On July 4th, I headed to my gate at DCA, headed to JFK. About an hour later I found out my flight was delayed because JFK didn't have a place for our plane to land; meaning I had five minutes to get to my connection to Dublin. What is an adventure without a little unexpected panic and worry? In the end, I ran when we landed in New York and I was able to barely catch my flight. A little angel was with me or something because the next flight out wouldn't have been until 16 hours later. During my flight to Dublin, I couldn't sleep and my stomach was doing summersaults. I was a nervous wreck.
Despite that, my Europe trip was incredible. It was awe-striking, a learning experience and better than I could've imagined. Ireland was relaxing. The people were incredibly kind and loving. I felt like I was with "my people" there...in some strange way. I could see why the Conways and O'Keefes were such giving people...thank you Ireland. It was beautiful; the landscape itself was unbelievable. I kept telling me companions: "a place like this really exists!" It was amazing. Northern Ireland was a highlight because of all the recent history and how segregated it still is. I felt so moved there; moved to believe that people can make a difference and can stand up and be heard.
I left Ireland with a heavy heart; I could've stayed, exploring forever; but it was time for Italy. And Italy didn't disappoint. It was equally as beautiful, but in a different way. The ruins and history there was incredible. There were many highlights in Italy: Capri, Verona, Venice but by far, my "ah-ha" moment came in the Vatican. We walked through the museums and saw the artifacts, and then we entered the Cysteine Chapel. The artwork on the ceiling by Michelangelo and the thought of what goes on in that room over took me. Everywhere you turned it was overwhelming beauty.
Then we headed to St. Peter's Basilica and as I walked in, my breath was stolen from me. I would've loved a picture of my face; because I'm sure my jaw was hanging open the entire time. When I entered, to my right was the Pieta by Michelangelo. I began to cry as I thought of my mother. Staring into the face of Mary, holding her dead son, I saw motherhood. I felt motherhood. She wept for her son, not for the Savior of Man or the Son of God; but her baby boy. I wished my mom was there with me in that moment.
As I continued to look around the Basilica, I was overcome with more emotions. Traditionally, in Catholic churches you see a ton of Mary and Jesus statues. In addition to whatever saint their church is dedicated. In St. Peter's Basilica, there were eight foot tall stone statues everywhere of all the saints. These regular people, who sinned and messed up but did kind and selfless acts were being uplifted in a church that represents the "home base" of my religion. It wasn't some unreachable person who did miracles or amazing acts; but normal men and women...like me. In my moments in the Vatican, I was able to feel accepted by a religion that doesn't always accept people and I felt like despite my sins and mess ups; I belonged there and God loved me, just like he loved the sinful and sometimes stumbling saints.
My trip was insightful into me. There were times I wished my mom, my roommate, my sister, my boyfriend, my brother, my dad, my priest friend from home, etc. were there. But in the end, I am very happy I did it by myself. I proved something to myself and feel so accomplished and independent. I got to see everything I wanted to see and then some and discovered how strong I am and how strong God's love is for me. Maybe some of the best adventures begin with doubt, but end with change and growth.
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