Learning Joy

In the sunshine,
In the rain,
Up on the mountain,
Down in the plain,
In the comfort,
In the pain,
The saints- they all were joyful.

In the softness
of Mary's gaze,
In the ridicule,
In the praise,
Going forward,
Not counting cost,
All to seek
And save the lost,
You gladly suffered--
Bore Your Cross,
And You were joyful.

So how can I
Stay bitter still?
I must forget
The winter's chill
That, in my heart,
Can only kill
Any thought of loving truly.

I must press on,
But by Your grace,
And I will smile
To see Your face,
And I will laugh
And run this race
(Humility
Will set my pace).

And I will run
Into the Son,
And I will,
I will.
I will be joyful.

I am seeking; I will find.

I've lost me.
Where am I?
Misplaced me.
I cry.

Songs echo
Through my head:
Words the pope has said:

Become
Become
"Become who you are."

I'm here. I'm me.
But I'm not me
Yet.

Both here and now
And later still
I sit up in my window sill
And think of who I am.

Who am I?

Yours.
I'm Yours.
I'm Yours. I'm Yours. I'm Yours.

One day, I will understand
The depths of that reality.

Spending time with Christ, the King

Face down on the cold, tile floor,

A breeze blows strong across my face--

A jet stream under the exit door.

I feel Your peaceful, warm embrace.

You peer at me from behind the veil.

That wood oct' box is humble ware--

A strange throne and a stranger cloth

To clothe the King of Everywhere.

Yet like You I am made to be:

Humble like the King of Kings,

Servant to the servants low,

Servant to my Lord I'll sing.

Yet first I must quick lay me down,

And all that I am grasping to,

But I cannot do such a thing

Unless it's physically true.

And so my face the hard floor hits

And I my bones try to relax

And sink as much as possible

Into the ground below my chest.

For sacramentally I'm made,

And sacramentally I act.

A human still so plagued with sin,

Sunk deep in earthen soil that

What spirit needs to bloom in me

Must first be physically fact.

Psalm 4

The frames and faces on my wall,
The smell of pumpkin bread in fall,
The house, the town, the church, the tree:
All these security to me.

But false are they as much as real--
False if they're my heart's only seal.
For only You can hold my heart
When I stumble through the dark,
And only You can guide my way
Up treach'rous pathways day by day
When everything I once held near
Slips 'tween my fingers, disappears,
Leaving me alone with fear
In silent mists of white and grey.

All is sand and tide is swift;
My castles are no match for it.

But I am not alone in this.
You offer no betrayal's kiss.
In sleep Your rest will be my cure,
For You alone make me secure.

A joy once lost, by grace, is found

O poetry, how long you’ve strayed

From the thoughts my heart has made!

How could my searching mind forget

The joy you brought—the ground you set

Beneath my feet

Beneath my bones

Where songs and melodies and tones

Float through my soul like gramophones

Growing louder with each beat?

Dancing, dancing, violins.

My heart is warm and beating fast

For clanking pulleys ‘pon the masts

Of boats that float on oceans deep,

Dark and moving—far from sleep,

And gentle bays where sparkling sun

Makes white and silver waters run

Through riverbeds of spirit mine

While liquid warmth flows down my spine.

And I am happier than a tree

Which planted ‘side the waters thrives,

From which the hymns of heaven rise

Up past the airiest of skies

From my earthen heart to Thine.

And here I sit upon my couch

While time doth taunt me like a mouse

Who scurries far from traps I set

In hopes of winning minutes back.

But I have conquered it by grace!

There is no need for me to race

The clock which flashes me its face

At eleven-twenty in the night.

My soul is 'waked; my heart is light.

And that is all that matters, right?

Aches

I miss you, my brother,
and I
don't even know who you are.
My heart is breaking,
but my heart never knew
what it was like to know you at all.

"It is not good..."
"It is not good..."
It is not good for you
(or for me)
to be
alone.

You and me
together would be
strong.

You and me
together, you see...
Spontaneous, cheerful, and
songs
would float through our ears
and our mouths and our fears,
stopping the sorrow from taking us down.
They would turn us around
before night could have found
us unprepared.

But oh.
Oh, my brother,
Where are you?

You're somewhere alive and breathing, I hope-
somewhere living and sighing, I hope,
To find me too.

I miss you.

Why Baton Rouge is Beautiful

St. Joseph Cathedral, Baton Rouge

I'm home sick today with a bad cold, so I thought I'd take this rare, blessed minute of free time to write about what I've learned since I've been in Baton Rouge.

The school year started off rocky-- being a new teacher is hard, but I've been learning so much. God has used every bit of it to teach me. It reminds me that I'm not the teacher, He is.

Now that we've settled in and school is in full swing, I'm starting to really enjoy my classes. My freshmen are especially wonderful. Right now we are trying to understand the basic theology of the Trinity, something difficult for even the greatest theologian. They are doing so well! As God's providence would have it, the unit I taught before the unit on the Trinity led directly into this one, bringing unexpected graces and truths to the forefront. God is just awesome that way.

Before studying the Trinity, we talked about life's "big questions": who am I? Where did I come from? What is the purpose to my life? What is the meaning of suffering? What is the importance of my family and how does it impact my life? The unit culminated in watching The Human Experience, a documentary about two brothers from New York City who travel the world in search of what it means to be human. Based both on the movie and our discussions from class, we concluded that every person on the planet desires most deeply to be loved, to be wanted, to have security, to be a member of a family who supports and nourishes them.

Enter: unit on the Trinity.

The Christian faith, in my opinion, provides the most compelling answer to these deepest of human desires: the whole purpose of our existence is to be part of the family of the God who is Love. Suffering is caused by sin and not God, but in Christ, even suffering has redemptive power-- power to bring us and others more fully into communion with the God who took on human suffering so we could be His.

The very first paragraph of the Catechism sums up the whole of the Christian faith. It says, 

"God, infinitely perfect and blessed in himself, in a plan of sheer goodness freely created man to make him share in his own blessed life. For this reason, at every time and in every place, God draws close to man. He calls man to seek him, to know him, to love him with all his strength. He calls together all men, scattered and divided by sin, into the unity of his family, the Church. To accomplish this, when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son as Redeemer and Savior. In his Son and through him, he invites men to become, in the Holy Spirit, his adopted children and thus heirs of his blessed life."

The only reason God created us was to be in blessed communion with Him, the God who is love... the God who is family. "It is not good for man to be alone," God says in Genesis. Even God is not alone-- He is three. We were made in the image and likeness of God. We were made for loving community.

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Recently, both before and during these discussions with my classes, I've been doing a lot of thinking about the Church as the family of God. My favorite thing about the Church is that she is catholic-- universal! She is in every country, in every part of the world. In some places, she is underground, but in all places, she is present. Also, in all ages, she is present. The treasury of the lives of the saints is deep and wide-- inexhaustible. It is a constant reminder that my faith is not something that I made up myself-- something that is based on passing emotion or a particular socio-economic existence. The diversity of the saints is evident when you read their stories, yet hardly ever will you find one saint in isolation. They come in clusters, in pairs, in groups. Why?

Because we were made for community, and community makes all the difference.

In recent years, I've witnessed friends fall away from the Faith little by little. My heartache is inexpressible, yet I could see plainly that the biggest reason was their lack of solid Catholic community. I recently read an article all about that, with a particular focus on college life. One quote from the article struck me as particularly true: 

"...the best predictor of which students will stay strong amidst the new temptations of college has not been their level of Catholic knowledge, or the strength of their families back home. Rather, the best predictor has been having Catholic friends."

This is not only true for college students but for anyone, everyone, children and adults included! We are not strong by ourselves. Especially when our faith is still in its beginning stages, we cannot stand alone. We need God's grace first and foremost, but we also need grace-filled friends. We can't let our pride get in the way. We need others to help us in our faith journey, and we need them in our lives every day.

It is true that the Church is not meant to be a closed fortress-- people made that mistake pre-early 1900s and still make it today. We're not supposed to close ourselves off to the world and huddle together in private to weather the storm. On the flip side, we're also not supposed to be so integrated with society that we are easily swayed by its passing fads, fancies, and fiction that the media purports as truth. That is what happened in the 1960s, in the chaotic wake of Vatican II. As with all things in the Catholic life, the truth lies in the middle road-- the road that we walk, as St. John Bosco said, "with our feet on earth but our heart in heaven."

We need Catholic community. And we need it desperately. When we have it, we are more able, as a community and as individuals, to reach out to those who need God the most-- to open ourselves to others who are in need of the Gospel of Truth and Life. When we are secure, we are strong. We are able to reach out to others. But we will never have lasting security relying on the things of this world. Our security comes from heaven. The psalmist cries out, "you alone, LORD, make me secure." It is only in and through the Church, filled with imperfect people though she is, that we find heaven on earth. It is only in the Church that we have the utmost security of life, love, acceptance, and grace because it is in the Church that God comes to dwell among His people, in the flesh.

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I noticed it before I moved to Baton Rouge, but I have experienced it more and more every day since I've lived here. Baton Rouge is beautiful not because of its landscape but because of the openness of its Catholic community to newcomers. It's something that I've found here even more than at Franciscan! Even more than in Mobile!

Catholic people in Baton Rouge love to meet new people. They are never content with their social circles, even if they are vibrant and somewhat satisfying. Networking is huge here-- if you know one person, you know people in all five local dioceses-- Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Lafayette, Lake Charles, and Houma-Thibodaux. Maybe it's the close proximity of the dioceses. Maybe its the high Catholic population. Maybe its the history or the socio-economic background of the people here. I don't know. But what I do know is that from the moment I set my foot onto the campus of LSU to visit my brother (my first experience of Baton Rouge) I was loved. As soon as I set foot onto the campus of St. Michael High School to interview for the job, I was loved. And I could feel it. (AND I'M AN ALABAMA FAN! lol) I didn't have to fight for it. I didn't have to bend over backwards to have social interaction with people. They showered it on me with invitations, hellos, hugs, and verbally expressed excitement simply that I was here, every time they saw me.

"Catholic world" is not meant to be a closed fortress or a bubble, and it's not in Baton Rouge. But "Catholic world" should exist, because "Catholic world" is just another name for family-- for the Church, whose sole mission is to evangelize-- to bring more and more people to God. Social circles of Catholic friends all over the country and the world are meant to interconnect-- intertwine-- become one-- become bigger and bigger until they encompass the world! The beauty of our faith is that it is universal. Every Mass, every country, every language, every people-- lex orandi, lex credendi, lex vivendi. The law of prayer is the law of faith is the law of life. We pray the same prayers, we profess the same creed, we live life together. Social media has the power to connect us all as a Church like never before if we use it correctly, but nothing will replace personal interaction and the physical/material expression, one person to another, that we are wanted and loved-- that we are family. Because we are. We are family, and moreso even than our blood relatives. The spiritual order is greater than the material order, although the material order can express the spiritual. By Baptism and especially in the Eucharist, we are all the family of God, the Body of Christ. This is one thing that Baton Rouge Catholics (at least the ones I've encountered) not only understand but live.

Let's not let our social circles become exclusive, especially our Catholic social circles. We are all probably guilty of that at one point or another in our lives-- I know I am. What we don't realize is that our Catholic social circles have the potential to be evangelizing forces in our secular society. They can evangelize us and they can evangelize others.

We need the Church for our own nourishment, but we aren't the only ones. The world needs the Church. And the world needs a strong Church, a tight Church, a Church filled with visible love for all of its members. A love that is based in Truth-- the whole Truth-- the Truth that is God and His plan for the world.

We need each other. That's fact. It's in our DNA-- in the way we were made. We bear the mark of the God who is Trinity. We need to start living like it.

Our world is in desperate need of peace-- peace in our hearts, in our homes, and in and between our nations. True communion creates peace. True communion is based in Truth and Love, in the God who is both of these.

Jesus says, "blessed are the peacemakers, for they will become children of God." Do not merely be peace lovers. Be peacemakers. Make peace by being welcoming. I don't mean a 1960s "all are welcome because it doesn't matter what you believe as long as you're nice to people" welcoming but a true welcoming: a recognition of the humanity in the other-- a delight in the other-- a call to sainthood and the offer of a helping hand to get them there. The key is the helping hand to get them there.

No one becomes a saint in isolation. No one makes peace by being focused on himself. We need each other. Desperately.

Today, I'm particularly grateful to everyone in Baton Rouge (and in my life) that has been truly welcoming to me. You have been instruments of God. He has used you to change my life.

On the Uniqueness of Saints: A Pilgrimage Story

My last post was about the uniqueness of each individual person, and how that uniqueness shines forth when we become holy-- when we become saints. Today, I want to offer a concrete example of this from the history of our great Church.

About a week ago, I returned from a 10-day trip to Italy. It was a pilgrimage to many of the holy sites of Rome, Assisi, and Siena. I could go on for days describing all that we heard and saw and experienced there, but instead, I'll describe the first leg of the trip (Assisi and Siena) and the spiritual journey that followed.

For the past few months before my trip, I had been unsettled. I felt spiritually lethargic. I lacked the fire and zeal I have experienced before in my journey of faith. My soul was heavy, fearful and unwilling to embrace any suffering the Lord may call me to embrace. Fear was really the problem, though, not the suffering itself. Fear screamed that God would ask me to suffer in a way that I wasn't ready for, while Faith softly whispered that God would not give me anything I couldn't handle with His help. Despite all this, I was very excited to go to Italy; it was the trip I'd dreamed of taking. I hoped it would cause spark in my soul again and set my emotions ablaze with the awareness of God's presence. What happened, however, was not what I was expecting. It was better.

Assisi from the castle on the hill above it.

After landing in Rome on a Wednesday morning and briefly visiting the Major Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls, we traveled to Assisi, the home of the great saints and founders, Francis and Clare. To say that Assisi is beautiful would be a gross understatement. The little medieval town built of pink sandstone glistens brightly in the sunlight on the side of a mountain. You can spot it from miles away. Everyone I know who has been there can describe it in only one word: "peaceful." Assisi is a holy place, and you can feel it. It is quiet, although there are always pilgrims and locals wandering its narrow, medieval streets.

Me in front of the Basilica of San Francesco

The holy sites we visited in Assisi include the Basilica and monastery of San Francesco (St. Francis), which houses the tomb and relics of the great mystic and stigmatist. Santa Chiara (the Church of St. Clare) houses her incorrupt remains in a glass tomb, as well as the original San Damiano Cross-- the crucifix from which Christ spoke to Francis and told him, "Rebuild My Church." A church built on the house of the wealthy Bernadone family (Francis' family) houses Francis' bedroom and the tiny cell in which Francis' father would lock him because he assumed his son was mad.

Holiness often looks like madness to those closest to us, doesn't it? Especially after a dramatic, life-altering conversion like the one wealthy, party-boy Francis had experienced.

Clare's monastery at San Damiano

The church of San Damiano is the one that Francis rebuilt, thinking, at first, that the Lord's command was materialistic. It became the church and monastery where Clare and her companions would found the Poor Clares, the Second Order of Franciscans. Clare's place of death is marked there in the dormitory, which is a humble but holy place.


I've always had a particular love for St. Clare because of her devotion to the Eucharistic Lord and her unshakable trust in His power. It was at the monastery at San Damiano that Clare, weak and quite ill, warded off would-be invaders simply by bringing Jesus in the monstrance to the front gate. They fled in terror at the sight of Him.

St. Clare with the monstrance

Down in the valley, we visited the church of St. Mary of the Angels, which is a large basilica built over several holy sites of St. Francis. The basilica houses the Portiuncula, a tiny chapel loaned to Francis by the Benedictines who owned it (and still own it today) where Francis discovered his vocation. It also houses a cave where Francis would pray, the place of Francis' death, and the rose bushes into which Francis once threw himself to better unite himself with the sufferings of Christ. As soon as he did, the roses lost their thorns and still grow there today without them, although the same species of rose grows elsewhere with thorns. The church also houses a statue of Francis on/by which at least two live doves are always perched.






The next day, we boarded the bus for a day trip in Siena, home of St. Catherine, the great Dominican mystic and one of only three women doctors of the Church. Siena is also a medieval town, but it is much bigger than Assisi, built with red brick rather than sandstone, and bustling with activity.

Town Hall, built in the middle ages,
Piazza del Campo, Siena

Siena is very unique town. While there are many holy sites associated with Catherine and others, the feel of the town as a whole is less religious and more based on the pride of its 17 neighborhoods. The Piazza del Campo, the center of town, is where these 17 neighborhoods gather once a year to compete in a wild horse race called the Palio. They fill the outer ring of the piazza with sand and watch as one rider from 10 of the 17 neighborhoods competes in a race-- a race with no rules and a race with the most treacherous turn in horse racing. ESPN's "Wider World of Sports" did a great little segment on the Palio about a year ago. You can watch it here.

Piazza del Campo, Siena

Aside from visiting the Piazza, however, we visited several holy sites associated with St. Catherine and witnessed an on-going Eucharistic miracle at the church of St. Francis.

Miraculous hosts from 1730

After having Mass in a side chapel in St. Francis, we had Adoration with the miraculous hosts, which have not disintegrated for almost 300 years. In 1730, there was a feast day celebration happening in the Cathedral. Thieves took advantage of the priests and townspeople all being at the celebration and broke into the church of St. Francis to steal the golden ciborium, which held the consecrated hosts. Wrapping the hosts in a cloth, they dumped them in the poor box and ran away. Upon the priests' return, they were horrified to find the tabernacle empty and searched the church, looking for Jesus. They found the consecrated hosts in the poor box a few days later and placed them in the back of the tabernacle to wait for them to decompose (in Catholic theology, the Eucharist ceases to be Christ as soon as the appearances of bread and wine are no longer present). After a month, the priest noticed that the hosts had not changed. He placed them beside some unconsecrated hosts and waited another month. The unconsecrated ones had decayed, but the consecrated ones had not. It is currently 2013, and the consecrated hosts have not yet decayed.
As astonished and blessed as we were to adore Jesus in these miraculous hosts, Pat, our trip leader, reminded us that the most miraculous thing is not that God can keep hosts from decaying, but that God can make bread into His flesh. THAT is the greater miracle. And THAT happens every single day, just down the road from your house.


After Mass and Adoration, we had had lunch (and amazing gelato) near the piazza. Then, we hiked up Siena's steep, winding streets to St. Catherine's family home.

winding streets of Siena

Gelato!!!

Catherine came from a large, wealthy family. She was the 23rd of 25 children (!!!). Catherine was a mystic and practiced extreme mortification similar to Francis and Clare. She was a Dominican tertiary, meaning she did not live in a monastery but lived at home. She cared for the poor and the sick, and through correspondence, she was responsible for ending the Avignon Papacy (she convinced the pope to return to Rome to look after his flock after decades of absence). Aside from all this, however, much of her life was spent locked in her room, deep in prayer and extreme fasting. She once went a year without any sustenance aside from the Eucharist. Catherine had had mystical visions and experiences from the time she was 6 years old, and many are now depicted on the walls of her room in Siena.

Left: Catherine cuts her hair as St. Dominic looks on (artistic liberties)
Right: Catherine's father enters her room and witnesses a dove
(the Holy Spirit) hovering over her as she prays

Catherine's vision: Jesus offers her a crown of gold and a
crown of thorns. She chooses the crown of thorns.

The Mystical Marriage of Catherine:
Jesus offers her a wedding ring and places it on her finger.
She can see it on her finger for the rest of her life
although no one else can. Today, only her head
and her ring finger are incorrupt.

After visiting Catherine's house, we visited the Basilica of St. Catherine at the church of St. Dominic, Catherine's home parish. There, in a beautiful side chapel, is her incorrupt head/face. Kneeling there, looking into her face (HER FACE!!!), was incredible (and slightly creepy lol). She died in the fourteenth century; she should be nothing but dust. But no: flesh! Dead flesh, sure, but flesh nonetheless! The preservation of her flesh can only be a miraculous testament to Catherine's pure, holy soul.

me with the church of St. Dominic, home of Catherine's head and ring finger

After we left Siena and traveled back to Assisi for the night, I couldn't help but think over my experiences so far. I sort of felt like I had spiritual indigestion-- I just couldn't process the holiness that I had encountered in these three great saints. I always knew that Francis, Clare, and Catherine were rather extreme (in a good way) in their ways of following the Lord, but the reality of it only sank in after walking the streets that they walked and praying in the places where they prayed.

I couldn't handle it. It was too much to comprehend. Suddenly, I felt weak. So very weak. I was tempted. This picture of their holiness was so vivid, that for a moment, I feared I could never be holy. After all, I could never do what they did. Almost immediately, I banished these thoughts, knowing in my mind that they were not true-- that not everyone was called to a life of such extreme mortification and mysticism-- but my heart was slower to understand. Only a visit to Rome could give it the understanding it needed.

St. Peter's Square and the rest of Rome from the top of St. Peter's Basilica

Jesus and the Apostles atop St. Peter's

As much as I loved visiting Assisi and Siena, my heart breathed a sigh of relief when we neared Rome. My thoughts became flooded with the saints of Rome-- the early martyrs, the popes, the bishops, the common saints. By the time we had reached the Catacombs of St. Callistus, I had realized my mistake. Although I had heard it (and taught it!) a million times before, it was only in the Eternal City of Rome that my heart understood the diversity of the saints.

"Domine, quo vadis?"

I felt the Lord telling me that I could be a saint-- that I could serve Him well and be pleasing to Him in my own way. Near the catacombs, we passed the church built on the spot where Peter encountered the Lord on his way out of Rome. Peter was fleeing. Peter was weak. Peter did not trust that God would provide the strength for him to bear his cross. Suddenly, he saw Jesus, walking toward him, toward Rome. Peter famously said, "Domine, Quo Vadis?" Lord, where are you going? And Jesus replied, "I am going to Rome to be crucified again in your place." Being cut to the heart and realizing his mistake, Peter turned around and headed back to Rome, where he was crucified-- martyred for the Faith.

Peter, I could relate to. Peter was a regular guy. Sure he was the first pope and the closest apostle to Jesus, but he was no mystic. He fled from suffering more than once. But he always returned. It took an inspiration of the Holy Spirit, but he always came back. And Christ didn't give him anything he couldn't handle with His help.

As we traveled throughout Rome, seeing church after church filled with tombs of popes, martyrs, founders, and other saints, this point was etched in my heart. There were so many different types of people! Poor people, rich people, kings, fishermen, tax collectors, virgins, popes, bishops, priests, lay people, religious founders, contemplatives, evangelists, missionaries, painters, mothers, fathers, children-- all of them saints! I came back from Italy, inspired by the great beauty of the Church-- the physical beauty of its churches and the spiritual beauty of its saints. Every one is different, but every one reflects the beauty of the God who is Beauty in a different way.

I am no mystic, and most likely will never be. I've never had visions of Christ, although I have had one or two deeply spiritual experiences. I'm pretty certain I am not called to the contemplative life of a cloistered nun, nor am I called to serious mortification. But, I am a baptized Christian. I do have a purpose in the Church that cannot be fulfilled by any other person in existence or by any other person who comes after me. I am unique. I was made to reveal an aspect of God to the world that no one has ever seen before. I was made so that my life can be a grace to all, especially to those whose vocations are similar to mine.

To conclude, I'd like to offer a simple reflection on the popes. From St. Peter on down the line to Pope Francis today, I've always liked the popes. I feel a sort of attachment to them, like they are my fathers (really, they are my fathers). I like them because they are clearly regular people. I'm sure there have been mystic popes, and I know that there have been many, many popes who were extremely holy. But for the most part, they were regular guys. They were chosen (and most of them did not wish to be chosen) for the task of leading the Church. When the Lord called, though, they answered. They served, they prayed, they sinned, they confessed, they began anew. They were charged with a task that was much too significant for them to handle on their own. And the good popes-- the great majority of popes-- did not try to do it on their own. The Lord always provided the Holy Spirit powerfully when they asked, just like He promised He would. The popes who surrendered to the Holy Spirit became who they were made to be. Their beauty was revealed in the living out of their vocations, however daunting they seemed at first. They trusted that God would provide, and He did.

The rosary I got in Rome. It has the last 5 popes before Francis-- blessed by Francis :)

Although for different tasks, the Lord promises the same Holy Spirit to us. He comes to us powerfully and dwells within us, giving us the strength to go where the Lord calls us, to do what the Lord calls us to do. Every person in the world will be called differently, according to his own purpose-- the purpose God gave him. The manifestation of the Holy Spirit in each person's life will vary greatly. Their lives will look different from each other-- sometimes extremely different, like how St. Catherine's life looks next to St. Peter's-- but if they are saints, you will be able to see the fruits of the Holy Spirit in their lives, and the Church will be blessed and renewed because of them.

The Lord will surely call us to difficult things, but He will always call us according to our purpose-- the purpose He gave us-- and never according to what others have done. We look to the saints so that we may emulate their virtues-- so that we will be inspired by their lives to seek the Lord with confidence and zeal, as they did. The saints are examples for us, but they are not carbon copies of each other, and we are not to be carbon copies of them. This was the lesson the Lord taught my heart in Italy.

In order to become a saint-- to become who I was created to be-- all I need to do is ask, "Domine, quo vadis?" And wherever the Lord tells me He is going, I simply need to follow.