Dear Annie: Faith Found in France

I come to you today with the revival of the Dear Annie series. It is exactly three years since my first trip to Paris! My short time in France in March of 2018 was an amazing experience, and I dream of the day when I can return to the ease the Parisian life. This is an extremely special and personal Dear Annie segment. This is actually the first Dear Annie piece I wrote, but to be quite honest, I am so scared to share this one. I have been toggling the publish button for about five months now, but today is exactly three years since my first day in Paris which I describe in the following journal entry. It was today or never that I finally publish this post! I wrote the journal entry about six months after my trip to the City of Light. This one doesn’t need too long of an introduction, for I firmly believe my words will speak for themselves.

Fall of 2018. Washington, D.C. The Catholic University of America.

I never expected to be sitting in the middle of Washington, DC in the middle of the fall semester and find myself thinking back to my short time in Paris this past year. I guess the cool weather has brought with it some memories of scurrying through the streets of Paris – not understanding a word around me, but fully embracing the atmosphere, culture, and way of life there. I enjoyed being an explorer of a foreign city and learning things about the city that has some of the richest history. Relying on Theresa to get around due to my lack of French-speaking skills was very different for me, so the entirety of my time in Paris was spent with my jaw dropping lower every new street corner, every piece of street art, every new cafe.

The very first night I ever stepped foot in Paris, Theresa picked me up from the airport. It was late afternoon on a Sunday. We headed straight to Notre Dame Cathedral for Mass. It was during Lent. I was extremely jet lagged and very much in need of a nap. Nevertheless, I went. Notre Dame was so beautiful and so was the Mass. The bishop was the celebrant. The Mass was said entirely in French with the exception of the Gloria, Credo, and Ave Regina Caelorum. The Gospel that week was from John. It was the story in which Jesus tells that Jews that he will destroy the Temple and rebuild it in three days after having witnessed the buying and selling of goods there (as conveyed by Theresa who whispered/translated it to me during the reading of the Gospel). I have always found this Gospel remarkable because we get to see Jesus in a state of anger due to injustice – a glimpse of his humanity.

Allow to me digress and say that I am probably the worst at focusing during any homily. I could be sitting in the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in DC, St. Thomas the Apostle on Long Island, the Basilica of the National Shrine of Mary, Queen of the Universe in Orlando – all of which are in English, obviously. I’m just simply the WORST at fighting sleep during Mass – it is a constant losing battle.

Now picture me – scatterbrained, jetlagged, hungry little Annie – sitting in a wooden chair wrapped in my jacket in the dead center of Paris listening to a homily in French at 8pm in March with “God Help the Outcasts” stuck in my head (If you know, you know). There was just no hope for me. I was out like a light the entire homily. It was one of those naps that kind of take over you and you don’t remember when or how you fell asleep, you just suddenly wake up and it’s 20 minutes later. Yeah… I don’t remember much of the rest of Mass to be honest. 

At that moment I explained to Theresa what I saw and heard in my dream, I looked up and she had a stunned look on her face. Her wine glass stopped halfway up to her mouth. 

“What?”

“That’s what he was saying. That’s literally what he said in French.”

Theresa honestly cared more at the time about what had just happened to me. I sort of shrugged it off as not a big deal. I was more concerned with finishing my dinner, going to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle, possibly having a night cap, and GOING. TO. BED. 

All this time has passed since that first night in Paris, and I just remember so distinctly that feeling of fear that I had when I finally got to bed that night. The thoughts of fear went a little something like this: “Why little me, Lord? What are you trying to tell me? Why did you have to wait until I got a quarter of the way across the world to finally say something directly to me? I live a 47-second walk from the largest shrine to the Virgin Mary in the United States, and yet you wait until I fly 6 hours away from home at the most famous cathedral in France – Notre Dame, ‘Our Lady’??” 

I’d like to believe that after 6 months I’ve found the answers to these questions, but I am still mind-blown and awestruck. As corny as it sounds, the only answer I have is that the Lord works in mysterious ways. This school year so far has been a complete whirlwind. I have taken on two new on-campus jobs, my coursework just keeps getting more difficult by the hour, I am meeting new people left and right, I’m trying to find a summer internship, and I am in a constant battle with myself trying to divide my time between all those responsibilities and spending precious quality time with my friends here at Catholic as well as staying in touch with friends and family from Long Island.

Now more than ever, the bishop’s words are ringing in my ears. “Do not rely on others to achieve your goals in life. The Lord helps those who help themselves.” I am a firm believer in the mantra, “You are your own biggest critic” because I am so guilty of doubting myself and my abilities mostly in regards to academics or work. At this point in my life, God definitely has a me on my path, but I have no idea where it leads, and I’m okay with that. I feel as though God is in a constant state of facepalming up there, so I figure it’s not even worth it to make my own rigid plans and tell Him about it because he’s already dying of laughter at me already.

Dear Annie,

As I read this journal entry about two and a half years later, I still find that this season has brought about that same feeling of nostalgia that you referred to. That first time in Paris was truly special, and you will be thankful that you took the time to really think and pray about this experience that you describe that took place in Notre Dame Cathedral. There is no doubt that the Lord worked some sort of miracle that evening. The Holy Spirit was really working overtime to get you the Gift of Tongues for the duration of that Mass homily! However, as time has passed and as this story has become more widely spread, I still find that I hesitate to share this incredible story even three years later – to the day! I still feel the grips of the fear holding me back, almost too afraid to admit Christ’s power. Recently, however, I learned that my sister (a teacher) shared this story with almost eighty of her students in class, so that is what prompted me to write this first letter.

To be frank with you, understanding this miracle does not get easier. I wish I still had the clarity that you have now. I hesitated so long to share this story, and now I am even more confused and awe-struck at this experience. As more time passes, the less I understand. I still don’t understand how a young woman without any knowledge of the French language came to comprehend an entire thirty-minute speech spoken in French. Each time I tell my story, I have to stop and ask myself, “Is this even real? How did that even happen to me?”

It is my belief that the reason this happened to you when it did was because God knew how hard it would be for you. You’re going to blindsided at how difficult faith can be. The faith that came so easy to you the entirety of your life will be tested in ways that you can never imagine. You have it really good at Catholic University right now as a first semester junior. Cherish the chaos. Embrace the craziness of life as a college junior. You have it so good! But as I am sure you know, life will get harder. The fear of not being devout enough or not living up to your friends’ and classmates’ display of knowledge of Scripture or the Catechism of the Catholic Church – this fear will never go away. In fact, this fear will become crippling. The bureaucrats and the “holiest” ones who claim to be doing the work of the Church will lie and cause you doubt. They will change the perspective of the Church that you’ve had your whole life. This will cause so much doubt that you will question your place in the community of faith. You will wonder if you’re even worshipping the same God. You will give up time and time again.

And toward the end of your reflection, you bring up the topic of planning (or not planning) for your future. You were right. God does have you on a path. I’m still on that path. I can’t tell you where it leads because I don’t even know at this point, but I do know that it is a good one thus far. You will love the life you make for yourself in your last two years of college. Yes, you will struggle in school, but you will thank yourself later. There will be blood, sweat, and tears, but it will be worth it.

Love,

Annie

P.S. If God is facepalming you now at age 20, then He must have been kicking Himself nonstop for the past two years with the amount of stupid things you will do in that time. Keep making mistakes. Keep putting yourself out there. NEVER lose your sense of wonder. Grab every opportunity you can, and do NOT let go.