“The valiant one whose steps are guided by the Lord, who will delight in his way, may stumble, but he will never fall, for the Lord holds his hand.”
— Psalms 37:23-24
In a few short days, I will be setting off for Ireland, my new home for a full semester. Talk about entering the new decade with a bang!
I have all of my normal-Emily-anxieties. I like to know exactly how everything will be, what I’ll need to do, what to prepare and what to know. I have fears both rational – like, for example, arriving in Galway and realizing I’ve forgotten something very important – and irrational – like, for example, arriving in a new country only to discover that every single resident of Ireland won’t like me.
The words come to mind, “Be not afraid.” I’m going to be very real on this blog, because I am not viewing this study abroad experience like most. Sure, it’s going to be a blast. I’m going to make friends and explore and have fun times. More than that, though, this is a much needed spiritual retreat. 4 1/2 months of me and Jesus time. Time to focus on spiritual growth, to prune away the parts of me that keep me from virtue and peace, to chase Sainthood with abandon. To be purified and to heal.
I am excited to use this blog as a source for jotting down memories and uploading pictures of the best things I see. But I will also be sharing my journey as a young, Catholic woman who desires nothing more than holiness and the pursuit of Love (that’s capital L).
I’m scared, guys. But I am filled with joy. God is going to do great things in me, and I am ready to come back refined.
As many of you already know, I am being sent home early from Ireland due to the corona virus and all of its various effects. However, before I start the sob story, let’s recap my final, fun week.
Fun stuff.
Last Friday, Avery and I went to Salthill to explore. It was beautiful as promised, and the ocean reminded me of home. We popped into a couple thrift stores, had our usual lunch/Bible study date at An Tobar Nua, ate dinner at Papa Rich, and then went to the movie theater to see Pixar’s new movie, Onward. It was a swell day. (Except for the fact that Ireland doesn’t butter their popcorn).
The next night, we had one of our classic movie nights in with our own BUTTERED popcorn, wine, and “Love, Rosie.”
Sunday, Elena, Curtis, and Chris arrived! We went to The King’s Head for lunch and walked around. I cooked dinner for everyone at the boys’ Air BnB while Elena prepared sangria. We played oldies, we danced, we laughed. It was a great reunion.
Chris didn’t like the sangria, hence his darker cup of Guinness
Monday night, two worlds collided as my home friends met my best friend here, Avery. We went to dinner at Finnigan’s and drank a Guinness, then went out to Tig Coili for a shot of Jameson. We did some Bachata dancing when we got back, laughed some more, and the girls and I sang some early 2000’s worship music on our way back. All the ingredients for a good night, am I right?
Our next big adventure together was Tuesday. We took a (very violently rocking) ferry to Inis Oirr, the smallest Aran Island. There, we saw lots and lots of stone walls, cows, a shipwreck, a few castle-like ruins, and admittedly, residual sea-sickness.
Wednesday morning, Elena and I went to the Cupan Tae to enjoy some “tea for two.” She got the blue petal earl grey and I got what’s festively named “Truffle Kerfuffel.” After that, I showed them around Galway and the Claddagh where we got to take a very picturesque group photo. At 4pm, we went to the Micil Distillery to try some home-brewed Poitin. It was all very adult, listening to the history and sipping on a strong drink.
That night, we cooked in again (courtesy of Elena). We had this idea, which seemed brilliant at the time, to go get shamrock shakes from McDonald’s and spike them for after dinner. Festive, right? If only the shamrock shakes themselves weren’t absolutely disgusting. We discovered this after we poured in the Jameson. Ah, well. We still had some wine that we paired with cheese and bread and we watched a Chris Sanchez favorite, “Hitch.”
After saying goodbye to my visiting friends (the “first goodbye,” if you will), the travel ban was issued and an email was sent. Everyone is being sent home. Therefore, we transition to…
Deep Stuff.
Guys, I’m not going to lie. I’m real sad. For those that know me fairly well, you know that I am a very inside-my-comfort-zone type of gal. Coming to Ireland was huge for me, and given various life events, seemed like Divine Providence. I was so set on “yes, I must be in Ireland for four months,” that when the order to go home was sent, not only was I disappointed, but also guilty. Like, maybe, I messed up God’s will? I was feeling (and still am, but fighting it) like everything is all wrong, it’s all going off course, I’m about to disrupt all the good things going on. And you know what else, besides all that? I have been loving it here. And I wanted to stay.
Everything is so uncertain right now and the state of things, study abroad and otherwise, are all so out of my control. But here’s the thing. This Lent, I told God that He could send me any suffering that He wants to (yeah, I know, smart right? lol). I’ve been reading St. Faustina’s diary, and remembering her words, am comforted. Yeah, kind of seems like it’s all hitting the fan right about now. But God knew I was going to be sent home when He commissioned me to Ireland. He knew the corona virus would outbreak, He knew it would hit just as I became totally comfortable in Galway, and He knew every single thing that would weigh on my heart. He knew and He is with me every step of the way. It’s going to be hard, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be bad. On the contrary, it’s going to be really, really great. Maybe not the two week self-quarantine, but, you know. C’est la vie.
Yes, believe it or not, there are cons to traveling. At least, there are to me. But don’t worry, it’s only in Deep Stuff. Don’t read that part if you don’t want.
Fun Stuff.
February 21st, a friend and I zipped over to the Galway Coach Station after our 1pm class. Because Belfast is in Northern Ireland, we needed to catch a bus to Dublin and then connect to another bus from there. When we arrived in Dublin, we realized we were waiting at the wrong stop for the Belfast bus, and with only ten minutes to departure time, ran for it to where we thought must-hopefully-maybe-right? be the correct spot. Luckily, it was, and the bus was still there. When we arrived in Belfast, since we were in the UK, our phones weren’t working yet. We got a little lost on the way to the Hostel without a GPS in parts of the city we weren’t sure were good or bad. It was… let’s say, thrilling. Very Hollywood-esque, our two snafus of running to a bus that would soon be leaving and speed walking through an unfamiliar place with luggage, lost and very jumpy. Eventually, we found Botanical Backpackers and settled into the cutest hostel with the coziest vibes. Being the economical college students we are, we brought along some spaghetti to make for dinner instead of eating out.
Our first Hostel experience!
Gourmet, right?
The next day, we booked a bus tour to see the Giant’s Causeway. We got to stop in the town of Carnlough, see a Game of Thrones site (which, admittedly, meant nothing to me as a non-viewer), ride along the Antrim Coast, and explore Ballycastle’s beautiful views. Sadly, it was far too windy to cross the rope bridge and it was closed.
Don’t mind my squinting eyes. It was windy and they were watering.
When we got to the Giant’s Causeway, the intense winds only increased. I’m not going to lie: it was strong enough to pick me up off my feet more than once. They had to guard off certain portions of the Causeway because of this; either way, though, it was a great sight. The visitor’s center provided fun animations of the myth behind the Causeway. If you’re not familiar with the tale of the Irish and Scottish giants, I would look it up. It’s good fun (If you don’t know, I’m being sneakily Irish with this phrase. My flatmate Ruairi says it a lot, and it’s osmosis-ing into my vernacular).
I seriously cannot stress this enough: it was windy.
The next week, we set off at 1:30am on a Thursday morning to travel to Edinburgh. It was a long day considering our wake up time to get to the Dublin airport, but me-oh-my was it worth it! The city itself is absolutely gorgeous, and the feeling of being there is truly indescribable. My friend and I kept turning to each other and saying, “Am I really here? Is this not a movie that I’m watching?” As someone who has traveled mainly within the United States, it is something of an out of body experience when you see places you’ve only experienced from the other side of a screen.
We started the morning with a trip to the Elephant House, AKA a local spot where JK Rowling did a good bit of Harry Potter writing in her undiscovered days. The bathrooms were filled with graffiti of HP quotes, my favorite being “This way to the ministry” just above the toilet, if you can spot it.
After that, we did an underground vaults tour and listened to all the haunting tales of those lost to its secrets. Good thing it was a 1pm tour, otherwise I may have gotten spooked. We had dinner at Mamma’s Comfort Foods where I enjoyed some very good mac ‘n’ cheese. It was, as advertised, comforting.
The following day we traveled through the Scottish Highlands to the infamous Loch Ness. There, we did an hour long boat tour through the peaty waters. Sadly, we didn’t see Nessie. Happily, we had fun trying to lure her to the surface with our expert wilderness animal calls.
Our last full day consisted of a two hour exploration of Edinburgh Castle, where we got to see the actual Scottish crown and jewels! Unfortunately, no photographs permitted. But I have to say, if you ever get the chance to go, it was one of the biggest history-coming-to-life moments of my life. The castle itself was huge and beautiful and full of things to look at, including a dog cemetery from the 1800’s for the fallen pets of Scottish regiment. We also popped into the Camera Obscura Illusion museum, which was – as the kids say – trippy.
Deep Stuff.
The Galway Cathedral did their annual Solemn Novena leading up to Lent. I was only able to attend a couple of the masses, but it was wonderful. Ash Wednesday was so incredibly blessed and though I have an intense 40 days upon me, I know it’ll be made of great growth and surrender.
During my time abroad, I’ve been working on (with the grace of God) my prayer life. One way I have been trying to make it more consistent and authentic is by 1). having a certain amount of prayers I do everyday and 2). retraining my thoughts to be prayers (e.g. instead of thinking “this is really hard,” praying “God, I’m having a really hard time”). It’s a process with lots of failure, but the aim is to always revert to prayer and speak with God throughout the day – to have a little cell in my heart where Jesus and I are always in communication, as St. Faustina would say.
After a couple days there were tons more bouquets honoring the Blessed Mother!
Here’s the challenge. Being abroad means traveling. Traveling means busy days from start to finish and never being alone. I’m used to a routine of prayer in the morning, midday, and at night – especially since some of the prayers are meant to be said out loud. Being in another place with another person and exploring this and that make it very difficult to uphold that commitment. During my trips, I mostly had to go through everything just before bed – which I don’t like, because I want to be praying throughout my whole day.
Though I had so much fun, in a much deeper part of my soul, I felt vacant. Nothing in my quantity of prayer life was different; I was still reciting all the same prayers and doing the readings. This was the difference: planning my day around my prayer vs. planning my prayer around my day. When I fall into the latter, something in me feels off, dull, empty.
This is a realization of great joy. This means that in my spiritual journey, prayer has become so intimately part of me that my soul aches for it when it is gone, even if only for part of the day. I share this not to boast, but to rejoice! I can see now exactly what the challenge is like, traveling and praying. Now I know what to expect and how the enemy will try and pry apart my peace. Spoiler alert: not going to happen. Though I will certainly fall short again, (in all things for the rest of my life because I am human and a sinner) I know that I’ve got a Heavenly Father and Mother taking every single step before I do. And Faustina too: my Lenten buddy.
I think I might be updating the blog a little more frequently than my anticipated once every two weeks. There’s just so much to capture and share here in my little trove of digital memories!
Fun Stuff.
To start, I made a purchase two weeks ago that has revolutionized my life here. Two words: water color. There’s a great little store nearby called The Flying Tiger that sells booklets and paint sets and I finally caved. It brings so much joy to the everyday ebb and flow. Did I mention they make great wall decorations?
This Friday, to celebrate the feast of St. Valentine, I started the morning with mass. Afterwards, I took an hour or so to pray and reflect in the adoration chapel and some other meditation spots in the Cathedral. I refreshed myself on the story of St. Valentine. Side note: he was pretty boss.
After that, Avery and I had our ritual Friday visit to An Tobar Nua and finished the study of Ruth for this week. We took the scenic route home by the canal and finally visited NUI’s main building, AKA the only one you’ll be able to find on Google if you look up the school. I can see why.
That night, we had a Galentine’s celebration with dinner and a play. The Pasta Factory did not disappoint: it was tiny and charming and delicious. The play, as it turned out, was a one woman show and a commentary on the nature of death and existentialism. Good thing it was only 8 euro.
On Saturday, Avery and I set out for a day trip to Limerick. We started out at the Milk Market. Just before entering the big white tent, we came across a book sale table and found some old European copies of the Harry Potter books. I geeked out a little. I refrained from buying them because I have already bought (and brought) so many books, but needless to say, the temptation was high.
The Milk Market itself was a hoot. It was exactly what you would want from a weekend Farmer’s market, complete with freshly made goods, extravagant desserts, live music, cute trinkets, thrift clothing, records, and even homemade Irish wood carvings.
After the market, we toured King John’s Castle, which ended up taking around two hours. There was lots of interactive and engaging history within the indoor exhibit so that by the time you went outside to see and explore the castle itself, you had all the backstory you needed to bring it to life. Spoiler alert: Johnny was not so nice to the Irish (or Robin Hood).
a little chapel inside the castle
“how awkwardly can I position myself?”
Sunday morning, an Orange weather warning was issued, but I went outside anyway. The winds were brutal, but the sun was shining and the Earth was wet and refreshing. Sundays are usually pretty deserted here because people are either home or hungover, so my walk to mass was desolate and so peaceful. Mass was wonderful and the choir at St. Mary’s absolutely kills. Fun fact: the final song was You Raise Me Up (by Josh Groban), which was in their book of hymns. I got a kick out of that.
After mass, it was still pretty sunny, so I hung around the Claddagh for a bit on my own to read some Scripture and enjoy the view. I walked back into town, got a tea, perused a couple spots down Shop Street, popped into the Cathedral for some adoration, and then meandered back to my apartment. Guys, do you know what this means? I walked all around Galway on my own from memory. It’s almost like I live here or something.
Deep Stuff.
Someone once told me I’m a powerhouse. As I said in a previous post, I have three main goals for my spiritual growth while I’m abroad. Lately, I think I’ve been entering into the second – rediscovering and reclaiming the Holy Standards of Love. Specifically, loving myself. Eek, cheesy?
Let me break it down. Sunday morning, I mentioned the crazy weather and my walk to mass. I had my headphones in and pressed shuffle on my worship playlist. “Highlands” and “Behold” both came on first (Hillsong). With the cool winds tossing me around and the sun shining through the trees, the melodies and lyrics filled me up and reminded me of how much I love my God. I was absolutely overwhelmed with tenderness and joy and thankfulness.
As the morning progressed, I pondered: how did I get here, to love my Lord so much? It is so common in our Christian culture to idolize the “moment.” The moment where the lights are low, the music is loud, someone is speaking inspiring words into a microphone, your arms are out and Jesus enters your heart. And everyone’s got to have that “moment,” you know? That’s when you start loving God.
Here’s my counter theory. That “moment” (that only some people experience) isn’t love. It’s a great moment, but it’s one of attraction; the same way you might be overcome with feeling when you first meet someone you like, whether it’s platonic or romantic. You feel so much, and you think, what a cool person that I want to know more about! That’s a great thing to have, but it is just that: a moment. A beginning.
I’ve been fortunate to have moments like that, but it’s not where my Love has come from. I have grown into this Love for God by knowing more and more about Him. By studying Him, engaging with Him even when I didn’t want to, by putting myself in His presence whether or not I felt a thing. I love God because there are seasons I can’t be dragged away from the chapel and seasons it takes everything in me just to get to Sunday mass. No matter what, I choose God, because I have known Him. What I feel comes from what I know.
With all this pressure on having one “moment” you realize you love God and feel His love, you leave out the beauty of getting to know and getting to Love Him. Just like we do with the people we have in our lives here on Earth.
Okay, soap box. So how does it relate to *gag* learning to love myself? Here it is: to know is to love. Like with God, there isn’t going to be one life changing instance where my heart is cured and I finally love Emily. To know me is to love me. To learn about me and find those things to cherish and appreciate. In the context of self-love, this means engaging more and more with what I know about me: I am a daughter of Christ. That’s really all it’s going to take. It will be slow and there will be ups and downs, but this is what I have discovered. To begin loving yourself you must acknowledge (ahem, know) the only thing that makes you worth knowing: your identity in the God who Loves you. Embracing your inner powerhouse.
PS. There is so much more to tell about my spiritual journey here, way too much to include in the blog, but I cannot wait to dish when I get back. Also, a note of equal importance: I bought this sweater at a thrift store and I love it.
“When I say, ‘My foot is slipping,’ your mercy, Lord, holds me up. When cares increase within me, your comfort gives me joy.”
Psalms 94:18-19 (A lot of Psalms in this post)
This blog post will truly encapsulate my home page’s promise of “the good, the bad, and everything in between.” If you don’t want to hear about sad things, stop at the end of “fun stuff.” As always, I am honored that you’ve dropped in to have a look at what I’m up to.
Fun Stuff
To start, some friends and I began integrating family dinners into our weekly schedules. The first time, we made a sweet potato and lentil soup based on a recipe that Sophie had. The second time, I made honey mustard chicken, rice, and green beans for everyone. Guys, I’m being a real life adult here. Are you proud?
On a Thursday night, a friend and I tried out NUI’s “Christian Society.” You may be thinking: But Emily, last post, you said you went to the Catholic Society’s meeting and it was great. You are correct! CathSoc is on Wednesday nights and Dochas (Christian Society) is on Thursday nights. Guess which study-abroad-Jesus-lovin-gal is going to both?
After the Christian group, we went into town for a social night hosted by the Mountaineering Club. We popped into a pub called “Seven Bridgestreet” and were pleasantly greeted by a flood of friendly faces and live music. As the night went on and the chatting subsided, some girls and I hit the small dance floor. The band set lots of familiar songs to some traditional Irish tunes. They had a particularly upbeat rendition of Elton John’s “Rocketman” that turned into quite the banger. We literally danced the night away, and it was great craic (remember I taught you that word?).
That weekend we attended Arcadia’s mandatory Ealu (“escape”) weekend. We got to County Wicklow on Friday night just in time for dinner and some USA-Ireland-Movie/TV trivia hosted by the program directors. I hit my peak in the Movie/TV category. The next morning, we took the bus to Glendalough to learn some cooking from a famous Irish chef. We learned to make Irish soda bread, potato leek soup, and sweet scones.
Potato leek soup and Irish soda bread with a rhubarb and ginger jam. I definitely ate four pieces of this bread.
After lunch, we went to the Upper Lake in Glendalough and explored the remains of the monastery nearby. Besides the breathtaking views of the hills and lakes, the calm contemplation of the crumbling towers and graves, there were so many wide, open, grassy spaces. I am unashamed to admit that I, and some others, frolicked through the fields, prancing and spinning with our arms outstretched, singing Frozen II’s “Into the Unknown.” It was freeing and full of joy. Humble yourselves like little children, right?
On the walk back, we mused through the green forests that were just what fairy wonderlands must look like. That night, some Irish dancers came to the retreat center and taught us a thing or two. We were a mess trying to follow, but maybe not as big a mess as we could have been. Either way, it was fun and rich with Irish culture!
(This is where the frolicking happened)
I have to say, one of the best parts of the weekend was sharing a house with Avery, Sophie, Janey and Josh – some of the friends I’ve made who are also studying abroad and are great. Apart from being cool people in general, the final night, we gathered in the living room with some water color painting and Mamma Mia dance partying.
There were many bus rides throughout the weekend. From Galway to Dublin, from Dublin to Mayo, from our retreat center to the lakes, back to the retreat center, then to Dublin and then to Galway. Josh started a little game of who-can-catch-the-sleeper, documented below.
This weekend, we stuck around Galway. It’s been a bit weary and dreary – with big storms and not many places to go, Avery and I treated ourselves to a yummy dinner at Cooke’s Restaurant and the cheapest wine on the menu. Afterwards we popped over to Fine Wines and got a couple Desperados for a rom-com night.
“This wine tastes like what road work smells like”
P.S. To you, who chided me endlessly that zipping your coat does make a difference: it’s late, but the Irish winds have convinced me. I believe you now. Zipping does make it warmer.
Deep Stuff.
Avery!
As I mentioned, a friend and I are doing a Ruth Bible study together (separate from NUI’s Dochas). Something that’s been on my mind is this idea of the good and the better. You see it in their story. Orpah wept and wailed and pleaded to go with Naomi, who urged her to go on and take care of herself – and eventually, she did. Ruth stayed. Does this make Orpah a villain? She was a widowed young woman who still had potential and a future ahead of her. She wasn’t calloused or cruel. She did a good thing. Ruth offered her entire life – where she came from, who she was and what she believed, as well as any possibility of what she would become – to Naomi, out of love and selflessness. Ruth did the better thing.
Now, I had to go to the Garda station a little ways away from NUI campus to complete some immigration things. I began the morning by waking up from a sad dream. Besides the brief excitement of taking a bus for the first time by myself, everything was going wrong. My bank cancelled my card unexpectedly, leaving the 300 euro charge unpaid. Luckily, I phoned a friend and she said she could come and cover so that I could get it over with and Venmo her later.
While I was waiting, I decided to read the book assigned for Modern Irish Lit, Normal People by Sally Rooney. It hit my heart in all the wrong places. Before I knew it, the tears were streaming, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop them. Picture the scene: young, American girl, turning as far into the wall as she can on the wooden bench just outside the immigration office. I was there for an hour and a half before my friend was able to arrive. Cried the whole time, guys. And on the bus home. Then again in my apartment.
I wish I could say it was a singular event. There are lots of sad dreams and days when everything hurts a little more than usual. There are times I see something on Instagram that stings, or I look through old pictures and videos, and I have to force myself to remember that this whole terrible feeling is meant to produce something good, something bigger than just me.
But God provides. I had messaged that same friend I’m doing the Bible study with and mentioned that I was having an off day. When I showed up for the class we had together that night, she had gone all the way into town to get me a hot chocolate from our favorite spot, Butler’s. The following days, friends swooped in with rescue Facetimes at just the right moments. Shout out to Alex Garcia and Elena Robson, you lovely humans. Remember the good and the better? Shortly following the Garda debacle, I woke up one morning and felt unmotivated to go to daily mass. I go to daily mass and adoration almost every day; I knew that it wouldn’t have been bad for me to miss it this time. Heck, even going to daily mass once a week in addition to Sunday mass is good, never mind everyday. But I was convicted. I am usually eager to get up and haul my butt over to the Cathedral. Given the recent events, I realized: if I’m inordinately lazy for this particular mass, it probably means there’s something really good waiting for me and you-know-who is trying to interfere.
I chose the better. I went, and the Gospel reading was Mark 4:21-25. So, you might wonder, why is the title of this blog post Psalms 139? Because my God knows me. He sees me go to mass everyday, He’s there with me while I pray in the chapel and cry in police stations. He knows how to reach me and the ways I hear Him. And He knew that I needed Mark 4:21-25 to remember the better that I am trying to attain.
I pass this little patch everyday on my way to class. A short week ago, they were nothing but buds. I have learned over the past month, surrender means surrendering everything. That means the parts of my heart I want to control, the parts of my life I want to sway, the whispering feelings floating around my head all day that hurt a little, and sometimes a lot. It means putting myself in God’s hands, like Ruth. Being cradled like an infant and looking up at my Father and saying, Here I Am. And after I’ve done that, having the privilege of saying, “I am here, I am Yours. But there’s this thing that I really want.”
God tells us over and over and over: we are allowed to ask! “Ask and it will be given to you” (Matt 7:7). Mark 4:24-25 speaks to this, too. When we are generous with God, He is generous with us – especially when we intend to use what we want to honor and glorify Him.
The daffodils have bloomed now. I am reminded to be patient and wait, wait, wait. To pray and surrender and trust and ask. God is working with the buds, keeping in mind the flowers and fruits that we want to see. It is so worth it, because no matter what it’s going to look like, it’ll be better than anything we could have made ourselves.
Here’s a link to a video that helped me a lot in this call to “wait”:
Ok, guys. I’m going to start splitting these blog posts into two sections: fun stuff and deep stuff. For those of you who are solely interested in the former, I now relieve you from the burden of reading emotional chatter. Those of you who are interested in both… now it’s organized. My spiritual journey is an integral part of this experience to me, and in fact, the most important part of it. So, if that sounds attractive to you, read on (Bonus: I’m going to start including song recs here and there).
Fun Stuff.
Two friends – Sophie and Avery – and I travelled via Bus Éireann to County Clare on a Friday night. The bus ride was half the fun. Seeing the Irish countryside during sunset and getting out of the city was joyful. I saw a lot of cows and even a couple baby sheep; I got excited every time, without fail. Side note: are cows my favorite animal? A quirky thing about Ireland is that the roads are extremely narrow. There were many times during our bus trips there and back that another large vehicle would be approaching from the opposite direction and we would have to slowly shimmy our way around each other. It was simultaneously stressful and amusing.
What you can’t see in this photo: the mud that was absolutely annihilating my sneakers and the bottom of my jeans.
We had to walk from our hotel to the starting point of the cliffs in the absolute pitch dark on empty country roads, but it was so worth it when we emerged on Hag’s head and saw the Cliffs of Moher with the sun peeking around the corner, splashing color into the sky and reverence into my heart. The perk of starting where we did (instead of the visitor’s center) is that the path was totally desolate. We were able to have our own personal trek.
A few days later, I got to celebrate my 21st birthday with mass, adoration, and a night on the town with friends. We went to The King’s Head and The Front Door, two pubs with live music and my new favorite drink: Desperados.
What you can’t see in this photo: the 12 am McDonald’s pop in.
The following day, I went to my first worship night hosted by the Catholic Society. It was a breath of fresh air to be able to get down on my knees in a holy hour with music and sing up to God (the playlist included: Holy Spirit, There’s No Fear in Love, Lord I Need You, Reckless Love, and Good To Me). It was so nice to meet young people at NUI who are real deal Catholic, even though our numbers are small. There were also some visiting missionaries from Franciscan University of Steubenville whom I exchanged information with.
A friend and I also began a Ruth Bible study that I brought along with me. We started it over some tea at a local, Christian owned coffee shop called “An Tobar Nua.” She is Dutch Reformed and I’m Catholic, so it’s fun to have fellowship together in a shop which is also a Protestant/Catholic fusion.
What you can’t see in this photo: An Tobar Nua’s Christian bookshop attached to its coffee shop.
The next Saturday, Sophie, Avery and I booked a tour for only 30 euro that took us around an abandoned Franciscan Friary established in the 14th century, the town of Cong, stopped along several mountainous views for gazing, and ended at the Kylemore Abbey. It was a super packed day and full of so many amazing sights – the best of which were the hundreds upon hundreds of sheep that littered the vast grasslands and winding roads.
P.S. I heard this song in a pub and have been listening to it on repeat. Give it a listen: “Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye” by Leonard Cohen.
Deep Stuff.
Remember when I said I’m going to be real on this blog? Strap in, folks. We’re diving in. Don’t be fooled by Instagram stories and Facebook posts: going abroad doesn’t wash your heart clean from all the pain it carries. But it’s ok, because I knew this going in. There are still nights when I’m stuck in my room and my head – I listen to Coldplay and Paper Kites and meditate on all that I miss. I experience these amazing things – like the beautiful cliffs – but when I settle back in, I think about who I know would’ve loved the views, or the amazing bookstore I wish I could fit into a package and send back home to the people who would eat it up. What can I say? I’m a hardcore Rhode Islander and nothing can top it or the people I love who are there.
What you can’t see in this photo: the other three or four rooms full of books.
In addition to “the fun stuff” (which is fun and valuable), I know that my time abroad was a carefully timed spiritual “40 days in the desert,” given to me by God (though, it’s actually 131 days). This is a time to grow consistent and passionate in my daily prayer life, to discover and claim the standards of Love set forth by the Holy Father and Mother, and to learn what the true essence of spiritual detachment is. The good news is that God has been providing through many means of communication: mass readings, homilies, various spiritual books I am reading, reflections and meditations in adoration, prayers (especially in the rosary), etc.
This is all very big picture, and it may seem without context. Here are some specifics things I’ve learned:
1). One of my biggest vices is impatience (but we already knew that). In my daily rosary rotation, I keep coming back to the Joyful mystery of finding Jesus in the temple. How inspiring is Mary’s reaction! “And his mother kept all these things in her heart.” That’s the kind of humility I want to attain – to be able to humble myself before God and others even when I am feeling “great anxiety.” In terms of vocation, I also look to Mary and Joseph as examples in this story. They could have easily spun out on one another, blaming and yelling and getting angry. But they didn’t do that. They both “looked for Jesus with great anxiety.” They felt that fear, as all parents would, but they looked for him together. What an amazing, virtuous marital love. I want to train myself to have that kind of respect and patience when things go wrong.
2). Detachment is something we know we’re supposed to have, but we’re not always sure how to get it. It’s one of my missions during my time in the desert (so to speak). I’ve wrestled with it, sometimes so frustratingly that I feel like Jacob wrestling with God. It seems like an impossible task. Then, towards the tail end of a peace and prayer filled holy hour, it hit me: becoming detached isn’t about transforming your emotions – it’s not about your feelings at all. It’s about action and choices – it’s a state of heart. We’re not called to detachment in any specific areas more than others. We are called to detachment of all things, because the essence of detachment is the total and complete willingness to sacrifice anything which keeps us from God, and to pursue anything which draws us closer to God – i.e., anything that propels us further in Divine Love. Detachment is a continuous series of decisions, training oneself to always pick God above all else and meditating on the possibility of losing anything at all in your life for love of Him – and gaining peace through that.
I gaze upon the Immaculate Heart and am inspired by the seven piercing swords. Suffering and sorrow are fruits – they don’t feel good, but they are just as compelling and conducive to growth as peace and joy. The key is this: feel sorrow, but never despair. Suffer, but maintain hope. Feel the pang, the ache, the longing – then look up at the face of Jesus, his head lowered, as he meets your eyes from the cross. And feel joy. Because pain, sacrifice, and dying to yourself are what pull you towards greater Love – pull you like a magnet.
There’s more I want to tell you. But it can wait until I get back.
Alright, guys. I made it to Galway. There have been ups, and though Ireland is awesome and this experience is once in a life time and all that, there have been downs.
On my first night, some girls from my program and I hit Eyre Square and had dinner at McDonagh’s. The beautiful lights and cobblestone streets simply melt the stress away. Complicated and disorganized class registration? Cold rooms and crappy showers? Rain all the time? Carrying heavy groceries for a thirty minute walk in said rain twice a week? But look at those lights, guys.
Just kidding. All the stuff I listed is still pretty stressful and inconvenient, and it’s taking some getting used to. Happily, I’ve scoped the city for churches and chapels and that has grounded me. I’m going to keep an eye on the weather and make a pilgrimage to Knock (which is about an hour away) on a sunny day once I finish reading “33 Days to Morning Glory.”
St Mary’s, Claddagh. I think this is going to be my Sunday spot, though the Cathedral is closer and more convenient for daily mass and adoration.
It’s been interesting getting used to dorm life again. At first, the lengthy walks were starting to aggravate me and my feet. But as the days have gone on, and the weight of annoyance has worn me down, I resigned (or, rather, rose) to blessing: these long walks everyday are perfect to keep me accountable to the daily prayer routine I committed to before leaving! Today, for example, after having a much needed holy hour, I took advantage of my walk home in the rare Galway sunlight to sing praises in my heart with my headphones and Spotify worship playlist.
My room in the apartment!The apartment living room/kitchen. I share it with two people from my program, and two Irish students.
I started classes this week, as well. I’m taking five as of now, soon to be six once we find out which seminars we’re placed in. My “timetable” (as they call it here) is: Medieval Literature, Modern Irish Literature, Bioethics, Writing Ireland: The Migrant Writing Experience, and Imagining Modern Ireland. Although the big lecture hall style is different than what I experience at PC, so far, the classes have been interesting and promising.
During the in between, two friends and I discovered a pub called “Fibber Magee’s” where I drank a Guinness, danced to live traditional Irish music, and heard an old man’s life story. Then, walked back a half an hour in the pouring rain and raging winds. Worth it.
10 days in, and life is starting to settle here. No matter how much fun I have, little Rhody is always on my heart – and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I connect to home in my own ways. For example, tonight I popped my headphones in and had a solo (much needed) dance party, primarily to Jonas Brothers and Juan Luis Guerra. I am praying for all my people back home and am looking forward to our reunion.
My flight took off from Boston at 9:40pm. After a very uncomfortable six hour flight with little to no sleep and a five hour time jump, I arrived in Dublin airport and started orientation straight away. There were a couple snafus, like some unruly luggage and weather that leaves curly hair in a permanent state of frizz, but mostly it’s been exciting. The orientation group is happily smaller than I expected, and I connected with a couple friends immediately. The past two days have been a small amount of orientation logistics, but the majority of the time has been spent exploring the city. There are street performers at almost every turn, making strolls through the city feel quite cinematic at times. Once, as I was coming around a corner, I could hear the theme of Harry Potter being played on some Irish instrument I don’t know the name of, which made me very happy. A couple girls and I went out to a small pie shop on the first night and ate “Beef and Guinness” pies for dinner. Afterwards, we stumbled into a pub that had an improv-comedy show; I drank my first Irish Guinness!
It’s been fun to scratch the surface of Ireland’s unique identity. One very strange cultural difference that has been a whirlwind to get used to is the Irish use of the word “craic” (pronounced “crack”). Known to Americans by its classification of a deadly drug, in Ireland, “having a craic,” or “want to have some craic?” means something more like “having a good time.” If you ever travel to Ireland, and someone asks you for or offers you crack, don’t worry: they’re being nice. An extremely important part of the Irish identity is Gaelic sports, specifically hurling and Gaelic football. Today, as part of orientation, we traveled to a Gaelic sports center and learned both games. If it were videotaped, it could have easily become a viral Youtube video; we silly Americans just couldn’t wrap our heads around the rules of these intensive sports! It was very fun, being terrible and running around and learning about something so important to the people here.
As beautiful as Dublin is, I am eager to leave for Galway tomorrow. Living out of a suitcase and sleeping in a hotel has me feeling like I’m on a vacation; then, I am hit with the realization that I’m going to be here another four months. I am excited to settle into where home will be, to start classes and find a good parish and get into a rhythm. I’ve only seen a sliver of this island, and can already see the beauty I am in for and the explorations to come. However, I have to admit: I miss Little Rhody.
Galway Girl 