Swiss Army Knives Are Sharp!

A blog post by Leanna Praetzel, Fall 2011

 “Heidi’s Hostel” located in Interlaken, Switzerland was a charming place… that is, if you were a rattlesnake and leopard-print silk comforter buff, an avid supporter of “going green” (there was one shower for the entire hostel), and a fan of apple-peeling cat-lady hostel owners.  Actually, the hostel would have been mildly pleasant for a cat-lover in general.  But alas, as I was none of these things, “Heidi’s Hostel” was not quite my cup of tea.  Nevertheless, despite the complete strangeness of the whole thing (and perhaps even because of it), fun times were undoubtedly had.

                The owner was really quite nice—upon our arrival she presented the five of us with little Swiss chocolates.  For some reason I felt like the candy-from-strangers warning didn’t apply in this particular situation.  (In any case, the chocolate was fantastic and I’m still alive.)  Our pleasant 12-hour journey left us fairly well-rested as well as extremely famished, so we decided on making dinner ourselves in our local friendly “Heidi’s Hostel” kitchen.  We bought some spaghetti and vegetables from the grocery store and prepared a feast! 

While cooking, we met a lovely girl from Ohio (go figure!) and invited her to join us.  Good thing we did… Not only had she not eaten a Thanksgiving dinner this year, but also, more surprisingly, it appeared as though she had never said a blessing over food before.  “That was beautiful, guys!” she told us when we were finished.  It was amazing to witness the faith so monumentally though something so seemingly small as “grace”.

The next day we brought some food (including Swiss cheese!) for a picnic by the lake that was nearby.  Before we ate, my friends and I fascinated ourselves with the assortment of ducks, seagulls, and swans that had flocked to us.  The swans in particular were vicious!  They were practically big enough for me to ride around on.  We fed them food so we could pet them without them hissing at or biting us, until we realized that we were slowly giving away our entire lunch!  So we stopped the madness and started putting sandwiches together.

Everything was going just peachy.  Things went wrong only when I bestowed upon myself the honor of slicing the cheese.  As we were rugged travelers, I was forced to wield a pocket knife.  Although I thought I was taking great care (I used to be a Girl Scout after all), it turned out that care was very lacking.  At one moment I was slicing cheese with sheer joy… at the next I was staring in confusion at a chunk of skin that had come off of my thumb.  Then the blood came and I realized something.  I had officially cut my thumb.  While cutting Swiss cheese.  With a Swiss Army Knife.  In Switzerland.

But I had no time for the irony as I had enough iron coming out of my hand already.  I started running.  To me, I had just chopped my thumb clear off!  (My mother could testify that I was never one to do well with blood… or injuries, for that matter.)  My friends chased after me and slowed me down.  As we walked along the path in search for help, I was surprised at myself… Although I was nervous about the cut, I was actually quite trusting that God would provide me with someone to help.

We turned off the path and noticed a boy hanging up Christmas lights in his backyard.  Walking up, I held my hand out saying, “Bitte…?”  My pathetic cry for help was answered quite swiftly.  The boy’s mother came out and brought me right into her house.  Within seconds she had water running over my hand and multiple bandages at the ready.  She cleaned me up and covered my thumb so fast that when she asked me “Are you okay?” I could hardly comprehend what was happening.  I nodded my head, saying “Danke” multiple times.  She smiled, telling me everything was okay and that she actually spoke French.

I’m not sure if there was a lesson God wanted me to learn from filleting my thumb.  But I do know this: anyone could have slapped a couple of Band-Aids on my thumb.  Perhaps some people would have even chuckled at my overreaction.  But not these.  These people showed me love.  How great is it to find God’s wonderful children all over the world?!  I thanked them and, as I was leaving, thanked God for them.  Angels?  Maybe.  Ordinary people?  Definitely not. 

Poem: Anything but Stationary

A poem by Leanna Praetzel, Fall 2011

Strike the sky

Blue

Ten people plus

You

Skip the ground

Ride the rail

Through the hills

Set the sail

Sperrys with a

Smile

Bench and chat

Awhile

Paint some purple

In the sky

Put some sparkle

In my eye

A world behind

Glass

Another train to

Pass

Whirlwind in this

Heart of mine

The sky is dark

So come and shine

In me

Mary's Fiat

A blog post by Chelsea Graham, Fall 2011

I’m sure many of you were expecting posts about the Rome and Assisi pilgrimage, and that is what I thought I would be writing about too, but I changed my mind!

Before we had to be in Rome, we had a few days to travel on our own, and it has been tradition for my household to go to Loreto, where the Holy House of Mary is now. I was excited to spend time with my household, but at the same time I really just wanted to get to Rome and not have to deal with all the trains to get to Loreto and then to Rome. But I put on a smiling face and got on the train to get to Loreto.  

Well, naturally, everything did not go as smoothly as we had hoped for.  Getting there was way more complicated than it needed to be. Train schedules got all messed up, we had complications with our Eurail passes, and we really thought we would never get there.  Eventually, we did, but only for about a half hour. After twenty hours of riding on trains, sitting in train stations, etc., we finally arrived in Loreto…and our train to Rome left in an hour and half. The Holy House is quite a hike from the train station, so like I said before, we really only had a half hour at the Holy House.

Well, even though it was just a half hour, the trip was so worth it. Walking into the house where Mary said “yes,” where she gave her life to God without questioning, and where she conceived Christ! I prayed in the same room where Our Lady prayed!

After spending our half an hour there and almost missing our train (we literally had to run to catch it)  I was sitting on the train really thinking about Mary’s fiat.

And as Christmas is drawing nearer (just over a month away, not that I’m counting down the days or anything…) it seems like the perfect topic.  So many people pass through the Christmas season without really even thinking of Mary’s yes. Most of us, hopefully, recognize the true “reason for the season” but how many of us think about what leads up to the birth of Christ? We celebrate the Annunciation, but why not the excitement of the pregnancy all throughout it? When you hear a friend is pregnant, do you congratulate her and then never ask questions, see how she is doing, etc., until the child is born? By now Mary (thousands of yeas ago) would be about 35 weeks pregnant! She could probably feel Christ kicking her! She is going to be so obviously pregnant to everyone that sees her, and she’s probably going through a lot of persecution.   Mary’s fiat wasn’t just in accepting Christ into her womb on March 25th, it was for the length of her pregnancy, and her whole life after that!

I’m not saying we should take away from the attention leading up to the birth of Christ and put it on Mary, but just take a minute and ponder it deeply. Think about the fullness of Mary’s yes. Would you be willing to say yes as she did? Is Christ calling you to do more? As the Advent season starts in just a few days, I hope and pray that you let Christ into your life, just as Mary did.

Luke 1:38, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.”

Pope Kiss

Last week in Rome during the Papal Audience--which was luckily outside--our son Narek Michael was kissed by the Pope on his exit from St. Peter's square.  It was as if the Pope kissed each one of the students through him.  So far we are three for three, having all three of our boys kissed by Pope Benedict in Rome!  Lucky parents we are indeed!

A Language of Love: Lourdes (Part 2)

 A blog post by Leanna Praetzel, Fall 2011

She spoke Spanish.  They spoke French.  She spoke Italian, and I spoke English.  In training we were told that, in the service of the baths, the language barrier between workers was not really a barrier at all.  “The Holy Spirit takes care of it,” our advisors told us.  Cool! I thought; we’re going to be able to interpret tongues!  Not quite… 

 Day 5:  I had learned a few words in German and had taken a few years of Spanish, but not even my entire lifetime of English-speaking prepared me for the communication needed for the job at hand.  What I realized was that the language we were called to speak in was not one of words, but one of actions.  I began to pick up the classic pointing-and-nodding method, along with the “universal language of Lourdes”—a smile.  Soon I realized how astronomically effective these techniques were!  The quote by St. Francis I had so often heard of yet overlooked was actually coming to life: “Preach the Gospel at all times; when necessary, use words.”

 Day 6:  Wednesday morning was full of adventure.  If getting the lights turned off on me in the shower wasn’t adventuresome enough (still wondering why Europeans put the light switch on the outside of the door…), than getting stuck in an elevator packed aside one English-speaker and a dozen or so rowdy Frenchman definitely was!  Later on in the day I got to pray before holy relics, befriend people from other countries, and meet St. Bernadette’s great-great nephew.  (What a striking resemblance!)

 Day 7:  I went inside “the grotto” on Thursday—the same one Mary appeared to Bernadette in.  It was amazing to touch the inside of the mountain, the rock being extremely smooth from the feeling of countless hands.  I brought a candle in with me and attempted to light it off the grotto’s beautiful candle arrangement in honor of my siblings’ birthdays (shout out to Robby and Christina—HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!), but once again I got scolded at in French.   (I was, however, after exiting the grotto, able to light the candle and place it among others.)

 Day 8:  Our last day at Lourdes?  Already?  I said my three Hail Mary prayers at the statue of the “Crowned Virgin”, a tradition that will supposedly bring me back to Lourdes, and recited a few more in the hopes that family and friends might join me in my return.  (Who’s up for it?!)  That evening, when the group I was going to travel with discovered that we missed our train (by an hour!), I got very excited—Maybe we can stay in Lourdes forever! I thought.  I had solidified friendships, had been inspired by faith, and had learned the language of love.  How could I ever leave?  Alas, the perfect train showed up and I was forced to recall the words of an Italian woman I had met:  “Take Lourdes with you in your heart.”

 Day 9:  We arrived back in Paris, but since we weren’t due to depart for Gaming until the evening, I went with a couple other people to visit the incorrupt body of St. Bernadette.  Some snacks and a three-hour train ride later, I found myself gazing upon a spectacular miracle: the body of St. Bernadette, completely intact.  Although our stay was cut short by a closing for lunchtime, the trip was completely worthwhile.  Not only did I get to see Bernadette, but I also like to say that I received a gift from her.  Right next to my things I was gathering on my way out, I noticed a medal of St. Padre Pio.  Only hours earlier had I resolved to concentrate my life on Padre Pio’s saying: “Pray, and don’t worry.”

 Day 10:  That was something I realized when looking back on the week—not once did I worry.  Not once.  This is monumental for me, especially when there are so many things to do and such a small amount of time to do them in.  It felt wonderful to be anxiety-free, a quality I prayed would continue to stay with me after my leave.  I also knew that I would want to keep close to me the new language of love that I had learned… something so simple, yet so powerful.

On the way back I pondered these things, laughed with new friends, and got creamed in a game or two of Rummy—slowly changing into a new person all the while.