I spent my spring break in a needle park this year. And when school started up again, it felt like I had jumped from one world into another too quickly. What I saw in Philly stayed in Philly—until Stations of the Cross today, when the faces returned, and I realized I couldn’t unsee the living face of the suffering Christ.
I had no idea what I signed up for with Mission Exchange. My motives for going were far from the core of the mission. But somewhere along the way, I began to see how God weaves our personal desires with His greater purpose.
"Kensington" -- They told us about the place the night before we started mission. I grappled with fear that night. Fear had always been a personal issue of mine; one that had been blaring more vigorously in the past couple months. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being a failure. Fear of not succeeding. Fear of not living up to expectations. Fear of losing. But—the fear I experienced that night was a different kind of fear. It was a fear of people and of place. I’ve never experienced that type of fear before. I grew up in a bubble. Literally. And that night, one thing I knew for sure was that tomorrow I would witness a world outside of that bubble. And face a fear of mine, literally.
We were on the streets, all in gray shirts, carrying bags—PB&J sandwiches, clothing, prayer cards. One bag held a hammer, nails, and a massive wooden cross.
For three days we walked down Kensington Avenue, praying with people, writing intentions on sticky notes, and nailing them to that cross.
Just towards the very top of that heavy crossed, I nailed my own intention. When you think about everything else that was on there, you would laugh at mine; maybe even blush a bit.. but then you realize, that’s the beauty of it. The cross was meant to take on everything. Not just the things we cry about. But also the things we laugh and smile and even maybe blush a little about.
There was a lady I made eye contact with from the other side of the street. I waved at her. And she crossed the road to get to us. Surprised she even crossed the road to get to me, I started talking to her. But I soon realized there was something about her that was not grounded. She kept dipping her head. Very unstable. And then I asked her if I could pray for her. She allowed me to put her hand on her shoulder. And as I prayed for her, I was closing my eyes, but I started feeling her weight get heavier and heavier on my hand. At a certain point, it got too heavy for me. I opened my eyes. She was high on drugs. She was literally falling in a way her head was bent so low, it was going to hit the ground if I didn’t support her other shoulder with my other hand. So here I am praying for her and holding her shoulders up with both my hands. Taking in all her weight. And then I patted her on her shoulders, repositioned her body, and waited for her to gain some consciousness. She walked off, just like that. I could see her barely grounding each step as she walked. What if she just collapsed somewhere? There was absolutely nothing I could do about it. The weight of that thought remained heavy on me.
We stayed with a sweet chechi and her three adorable little kids. Every night felt like returning from the trenches to a cradle. What a gift to have a home to come back to. What a gift it is to be wrapped in a warmth like that.
We were at the Sarnelli House on Wednesday, serving food. Being able to be the the one to scoop out a full portion of potatoes onto the plates of my brothers and sisters in line who looked tired, hungover, and empty—was one of the most heartwarming experiences of this whole mission. The Sarnelli house smelled like home. The heat of the running ovens were comforting. Something about being there just made me happy. The food looked good, there was music playing, smiles of gratitude, laugh-out-loud type conversations, and a whole lotta hungry mouths fed.
There was a man in the food line carrying many bags. I saw him struggling to balance a full plate of food on top of his load and couldn’t help but take his bags and carry them. Part of me didn’t want to bother. “Don’t touch his stuff. You don’t know where that’s been”. But at the same time, I couldn’t bring myself to just stand there and watch. So I didn’t. “Sir, can I help you with the bags?” It was an immediate “Yes please.” So picked up his bags, and walked him to a seat. “Can I get you something to drink?” He said yes. So I did. That was my Simon moment, and it felt good.
We passed a man with blood around his eye. He seemed to be in a hurry, and I instinctively looked away at the sight. But not Ann. She stopped him.
"Sir, can I get you some gauze?" she asked.
In my mind I was thinking, Why is she even talking to him? Just the sight of his bruised face made me want to walk away faster.
He said no at first.
Okay, let's just move on now, I thought. But no.
Ann paused. Stood right there. And asked, “Can I help you clean it?”
Now that made me skip a breath.
In appreciation, he said thank you, but continued forward in haste.
In my immaturity I was relieved, but also just stunned and inspired by Ann's courage.
Our car rides from place to place were joyful. Nimmy Chechi sang in Spanish, Angel played Portuguese songs, and Rosa Chechi tried to teach Abbey and me Hindi. If we weren’t knocked out, we were laughing.
I witnessed a lot in the five days I was in Philly, but there was one thing that really tore me apart. I felt a tear slip down my cheek as I knelt in front of the abortion clinic in downtown Philly. Rosary clenched tight. Absolutely helpless as I saw women walk in.
Hail Mary full of grace the LORD is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women. And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary mother of God, pray for us siners, now and...
Now and at the hour of our death, Amen.
Joseph looked at my love and said he had a thing for this.
Joseph looked at me and said I had a thing for this.
Joseph looked at us and said we had a thing for this.
I was following Rebecca Chechi around on one of the days. She started talking to a man that was passing us on the street. He was witty in the way he talked to us, like he was brashly trying to make himself seem untouchable. I watched as Rebecca asked if she could pray for him. He was like “Oh yeah sure”, a give-or-take type yes. And when she asked if she could place her hands on his shoulder, he took a step back and laughed, “Oh nah, I don’t think you wanna touch me. I ain’t been in the nicest places.”
That's right, my childish self thought.
She smiled. Looked him in the eyes, and said, “Then I’ll hold your hand.”
My eyes widened, and so did his. In that moment I witnessed his witty, proud personality, soften just a bit. His eyelids became rested and his voice slowed down. He let his shoulders bend a bit as he stretched out his hand to her. He saw me standing there and stretched out his other hand to me. I was scared. But I took it. And that quiet touch was all it took to shatter a long-grown chain of fear.
Kay said no to veggies.
I said, “Eat yo veggies, Kay.”
We both laughed out loud.
Amidst the heartache that filled Kensington Avenue, I was experiencing the butterflies of a budding romance. Our moments together were making me fall more in love. It was beautiful. Sometimes you have to experience the way your heart beats when in love to understand a glimpse of what even His heart was going through on that cross.
We walked into the Sister of Life convent in Downtown Philly. As soon as I saw her, my eyes glittered. Her’s too. She recognized me! It was Sister Mary Grace from SEEK. I remember how I kept going up to her and Sister Zion at the conference. It was obnoxious the amount of times I ran into and spoke to them there. I think that’s why my face stuck with her. Who would’ve thought I would run into her again as the doors opened!
The convent was beautiful. There was a serene peace about the place. Everything was tidy, neat, and put together. I was assigned to help sort and organize donations. It was a huge room that looked kind of like a Salvation Army store room, lined from one end to the other with baby clothes. The room felt like fresh life.
The building we were in was built before elevators. Carrying some play pins up four flights of the widest wooden stairs humbled me. But the view from the fourth floor made me forget the ache in my legs: a quiet sweep of downtown Philly, framed by the wide, un-renovated windows of a forgotten classroom. I imagined teaching from here, and the room seemed to breathe goosebumps into my skin.
The streets of Kensington taught me a lot about being unafraid. Coming back into the streets of my own life, I felt
Unafraid to take people’s hands.
Unafraid to give hugs.
Unafraid to stretch out my hands.
Unafraid to carry my cross.
We ended that week in adoration. Just as the last verse of “Build My Life” rolled around, I’m kneeling right in front of Jesus. The music is loud enough for me to speak out loud into the monstrance: “I’m all yours. You can do with me whatever you want.”
And as I bent low and kissed the ground of the altar, I felt like a princess. Before the monstrance, I felt beautiful. Before His glorious presence, I felt crowned. Before His majesty, I felt like His prized possession. Before His throne, I felt claimed.
Why then, oh daughter, should you fear?
“And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.” — Matthew 28:20