Destination: Lourdes! (Part I - The Physical)

Well I’m back…and better than ever! (No really!). It was a whirlwind trip, but amidst the crazy schedule and festivities, I was blessed with a bit of peace, a lot of love, and the kind of renewal that so often escapes us in our daily lives. I loved that I was able to experience this refreshment both physically and spiritually, and as such, I’ve decided to break up my account of the trip into two installments: fittingly, the Physical and the Spiritual. (It’s also my attempt to avoid the novel that would otherwise ensue, while still hitting the highlights of the pilgrimage. Please take note of the word ‘attempt’). Enjoy!

Part I - The Physical
To see, smell, taste, hear, or touch the beauty of this world…this, this is Life! -Anonymous

To say that Lourdes is beautiful is an understatement of great proportion. The moment I stepped off of the bus after 18 wearying hours of travel, I was met by the graceful green river, the snow-capped Pyrenees mountains rising up majestically over the quaint village, the grand and arching granite arms of the cathedral reaching out to welcome visitors, the serene peace of the candlelit grotto serving as the bedrock of the church. As we settled in, the serenity was punctuated by the pomp of military processions, formations from around the world drawing crowds and cheers as they paraded through the streets in colorful dress uniforms with their lively bands, or bagpipes in the case of the Scots. The air of jubilant celebration mixed with quiet reverence was striking, almost a paradox, but both seemed to instantly pull me in. At every turn there were volunteers catering to us—who had paid out of pocket to do so—serving our meals, cleaning our rooms, playing tour guide upon request. They promptly served a much-needed lunch beginning with baguette, glorious baguette, and then sent us off to rest and enjoy the sanctuary. That night, and every night thereafter, we fell asleep to the lullaby of hymns from the late evening service at the grotto, and awoke to the same hymns floating across the river from the sunrise services. Though I never sacrificed enough sleep to make it to those services, we had ample opportunity to join the rest of the nations in a slew of other events designed to celebrate our unity. We stood together as soldiers from the first morning service at the grotto (with the English-speaking military crowd) to multiple military processions during the day and at night to the International Military Mass on Sunday, where literally thousands filled an underground chapel that could easily fit more than one football field in it. It was incredible to watch each color guard march by, proudly representing their own country but lining up side by side with other nations, exuding a tangible sense of dignity and respect for those around them. During the services we had the pleasure of listening to prayers and readings offered in multiple languages, and translated on the mega-screens in still more languages. When ‘off duty,’ we traded patches and coins with other soldiers, and one night the Spaniards crashed our dinner, invading our dining room and taking the liberty of streaking the colors of the Spanish flag on everyone’s faces. They taught us traditional Spanish dance and cheer (ole!), followed by a rowdy dance party in the courtyard, of course. And yes, even the nuns joined in! We also got to know the crazy Irish (who could be heard celebrating, regardless of the hour, on the floor above us) and the slightly more reserved Brits, and many spent a few evenings on the town together building rapport as only soldiers can.

And oh, to go out on the town! During the first brief interval with nothing on the schedule, I was able to escape for a quick visit to some souvenir shops with my roommates, complete with a detour to the patisserie for a croissant au chocolat (okay two). The second trip to town involved a local café that looked over the river, where I was able to watch the lazy water gliding by and the people scurrying about, and listen to the music from the bandstand below while savoring my lunch of salad with hollandaise dressing and a croquei-monsieur with tomato. There I met two French chaplains who jovially called out “mon Fis!” (my son!) to the French soldiers wandering in and out of the café, and the soldiers would respond good-naturedly with “mon Pere!” (my father!) and chat happily in return. During the next venture I encountered a local family sitting on a bench near the river with their Great Pyrenees, the same beautiful dog breed that we fell in love with when we discovered our own Great Pyr, Samson. I had been hoping to at least see one from a distance since the breed is native to the area (being at the foot of the Pyrenees mountains and all), but couldn’t believe my luck when there was another gentle giant, as they’re called, sitting right in front of me. So as any dog lover would, I stopped and chatted them up about their Pyr, and told them about ours, and had a lovely conversation—all in French—about how much we adored our pets. I followed my discovery with a celebratory crepe au nutella and a stop at a bistro, where any number of soldiers (from any number of countries) sang and danced the night away with a few guitars.

And if treating my taste buds weren’t enough, all week long I feasted my eyes on the indescribable sights surrounding me. In the lower chapel of the Lourdes sanctuary grounds, meticulously placed tiles told the stories of Christ’s life in some of the most beautiful mosaics I have ever encountered.
In the crypt and upper chapel, I saw stunning chandeliers that at one time held real candles, and must have been incredible to behold when lit. And when leaving the chapels, I was met with that view that continued to take my breath away—the graceful arches below me with flags from each nation represented, soldiers of every nationality, creed and color along the banks of the gentle river, the skyline of the town and castle (belonging to King Henry the IV) and mountains above me, and above those, blue sky that seemed to stretch forever toward the heavens.

And in the midst of it all, it didn’t matter that my feet ached at the end of the day, my body yelled at me to sleep more, that my stomach gnawed at me for more baguette. Because at the end of each day, I could say with certainty that it was worth it, and the rest of my senses agreed. For the most part. I did sleep through the group picture (but the baby needed it!) and—woe is me—missed out on my quest for French wine on the last day because the Italian food I’d eaten the night before decided to attack me. (Lesson learned: never trust ‘real’ Italian food in France). But bed-ridden moments aside, the physical renewal of the trip was exactly what I needed…and all that beauty and goodness I was able to experience through my senses unlocked a hidden door to my soul, paving the way for a spiritual renewal like no other!

Stay tuned for Part II—The Spiritual!

On a Wing and a Prayer

Next week I have the privilege of jet setting off to France for a week, and you don’t have to know me too well to know that I’d easily spend a year holed up in a little chateau eating brie and drinking chardonnay if I could!

But this trip has more purpose than a simple vacation. I’ll be travelling with a group of ill and injured Soldiers to Lourdes, France, for an event called the International Military Pilgrimage. Translation: thousands of military members from armies around the world will come together for a week to stand alongside one another and pray for peace in our broken world.

The concept began over 50 years ago during World War II, when French, Russian, British and American soldiers would meet at Lourdes to pray together for peace. A few years later a German chaplain who had been a Prisoner of War for years was discreetly invited to attend, and the tradition was born from there as more countries joined the gathering each year.

So while I’m definitely excited to be reacquainted with real baguette, authentic croque-monsieurs, and crème brûlée, (and to bring back a bottle of Pinot Noir to celebrate with about 5 months from now), I’m even more honored to be able to spend time with a group of people who—regardless of rank, nationality, or creed—want to build unity and attain peace. Talk about powerful!

I also see this as a unique opportunity for me to spend a week free from the distractions of my normal daily life, getting to focus on prayer in a way I normally wouldn’t. And since there are so many of us out there in the same boat, overwhelmed by needs, situations, uncertainty—I’d like to bring your prayer requests with me!

So let me know how I can pray for you—or anyone else you know in need of prayer—and I’ll write it down in my little notebook of intentions! Send a message, email, whatever. And no matter how many pages I fill, I’ll be spending a good chunk of uninterrupted time daily for at least 7 days straight praying for each and every prayer request. Promise.

And I only ask for one thing in return: prayers that I stop procrastinating already and get through a review book or two so I can restore a bit of my deteriorating French (and not fail my group as resident translator)! S’il vous plaît?

The lovely town of Lourdes

"The Notebook" - Filling pages with prayer requests as we speak!

On Motherhood

The cartoon on my day calendar a few years ago summed it up pretty well. A new mother stood in front of the CEO's desk at “Motherhood, Inc.” listening to her job description. The employer stated, “You will work a 24-hour shift daily, to include weekends. No breaks allowed. You get one vacation day a year…it’s called Mother’s Day, but you still have to work.”

There’s nothing like the honest truth to give you a good laugh. I’ve learned a lot about motherhood in the past 3+ years (exponentially more than I had in the 20+ years prior!), and while I'm no expert, I know there's still a lot more to it than is contained in that simple cartoon. I’ve learned that you are a mother long before you hold your child in your arms. From the moment you see that plus sign (or the actual word ‘pregnant’ if you don’t believe that the plus sign is dark enough and you make your husband go get the expensive kind), you’re a mom. From the first few exhausting moments of denial or excitement, or sometimes both combined, you have left the calm shore of so-called freedom and entered the scary and tumultuous and amazingly wonderful sea of motherhood. You’re a mom when the nausea and smell aversions hit you, when they turn into cravings for a dill pickle (or two!) a day despite your reluctance to perpetuate the old wives’ tale. You’re a mother when you wake up to an empty and retching stomach at 2 am and unenthusiastically reach for the strawberry granola bar that you were supposed to eat at 6am. And then lie awake for two more hours. You’re a mom as you schedule that first doctor’s appointment with quiet anticipation, then count the seconds until the next one. You’re a mom whether you get to hear that blessed heart beating in the first weeks of new life, or whether you stand helplessly by as the precious life within you slips away, and you will it to be a mistake, plead with God to somehow undo it, would trade yourself, your life, to have your baby’s life back. You’re a mom when you witness the first amazing movements in black and white on the screen, when you feel the first flutters of your child moving within the safety of your womb. You’re a mother when you embarrass your husband by walking up to perfect strangers in the mall without pause and asking how they like that brand of stroller that you’ve been researching like a madwoman. You’re a mom as you pour over reviews of the best safety gear, the protective mama bear in you having been unleashed with a fury that won’t cease for the next 18…20..30 years. You’re a mom when the worst pain of your life becomes the best ordeal you’ve ever been through once you glimpse that beautiful, precious, perfect face for the first time, the one that has been miraculously created and contains half of you. You’re a mom when you realize that no all-nighter you’ve ever pulled at school could ever compare to the utter exhaustion you feel now, but no all-nighter has ever been worth what you have now. You’re a mother when you know you need a nap but can’t help staring at your new baby instead, when you swear on your life that your baby is by far the cutest child who has ever graced the face of the earth (even though looking back at pictures you were maybe just biased, because your child is obviously way cuter now). You’re a mother when you wipe away spit-up, poop, drool, and boogers without a thought, when you drag yourself out of bed for a fifth time in the middle of the night to change sheets and give baths because the evil stomach bug has descended upon your house. You’re a mom when your hugs and kisses magically make boo-boos disappear, and when your heart breaks as you watch them wave goodbye to you through the window, wishing more than anything that you could stay with them instead of going to the job you don’t want. You’re a mom when you hear yourself asking like a broken record where the time has gone, when did they get so big?! You’re a mom when you know how far from perfect you are, when you wish that you yelled less and hugged more, and pray that your kids turn out okay despite it all. You’re a mother when you seek out the experienced moms who surely know the magic secrets to establishing sleep schedules and mastering potty training because their kids are little angels while yours are throwing tantrums. You’re a mom when you figure out how you can save up for that Disneyworld vacation one day instead of that cruise to the Greek isles (but maybe we could do both?!). And you are truly a mother when you at long, long last FINALLY realize how much you owe your own mother.

I clearly owe my mother my life. We all do. She selflessly chose me over the nausea and crowded intestines and sleepless nights. But I am beyond fortunate that what I owe my mother does not stop there. I owe my mother the love, nurturing, and unwavering support that has completely saved me from crashing and burning in life. I owe her the long drives to the gym on weekdays and weekends alike, the hours spent waiting for the gymnastics meets to end. I owe her the unconditional love of those treacherous tween years when I told her through signs to stay out of my room and avoided her existence…but deep down needed her more than ever. I owe her the patience of endless trips as my personal shopper, my chauffer to sleepovers and dates, my stylist for homecoming and prom. I owe her for the care packages and heartfelt notes that sustained me as I set off on my own into the great unknown, and the title of Wedding Planner as she stayed up all night getting carpal tunnel from tying hundreds of wee little party favor ribbons. I owe her for the quiet example of how to be the wife my loving husband deserves, for unlimited access to Mom-star when I’m driving, Dial-a-recipe when I’m cooking, therapist when I need to vent, and birth coach when it’s time to give her a grandbaby. I owe her for my love of writing, faith, and Italian food.  I owe her for being there in person to give the love that only a mother can give as I grieved our lost child, and for the phone calls from the ER at 3am that sustained me as she prayed me through another loss. I owe her for the example I continue to learn from as she loses days of sleep on end to help a friend in need, or, these days, shuttle back and forth to visit and care for her own ailing mother. In fact, the life lessons that I owe my mother are so numerous that I can never begin to repay what I owe. I can only hope an inadequate “I love you” somehow expresses my gratitude. And, of course, my plea for continued guidance in the years to come!

It’s true, the gift of motherhood is never-ending work. But it’s also a never-ending reward. So, this year on Mother’s day, I thank God for allowing me to be the mother of the children in our care and in His care, for the gift of my own mother, and for all the mothers who have forever touched my life!

My motherhood role models! 

My big gifts!

My little gift at 15 weeks!