All in his time

This past week has just been stressful. And believe me, being in a foreign country completely on your own, although an incredible experience, is not easy.

And it definitely has not been easy for me. Through trying to make friends and be social (a feat that everyone who knows me well knows is a hard thing for me to do) to working on learning the language and the culture, missing my family and friends, and just trying to figure out who I am and what I want out of this year, it has brought me down significantly.

All the pictures are beautiful, and all the smiles are there, but the struggle never really goes away. After a week filled with stress and hurt and problems, I finally sat down and asked myself, what is it that I'm doing? What is it that I want, and why can't I seem to get there?

Before I found the answers however, I remembered the private tour I took with a few friends through the Duomo, the Cathedral of St. Mary of the Flower in Florence. A priest gave us a free tour and entrance as members of the American Students Catholic club here.

Father Don Marco told us about the inside of the church. Although it was absolutely gorgeous and intricate from the outside, once inside, the Cathedral is less spectacular. No frescoes on the walls, no elaborate statues lining the inside. Very simple and plain, a huge contrast to its extravagant outside.

he told us that the reason for this was that it was meant to be plain, the architect designed it that way, and for a very specific purpose. The inside of the Cathedral is bare, because the congregation is meant to fill the church, and the faith and love they have for Jesus in their hearts will be the decorations, and they will make the church much more beautiful than any painting or sculpture could.

And then he said it. "Nothing is ever coincidence. Everything means something."

Everything means something. Our lives are constant battles, no matter what your location is, and it all is a part of God's plan, because nothing for us, as his creations, is ever coincidence. I would be rich if I had a euro for every time someone told me to just wait it out, that everything was going to be okay. And I know that they're right. Because God will never leave me, no matter how many times it feels like he isn't there.

Every fall is a learning experience, and it will always lead to something better. I know this is true because I have seen it countless times in my life. I may be struggling, hurting, and confused right now... but soon I will be happy, carefree, and moving on.

It may have a been a bad week, and it may still be really hard, and I may feel really really alone... but at least in the back of my mind I know for sure that all of that is not a coincidence, I just have to trust that whatever comes afterwards is going to be the best part.

It's not a small world after all

This past weekend was the first time we left the city of Florence. It was incredible.

On Friday we visited the city of Siena, where I saw the actual preserved head and finger of Saint Catherine of Siena, an incredible Saint I have admired since childhood. I also got to explore the Duomo of Siena, an incredibly gorgeous cathedral. That night we had a five course meal, the largest and fanciest meal of my life, in Machiavelli's country house just outside of Florence.

On Saturday I found myself heading out at 5:30am to catch a train to Cinque terre, a small strip of five coastal cities West of Firenze. It was the most beautiful and amazing trip of my life. I swam in the Mediterranean Sea, and hiked through the mountains to these gorgeous small coastal cities. The water was crystal blue, no pollution and no trash, and the trails, although rough, were high up in the mountains and gave spectaculars views of the ocean and the cities at a distance.

It was an amazing two days, but the thing that stuck out to me the most, was the journeys there, the places that we passed, the wide stretches of wilderness or of farmland. I watched as we sped by, realizing that I had never really thought about the fact that Firenze is such a small portion of a large country, and that country was just a small portion of a large continent, one that I had never experienced before.

How ignorant are we, that we never look past our own front door? Its an easy and natural instict, the selfishness that comes with that ignorance. This world is so vast, so beautiful, and so unexplored by so many people. We students here in the study abroad programs are so quick to complain that Italy does not have the things that we are so accustomed to having in the States, that we forget to enjoy the change in cultures, and realize that the people of Italy have lived without those things for their entire lives, so maybe they're really not that necessary.

We are so spoiled, and we are selfish, and although that sounds harsh, it's the way things are. Would we think to care about others in the world if we were never reminded? most likely not. I know I wouldn't. I could have cared less about the rest of the world, the majority of which I have never even seen, before I came here.

Even in Firenze, just leaving the city, I realized how small I am, compared to God's masterpiece, the world. I am insignificant to the majority of human beings, and most are insignificant to me, but we are all connected, through our creator. This gives us the ability to hopefully, begin to care.

Do Not Be Afraid, I am With You

The Story of the Keys

The old bridge that crosses the Arno in Florence, or the Ponte Vecchio, is one of the most amazing sights of the city. One of the strangest things you see there, are clumps of locks like the one above, clumped onto railings, or walls.

It’s a tradition, that a couple comes to the Ponte Vecchio, and together locks a lock on the bridge, to symbolize their love.

As my friend told me the story, I looked out onto the water, thinking: I’m in the most beautiful place in the entire world. Look at the sunset, it sets behind the mountains and falls gently on the calm waters of the Arno. The buildings shine or lay in shadow, and either way they are stunning. The air is crisp and fresh, and the streets are paved in cobblestone. There is something always to look at and always somewhere to go.

So what would make it even more perfect, other than someone to share it with? Why can’t I have someone to sweep me off my feet, follow me to Italy, and be with me for the rest of my life?

Because life is not like that. Life is not a romantic comedy where everyone is the star of their own love story. Life is a series of ups and downs, twists and turns, lessons learned or lessons ignored, never ending climaxes, and problems that don’t reach resolutions.

There are so many things that we don’t get to have in this life. But then there’s one that we do, one that trumps all the others… someone who laid down their life for our eternal happiness.

I learned a long time ago, that having a significant other is not the most important thing in the world, even if it may feel like it is when you don’t have one. Or even worse when you know exactly who you want, and you can’t have them for one reason or another. There is nothing more frustrating. But we’re never actually alone, because we do have someone, someone greater than any human being on this earth, that will never leave us.

I want to lock my love together forever with someone someday. But until that day comes, I have to learn to be content to be locked to the one person who will make sure that I am never alone.

“About five years after St. Zenobius had been buried, there was a Bishop named Andrew, and this Holy Bishop summoned a great chapter of bishops and clerics, and said that they were to bear the body of St. Zenobius to the Cathedral Church of San Salvatore. On the 26th of January, he was un-buried and borne to the Church by four bishops; and these bishops bearing the body of St. Zenobius were so pressed upon by the people that they fell near an elm, which was close to the Church of St. John the Baptist. And when they fell, the body of St. Zenobius lay broken, so that the body touched the elm, and gradually, as the elm was touched, it brought forth flowers and leaves, and lasted all that year. The people, seeing the miracle, broke up all the elm, and with devotion carried the branches away as relics. And the Florentines, beholding what was done, made a column of marble with a cross where the elm had been, so that the miracle should ever be remembered by the people.”

- The Story of Florence by Edmund Garratt Gardner (10-11)

Farmer's Market: Picture Post

the view of the market from the church

The view from the other side of the Piazza

Some children playing on the steps of the orphanage

handmade soap from violet

carved soaps

There were so many things carved into wood,

but this one was my favorite. There are wooden whisks!!

the most beautiful artwork was the hand carved stones

Italians love figs! i fichi!!

We watched this vendor carving his merchandise

Which was on display here

Italy is all about cheese!! and there's a lot of it!

A farmer posed with his fruit for us

A solar cooker!! Our favorite part lol

Olive oil authentically made. Its the only kind of oil you will ever see in Italy.

Perche dove sono due o tre riuniti nel mio nome, li sono io in mezzo a loro.

What can I say about going to an Italian mass in one of the oldest, most historic, and most beautiful churches I have ever seen or even set foot in? it was breathtaking. Between trying to understand the language, say the responses, and pray, I was having trouble keeping my gaze from wandering to the thousands of details lining every inch of the basilica.

There was only one word to describe that church, regal. It was a depiction of the perfection that is Jesus, and the wonder and awe of his Resurrection. He is the king of kings, and that was his palace, just a small thank you for his great sacrifice.

The mass was the same, although in Italian, I said the proper responses in English, sometimes in Italian if they were written on the handout, kneeled, stood, and sat where it was appropriate, which was a huge comfort to fall back in to such a familiar and comfortable routine.

As I was walking back to my apartment after saying my goodbyes to the two friends who came with me, I took a moment, finally my first moment of peace, to take in my surroundings. There were people strolling about, and the sounds of Italians conversing filled the air.

You can always tell the Americans in this city. They are the ones walking fast with a look of purpose on their faces. The Italians are so much different. They walk and stroll hand in hand, arm in arm, enjoying the day and each others company. We in America live in such a technological and fast pace world that we don't stop to enjoy ourselves. I never noticed how fast I walked until I was stuck behind an Italian and couldn't get through.

Every day the city shuts down between 1 and 4pm, people go home, eat, close their businesses, take naps, lounge around. If you walk out into the street between those times you will be one of the only ones there. On Sundays nobody works, they take the day to enjoy the sweet surrender of doing nothing, something we know little about.

As I told my legs to slow down, to enjoy the walk, an automatic switch turned on in my brain, urging my legs to go faster. It took all my concentration to really walk like an Italian. But its something that I need to be able to do. Life is so short and if we walk too fast through it, we might get lost somewhere along the way, and not be able to find our way back. And when that happens, all our time was wasted because we spent the rest of our days sitting down because our feet were too tired to walk anymore.

One week down, countless to go.

So it’s been one week in Firenze Italia, and already I’m wondering why I never took the time to care about this place before.

My feet are covered in blisters, my legs in mosquito bites, I’m exhausted, sweaty, and sore, and yet I am the happiest girl that could have ever lived.

What can I say about Florence, what can I put into words to describe the sights, history, culture, and just immense beauty of this city that I am now to call my home?

St. Faustina said it best: “Can pen write down that for which many a time there are no words? But you give order to write, O God; That is good enough for me.”

I have found myself now in the midst of not only a strange city that seems to foreign, but also amongst people who are also foreign to me. Amongst all the preparations, the paperwork, the meetings, and the lists of information, there is one thing they forget to tell you.

You will feel completely and utterly alone.

It’s a difficult thing to travel 5,000 miles and end up on the other side in a beautiful place completely void of everything and everyone that you are familiar with. I was scared… no I was terrified. As emotional and stressful as this first week has been, I had to find comfort in the fact that I was surrounded by beauty in a place full of history, and distracted myself with learning and appreciating all of it. What I should have been doing is distracting myself with prayer.

In such a Catholicism centered city I was too preoccupied with appreciating it that I forgot to actually be a Catholic. So when everything started to fall apart I thought I knew why, I wanted to hit myself over the head for being stupid enough to think that I could get through any of this without the only person who could follow me around the world whenever and wherever I decided to go.

But that’s when, after calling my mom mid breakdown, she emailed me saying that she was still praying for me, and to not give up hope because everything would work out.

And that’s when I realized that I wasn’t actually alone. Things started to fall back into place. I found a perfect apartment at a great price, I found friends that won’t abandon me, other Catholics that appreciate what I appreciate in this incredible city, and so much more. And after every little thing I thanked God for being there for me even when I wasn’t for him.

And the reason why is that I’m not the only one praying for myself. I have an entire community of people back at home, lifting up their prayers, taking time out of their day, to ask God to help me out. That kind of love overwhelms and humbles me, and makes me wonder why I never thought about or noticed it before.

I know that I am never alone, because God is always with me, but I am also never alone because his love will not only follow me, but will also stay right at home, and it will never abandon me.

That’s what I learned this first week in Italia, and I’m sure there are many more lessons to come.

Ciao, A presto

Felicity