When the going gets tough, the tough retreat

And pray. And question. And beg God...

This past week was my first big trip with my work-parish youth group. This was the week I have been planning for since I first started my position. This was a finalization of months of planning. This was it.

Because of all of this planning for the youth that were attending, plus one other chaperone, I had not been particularly looking forward to this retreat for myself. This was a unique high school retreat. At Notre Dame Vision, the students are chaperoned entirely by the retreat staff, while the campus and youth ministers are also on a similar retreat experience. I hoped that the students would have a good time, but I was so wrapped up in the administrative details that I had no hope to gain anything for myself. This year's theme was mercy...

Lord, have mercy.

What I was not prepared for was having an entire week of prompts and opportunities to bring the mess of the past month, particularly the concerns of my family, health, and the particularly painful weekend events of Brian Bergkamp's disappearance, to God. While I would have much rather been home sulking and crying and being with my husband (who I did not get to see July 8-15), God pulled me off by myself to confront my fears, pride, and mourning.

Christ, have mercy.

I don't know if God ordained the timing of this trip in anticipation of the past month, but it happened the way it happened. I was able to pray for all of the people in my life multiple times at Notre Dame's grotto. (Yes, that includes you. And you. And you in the back. You were all in my prayers.) I was able to confess in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart after avoiding the sacrament for four months out of anger and spite. I was able to sit at St. Joseph's Lake and make peace with the water.

Lord, have mercy.

In one of the more compelling talks in our time there, we heard of the mercy of baptism. We are not just baptized once in our past, we are baptized right now, always. We are wrapped in mercy. Do we act like it? Do we know it? Do we allow ourselves to be mercied, and to be merciful? Brian did. He lived out his baptism fully and bravely. My uncle did, and passed on his faith to two beautiful daughters and some beautiful grandchildren. My father continues to and I'm so entirely grateful to continue to learn from his merciful example. I pray and beg God that I may pass that on as well.

Mercy disrupts. It is not comfortable. It has shattered my summer. After a very long month, God drew me in to show me His Hands and hold me in them. He holds you too.