As a Catholic, Eves are a big deal. Some feast days command so much importance they consume part of the previous day. As a kid, eves mean anticipation. It’s almost Christmas! It’s time to hold candles at the Easter Vigil! As myself, eves are the point at which everything that is about to happen starts to wash over me. I’m last-minute like that.
On Christmas Eve 2008, my grandfather, affectionately called “Papa” (that’s him above), passed away after a brief battle with cancer. Christmas Day, I made a very important decision regarding my vocation and the bigger picture of my life. I am convinced that Papa had something to do with it…he gained graces through his suffering, or he had a word with God on heaven’s doorstep, I don’t know.
Fast-forward to Rome Eve 2013, my great aunt passed away. Great aunt Kate, if you’re reading this, please have a word with God. I’m not making any huge decisions tomorrow, but I am embarking upon something I know must be desperately important, and I don’t want to miss anything. I want all these events, people, places, adventures, & misadventures about to take place to take a hold of me and possess me with all their truths.
I recently finished reading John Green’s Paper Towns, and I still haven’t had time to process it, but what kept ringing through my head was this thought: Please don’t let this not change me. This is too important a thing to just be consumed; it demands that I grapple with it. So it goes with Rome. Now I have this image of myself in a boxing ring, under the spotlight, circling the center, eyes locked with a three dimensional Italy.
Please keep my Great Aunt Kate & my family in your prayers. Me too, seeing as I’ll be spending some time flying over a rather vast body of water.
Edit: I say tomorrow, but I am writing this so late that it’s already The Big Day.