street.  Sadly it is easier to demonize opposition in the social and political climate that has emerged these past six months.  But by doing so, we fail to fully know “the other.”

In St. Louis I may not have a cohesive, intentional community—or even one core group of friends.  And I continue to struggle finding respectful contexts to discuss challenging issues.  But I do have an assortment of distinct individuals who know me and support me in many different ways.  Though we don’t always have the same values or beliefs, we try hard to fully know each other, therefore becoming less scary and ever more loveable.  Befriending “the others,” I have found brothers and sisters in Christ.  The gift of such a community permits unity across differences and makes us stronger.  It does not mean letting go of opposition, but being fully known in all of our oppositions, and still fully loved.  Each day spent striving to recognize Christ in the other is a day spent building community.

Sarah Ault, CVV 18

Well friends, we have somehow made it to the end of Lent. As I sit here to write a reflection on Holy Week, I cannot help but be struck by the parallels between the Triduum and our year of service. I am especially struck by how Jesus’ praised journey into Jerusalem and subsequent crucifixion by those same humans plays out in our world today so often.

I am currently a full-time graduate student pursuing an MBA and Master of Science in International Business. Recently, I was featured in a publication for our school and talked about my year at CVV and how it has influenced me to pursue my degrees. A surprising number of people (surprising because I had no idea that many people actually read their school emails) congratulated me for the piece, particularly highlighting how interesting my service year was and how proud they were that I did this. This praise is something I know we can all relate to—I remember countless times during and after my year of service that people would praise me for what I was doing and thank me for the hard work…sound like Jesus and his palm frond red carpet?

The struggle for me comes from some of these same individuals who were so proud of my working with people on the margins turn around and support policies and post things on social media and etc, etc, etc, that do they exact opposite (in my not-so-humble-opinion) of what my year of service tried to accomplish. I hear these classmates in class talk about supporting policies that defund crucial services for people on the margins; I watch people on social media praise budget cuts and initiatives that continue the cycle of oppression. And, in all of this, I cannot help but see Christ crucified again and again by the same people who claim to love Him.

The possible worst part about it is that Jesus’ example to us on how to respond is so counter intuitive! Just as the Jews were awaiting a militarized champion who would tear down the Roman empire, am I not tempted to look for the same thing? My visceral response is to get angry and say something (which, certainly, has its place); but the message Jesus leaves us is to continue to serve others and to speak the truth in love. It’s this “in love” part that is so hard for me; I often just want to tell people they are being dumb and that I don’t have time for that. But I am challenged by the gospel to be Christ to others; to speak to them in a way that they would understand and to love them when they fall short (as I ask so many people to do for me!)

The good news? The Good News! Holy Week doesn’t end on Good Friday, and neither will our continued battle for those on the margins. Jesus triumphantly defeats death! Good wins over evil! This is the ending I have to remind myself when the trenches are filled with dirty words and human hardness. The Resurrection is our promise that if we keep fighting the good fight, we will triumph! Maybe not in our lifetimes, but in the end. I leave you with Galatians 6:9 “Do not grow weary in doing what is good, for in due time you will reap a harvest IF YOU DO NOT GIVE UP.” Jesus did not give up on his journey to Jerusalem or in the garden or on the cross and neither should we!

Heather McCormack, CVV 20

Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Rise, and do not be afraid.” And when the disciples raised their eyes, they saw no one else but Jesus alone. – Matthew 17:7-8

Have you ever had a moment when you realized that for the past few days (months, hours, weeks, or years) you’ve been consumed with anxiety and fear? I think most people of course have, but for me in particular I know when I’m happy and I know when I’m sad.  That self-knowledge gives me peace.  However, the past few weeks I was surprised by my own lack of self-reflection, a skill I thought I’d “perfected” in CVV, when I realized I was lost.

I work with young people experiencing homelessness in Denver managing a thrift store, I live in an intentional community with three other CVV alumnae, and I just recently fell in love with a wonderful man.  All these things together make up my beautiful life, but like all gifts they also provide the greatest stresses in my life.  Without realizing, my busyness, my falling in love, my hectic lifestyle has led me to finally opening my eyes to how very anxious and scared I was.  I couldn’t see Jesus anymore and I was afraid. 

I’ve never liked Lent.  Ever.  Lent comes around and I immediately resist, “I want what I want! Why would God want me to suffer! I won’t do it!” No matter how many books I read or prayers I pray, I’m always intimidated by Lent.  The fear of failure looms bigger and bigger with every Sunday, bringing me closer to Good Friday, that day of death.  I tell myself, “This year I have to be ready! I will be ready!”  Without fail I eat meat on Fridays, I break my Lenten sacrifices, I zone out, I wander.  And without fail I arrive that Friday feeling worthless. 

This Lent in particular when I opened my eyes I was repulsed by what I saw I myself.  At work, I resented my responsibilities and I’d been unkind to my coworkers and customers.  At home, I’d neglected my community forgetting important dates and generally being absent.  In my relationship, I’d flung myself headfirst without prayer or reflection.  I thought to myself, “I have to do this on my own.”  It took breaking down on my floor with my community members to be reminded I need not do anything alone, ever.

That moment of despair gave birth to a change in perspective for me this Lent.  Without falling I would never have risen to where I am this moment typing away in my house surrounded by my community members, filled with anticipation for work tomorrow and confident in my relationship.  In the past week I feel I’ve seen God from many angles.  I went on a world religion tour yesterday, my boyfriend took me to a synagogue, a mosque, a Buddhist temple and a Hare Krishna temple, and today I went to my Catholic mass.  In these five places of worship I saw the vast and varied ways people come to find God.  I felt affirmed in my faith and soothed by the network of believers striving against the obstacles that face all of us to make the world a more peaceful place.  The lesson I took away from my tour was: God loves me, I am worthy, and God is good.

I will never be “perfect.”  My Lents will always be flawed and broken, just as I am.  Luckily for me I’m a devotee of Jesus, who loves me as I am.  Jesus invites us all to rise and walk back into the wilderness, but we needn’t fear.  It is when we let go of our fear that we look up and see Jesus alone, our comfort. 

Becoming a Unicorn in Lent

Michael Thomson, CVV 17

Change.  A word that we throw around a lot.  To make or become different.  An act or process through which something becomes different.  In the startup tech space that I work in now, change is often viewed as something highly desired.  In fact, everyone is looking for that “unicorn” that doesn’t just change things, but will totally disrupt an industry.  

The thing about change is that it’s sort of “sexy”.  In business, startups are “sexy” because they hold a potential to change the world.  Startups receive high valuation because they use a technology in a different way and change the way we address different problems.  

Change is something that we strive for in our personal lives as well.  If I look at where I was two and half years I go, I observe a very different life.  Then single, now married to a beautiful strong, independent woman (also a CVV alumna); then a social worker, now in business at a tech startup; then living in Denver, now living in Paris, France.  These changes came relatively quickly.  I mean, how does this not sound “sexy”.  

But are these life changes equivalent to a “unicorn” startup?  Or maybe this is all a bust?  As I think about what makes an Uber, an Airbnb or similar company successful, I observe two key things.  

1. They pursue growth, understanding that they need to adapt and develop over time.  
2. At their core is a well-built business model and technology and they work to maintain this and not lose sight of this.

Many companies put themselves at risk by not identifying their core values and assets, being highly opportunistic towards growth saying yes to everything and then cloud their business over time that they lose who they are.  But what does this have to do with me and what does this have to do with Lent?

Leaving CVV several years ago, I felt comfortable with my self-understanding because my relationship with God was intentional and nurtured.  I remained in Denver, tied to the same routines and the same community.  The past two and a half years, so many changes came into my life all at once, that I lost my routines and my communities.  In the change, I forgot my relationship with God, and over time lost myself.  I chose to pursue growth and change for all the right reasons, but in the process lost sight of my core self.

For me, this Lenten season is about rediscovering all of this.  The simplicity of Lent is found in eliminating the clutter in our life so that we can find our centers again and utilize our energy in areas that are meaningful.  It allows us to remind ourselves that Jesus has made the ultimate sacrifice for us because he believes we are all “unicorns”.  

I find it easy to understand that God sacrifices his son for our salvation because as someone who is married, it is easy to imagine ourselves as the “lover”.  What has been increasingly difficult is to understand why us?  Why me?  Taking the understanding from the perspective of the “loved” is a challenge.  Perhaps it is because I have spent two years measuring myself with the metrics of business and the job market, when I should be measuring myself with the metric of God’s love.  An unconditional love that is all-encompassing and can envelop every aspect of our life if we recognize it and allow it.  Although it is an unwavering love that is always present, it has been something that I have not intentionally sought out in the years full of change.  It is that love that allows us to understand our core selves as children of God.  It is that very love that inspired me to create changes in my life, but I got so caught up in the changes that I lost sight of why those changes were meaningful in the first place.  

Different times in my life, have reflected different relationships with myself and with God.  The one clear thing is that the times when I was intentional and actively reflecting, that “unicorn” status was not far from reach.  This relationship ebbs and flows with the changes in life, but as with all relationships we must be intentional in nurturing it even when everything around us starts to look different.  We all have the potential to be the “unicorns” of this world because:

1. We grow overtime; adapting and learning while impacting more and more people with our lives.
2. Through R&D, prayer and simplicity we can do amazing things because we understand that we are children of God who are deeply loved.

Josie Johnson, CVV 16

When I found out I was pregnant I really questioned God’s plan for me. Surely He who knows me best didn’t just do that; God didn’t just give me a child to take care of when I still consider myself a child. This must be some mistake; I thought, this child inside of me was supposed to be sent to one of my siblings or really, anyone besides me. Kids are too much work, and I really like my life of traveling. How am I supposed to be a mother?

Well, it wasn’t a joke. God gave me Luna Cecilia on November 2, 2016, and now that she is here, my love for her is overwhelming. There is no longer a “me”, there is now a “we”. When I make my decisions about where I travel and where I live, I make them not just for myself but for us. And that’s a responsibility that makes me pray for wisdom harder than I’ve ever prayed before. It’s a good thing that my faith and my understanding of God has broadened as my role of mother has unfurled.

When I was in my early 20s and questioning my faith, I was given a book titled From the Pews in the Back: Young Women and Catholicism, a collection of essays written by Catholic and former Catholic women from the Midwest. Many of the essays were extremely relatable, but there was one in particular that, while it didn’t apply to me then, I can’t stop thinking of now. Kerry Egan wrote:

On this night a thought seeped through. By the time I noticed it, I had been repeating a phrase over and over again: “Take this and eat it. This is my body.”

I looked down at Jimmy and he clung to me. “Oh,” I nearly shouted. He stirred, lifted his half closed eyes to me, and then rooted around until he found the nipple again and settled back into my armpit.

“So that’s what this means,” I said out loud.

After thirty-one years as a cradle Catholic, the Eucharist finally made sense.

 Wow.

Every single time that I’m breastfeeding Luna (okay, maybe only 85% of the time) I think of Egan’s words. Luna, take my body, eat it, it’s yours. The milk that I produce for her is perfect in every way. It has all the antibodies, the nutrients, the fat, and the special ingredient of my own spicy pizazz. If she is sick, my body will change the milk it produces to be more perfect for her. If I’m not watching my diet, my body only takes the best from what I have to give to her.

This is my Body, Take and Eat.

Jesus did and does this exact same thing for us every Sunday (or every day if you are like my parents). Every single time we go to Mass, listen to the word of God and receive the Eucharist, we are receiving Christ’s perfect body, adapted for each one of us personally. We only get the best from God and we are each given exactly what we need at that moment. When we are sick, God gives us the words from the disciples and from the Holy Bible to help us get better. When we try to push the Church away, it’s God who says, oh no! Feeding time is not over yet! You get back here and latch on or you will just be very hungry and cranky in a short amount of time. Just as I know what is best for Luna, God knows what is best for each one of us.

This is particularly true when it comes to tummy time. I’m not sure how many of you reading this have experience with infants and tummy time, but it’s the practice of laying Luna on her stomach so she is forced to lift her head off of the ground, thereby strengthening her arms, back, and leg muscles. Some babies love tummy time, Luna is not one of them. She has gotten much better as she has gotten older. She is more trusting now. It comes easier to her and so she doesn’t hate it as much. But in the beginning, she would cry and cry and say, “Mom! What are you doing to me! Why am I like this? How dare you not pick me up! I can’t see you, have you abandoned me? Waaaah” And I would sit there and watch her, I’d try and sing and soothe her, I’d rub her back and her feet and say “Luna, calm down! This is only for 3-5 minutes! I promise you will do much harder things in life. I am here for you, I love you. I know you hate tummy time but we have to do this to make you stronger. This hurts you more than it hurts me because I can see the future, I know that this is only 6-8 months of your life before you start crawling and you won’t hate tummy time then. You don’t understand now, but one day you will.”

And then I think to myself, I am like Luna in the fact that I cry and whine and complain when I am forced to do the uncomfortable and unknown; when I can’t see the future and it feels like someone has just taken me from my happy place and forced me face down on a blanket. But I know that God is there, rubbing my feet, saying “I love you. I hear you cry. I am not leaving your side but I’m also not flipping you back over yet because you need to do this to make yourself strong. You cannot see the end game, but I know the end game, and this is just a short moment in your life.”

God is wise.

Mothers are wise.

Babies are cute.

We are just on the beginning of this journey, Luna and I. She knows nothing about being a person and I know nothing about being a mother. Together we learn and grow each day. And I know God is watching down on the both of us, saying Hang in there! You’re just beginning.

Madonna Lactans 12^th Century Rome

Disclaimer: I want to recognize that Breastfeeding is not easy. It is actually incredibly hard and it takes a lot of work, patience, and luck to successfully breastfeed. I myself suffer from low supply while others suffer with cracked nipples, plugged ducts, mastitis, poor latch, tongue tie, or babies who push away and refuse the breast all together. It is frustrating work that leaves a mother thinking we are inadequate or cringing at the realization that it’s been 3 hours and we must breastfeed again. Sometimes it borderlines on resentment of our child and their complete dependence on us. It is in these times that we must realize, this is why God is God and we are only human. When we are the fussy children who refuse to nurse or who cause our mother so much pain, God is never resentful. God is never angry. God is pure patience and pure love. We can never hope to reach his level of goodness, but we can strive to do our best.

Christy (Titus) Thomson, CVV 17

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. 

-Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude

I am alone a lot, probably too often in fact, for a brain which never seems to stop thinking, worrying, correcting.  Many people ask what it’s like, day to day, working as an artist, and usually I don’t tell them the truth about it—it means you are alone. a lot. 

I do, in fact, enjoy being alone—typically not one to feel lonely with myself, these moments provide space and opportunity for reflection, time to journal, get thoughts on paper, draw.  But sometimes, during the workday, in the moments of reflection questions seem to constantly reappear within my heart: are you doing anything meaningful? How is the creation of new pictures benefiting anyone’s life? Is this what God is really calling you to do with your life? 

I have no answers to these questions, or more truthfully, I have no answers to these questions which I feel are real; which really answer the question.  Its become almost a mantra, these questions, some days they seem to haunt me and other days I allow myself to embrace them like old friends, comfortable in my uncertainty. 

Throughout the Lenten season, a time of anticipation and preparation for both life and death, learning to live with uncertainty in life is one which constantly challenges me to grow, reflect, and trust in God.  While I often doubt if whether I am living life in a positively impactful manner, if I’m learning and listening enough to those around me, if I’m selfishly following my own path, rather than God’s, Thomas Merton’s prayer rings through my ears.

As we take this Lenten season to prepare for the celebration of Easter, how can we learn to live with uncertainty, further reflect on how we are living our lives and deepen our trust in God’s love for us? 

 

Diane Smith, CVV 16

“Pardon your servant, Lord. Please send someone else,” (Exodus 4:13).

Moses’s words at the burning bush have always resonated with me, in younger years before I appreciated the audacity of his request, I was struck by his humility and humanity. Moreover, I was inspired by how God used a person who clearly does not identify as a natural leader to change history. 

Unlike Moses, I did not initially acquiesce to God’s calling for my life. Prior to my year of service, God called me to become a doctor. Like Moses, I questioned God that he had chosen the wrong person and deferred medical school, choosing to instead join CVV.  Ironically, throughout our year with CVV, my companions and I routinely and masterfully completed tasks for which our resumes would suggest we were unqualified to even attempt.

Now, several years later, I am a family physician and feel blessed by the opportunities my job affords: delivering babies, watching children grow, and witnessing people tackle obstacles in their lives with courage.  Despite my initial reluctance, I am competent, confident and able to provide appropriate medical care all the while maintaining a demeanor that brings God’s light to my patients and coworkers. Nevertheless, occasional moments of feeling unqualified are inevitable.

 At 28 years old, I find myself guiding families through tragedies that I have not personally experienced: cancer diagnoses, withdrawal of life support, resuscitations, death pronouncements, and stillbirth deliveries. Moreover, I work in an immigrant city that is predominantly Spanish-speaking and although I am proficient in Spanish, I often need to tenderly guide families through these difficult situations without the gentle nuances that only come with full fluency. Yet at 2AM, when no one else deemed, “more qualified,” is around to perform these tasks, I find that in fact God is there working through me to do it Himself.  Like with Moses, God provides the needed words and transforms my anxieties into peace, allowing me to maintain my focus on the needed medical care and patients’ family’s needs. With each new situation, God qualifies me a little more to complete the work He has called me to do. Indeed, this theme of God qualifying the called rather than calling the qualified is also very intimately experienced by every Colorado Vincentian Volunteer. 

At the start of 2017, a dear friend asked a very good question; what are you going to do in the following year to better experience God’s joy? The week prior, I had vented more than I would have liked to regarding work load and regretted not inviting God into that struggle and not embracing the challenge. This especially tugged at my heart because maintaining integrity is my predominant form of evangelism at my work place. I realized, although I have been praying during the difficult life or death moments, I had not been inviting God into the day to day busyness and decided to combat this lapse by making my goal the simple act of saying grace with every meal. Now, I again have a regular reminder of God’s presence and provisions in my life and regularly am overwhelmed by His joy.

For many Christians, lent is a season of more fully experiencing God’s presence day to day. For me, this often came in the form of reflecting on His sacrifices as I denied temptations to indulge my sweet tooth. This year, I hope to instead focus on experiencing God’s joy by the simple act of continuing to say grace and challenge you to consider joining me. I did not trust God when He initially revealed His plan for my vocation, instead uttering Moses’s words at the burning bush, yet now I could not imagine being happier doing anything else.  God is working through us in ways we cannot imagine, all the while preparing us to further His kingdom and the simple act of saying grace significantly enhances our Communion with Him.