My small town where I grew up was pretty idyllic in a lot of ways. My small parish too. It was a true community-people cared about each other, people welcomed each other and, of course, people fought and gossiped with each other. However, when I think of going home, I think of this parish, where I know there are still people who care about my life and who are cheering me on from afar. I am so blessed that I have these roots. There were not many young people, however, in my little church. In my grade, there were maybe 3 or 4 of us. My mom, having been a camp counselor in her younger years, went searching for a Catholic camp to send me, as well as my best friend. I think I can honestly say this summer camp changed my life, at least for high school me, it was very transformational. Growing up in a small town is amazing, there are people who have known you and cared for you your whole life, it is impossible to go anywhere without running into someone who genuinely wants to know “how are you?” and people are able to come together and solve problems on a small level without ‘outside’ help. Yes, growing up in a small town is great…except, maybe, for the growing up part. When people have known you your whole life, it is sometimes hard for them to let you change, to let you be anyone besides the person you were at 7, 10, maybe 12 years old. I didn’t know who I was (who does at 14?) but I knew when I arrived at this camp with open, loving people in a beautiful environment I felt a wonderful sense of freedom to really be who I was, or at least, who I wanted to be. I became friends with people who I am still friends with today. We had deep conversations late into the night. I chalked it up to the faith aspect, that I felt like these friends understood me in a way that many other friends didn’t. We could share our faith and there was a shared love, there was no judgement. After attending camp, my best friend and I did our best to attend every youth group event that these new friends participated in, even though it meant finding someone to drive us over an hour. We missed each other when we were apart. We would dramatically run to hug each other when we caught sight of each other at whatever crowded event. We had bared our souls with each other, and that created an intimacy hard to match. I had many friends in high school, but high school was still lonely at times. I’m grateful for these friendships and I’m especially grateful for the security these friendships gave me.
I had decided to receive the Sacrament of Confirmation. Having been Baptized as an infant, it was time to complete my initiation into the Church and to choose this for myself. Part of the tradition of Confirmation is to choose a saint name. Being the overachiever I am, I took this very seriously. I loved St. Therese, of course, but she didn’t “feel right.” My best friend chose a name, because of the name itself-the name was pretty. I considered that reasoning briefly, but I wanted a saint that I could really get to know, that had meaning for my life. At this time, I had two big dreams for my life: to be a mother and to be a Broadway actress. Both these dreams seemed equally likely, if I just worked hard enough. (It’s ok if you’re laughing a little). C.S. Lewis is quoted as saying, “how monotonously alike all the great tyrants and conquerors have been; how gloriously different are the saints.” Saints have the whole gamut of personalities, passions, dislikes and overall varying journeys to God. Because of this, there tend to be certain saints one can go to for certain types of help. St. Francis loved animals and creation, so if you’re praying for the earth, he’s a good “go to” for example. Somehow, I came across St. Monica and read that she is the patroness for mothers and for perseverance. Perfect, I thought! I’ll need a lot of perseverance to make it to Broadway and she’ll pray for me to be a mother. And so, St. Monica became my Confirmation saint. I asked one of my aunts to be my Confirmation sponsor. She was named Yoda that weekend because of her obvious wisdom and one of the new Star Wars came out that weekend. In the year 2000, Pope John Paul II called for a Jubilee year. At 16, I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew there were a lot of extra celebrations. In the Old Testament a Jubilee year was a year of freedom and mercy- all debts were forgiven, the land and animals rested, anyone indebted was set free. I definitely experienced freedom this year. Normally, the Bishop visits each parish and Confirms there. For this Jubilee year, our diocese decided everyone would receive Confirmation in one giant ceremony. The stadium in Yakima was rented out and several hundred of us received the seal of the Holy Spirit, which meant many of my dear youth group friends and I were all receiving Confirmation together. What a joy!