So, Tell Me About Crossroads…

“So, Molly, how was Crossroads?”

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adequately answer this question. This blog was an attempt. But even documenting a few anecdotes and analyzing a few sweet and bitter moments could not summarize an entire summer of incredible experiences.

Let’s face it, I couldn’t even keep up with the blog the last few weeks out of sheer exhaustion. Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Virginia and Maryland went by so quickly.

Still, I will try to tell you what it was like.

Our lovely host family from Columbus, Ohio

Each day of that last month  , I just looked forward to the end of walking. My eyes were on the prize of walking to DC. And walk we did. It’s 2,438 miles from San Francisco to Washington D.C., and by our calculations we walked over 2,500 miles over the course of our route. What an amazing adventure!

This summer, I learned to be flexible. Things could change in an instant. Every preconception I had about Crossroads flew out the door. Our van tires fell flat from nail holes twice. One day we locked our keys in the car. Daily Mass was not always available. I slept on table-beds, couches, floors, sleeping bags, and host family’s beds. We ran. Yeah. I, the girl who did not train before Crossroads, ran. One day, for fun, we ran 81 miles as a relay – about 10 miles per person! It was kind of a big deal.

I also got interviewed. And interviewed again. That was not something I was expecting!

And then our RV died. So for eight weeks, we lived off of fast food and made ourselves at home in sketchy motels (across from a prison, haunted, druggie neighbors, blood on the walls, you name it).

Yet people were constantly looking out for us. Strangers stopped to give us cool drinks and snacks. Police officers came to check on our van many times. Once, on a bitterly cold day, two officers stopped thinking I was homeless and offered me a ride.

Soon though, the running joke became that “Molly knows everybody.” At every major stop, I would run into folks I knew or had connections with (priests, radio hosts, pro-life leaders, family friends, friends of friends, a religious sister who teaches at my parish school, a religious sister who attends my college, my future RD, on and on). In the picture, I met a friend from college when I spoke at her home parish. My teammates started betting on how many people I would know at the next stop!

And through it all, there were new experiences. I tried chewing tobacco (ew), year old applesauce (fine), a salt flat (not terrible), and the Great Salt Lake (UGH!). For the first time in my life, I walked through a drive-thru, shot a gun, and drove an RV (and even floored it and went off-roading in it). Our walk leader read us bedtime stories, backed the RV into a pole, and scared me half to death by waking me up from a dead sleep by slamming on the window of the van yelling. But I got back at him by flat-tiring his shoe.

I witnessed the majesty of the great outdoors, and all the creatures that call it home: wild horses, antelope, coyotes, beavers, bison, moose, elk, marmots, and even a bear. Throughout the United States, I found solace in beautiful cathedrals, basilicas and churches where the dear One is ever present.

Oh yes. Out on the road, I found God. He is so near to us when we seek Him. Often, the only way to pass the time was through prayer. It was a constant conversation that grew sweeter and stronger the more I cultivated it. I wanted to draw closer and closer to His Heart. And is not that our end – to grow in love?

It was unforgettable. I know now that I will never fully be able to sum it up or express it. But let me tell you: it was worth it.

I, I did it all / I owned every second / That this world could give / I saw so many places / The things that I did / Yeah, with every broken bone / I swear I lived. ~I Lived, One Republic

Praying outside an abortion clinic in Indianapolis, Indiana

We met up with Bryan Kemper and the whole Stand True Missionary team. They were super chill, hosted us for 2 nights, and even walked with us for a few miles.

Our nice tour through Virginia

Crazies

All of the ladies who started in San Fran finished the walk. Proud.

We made it as a team. None of us could have done it without the rest of these amazing people.

We finally met up with Northern and Southern Walks. It’s amazing how you can bond over the mutual suffering and sacrifice of the walks.

And after our selfie war with the other walks, we took one last selfie as a big group. We made it, and that’s what matters.

Do Small Things with Great Love

It seems that every month, every day, every moment of Crossroads brings new challenges, new sacrifices. I went into the summer with the knowledge that I was sacrificing working for the summer. But there are so many little sacrifices that make up our day to day life out here on the road.

Hiking mountains, trekking through the heat, homesickness, real sickness, blisters, shin splints, little sleep, early mornings, late nights, little variety in food…they each hold a small suffering that He can use for souls. Lately, I’ve been noticing the monotony more. The same lengths of corn fields, the same rumble strips and white highway lines, the same fwap-fwap-fwap of my feet on the pavement. But offering this up to God is such a grace, since I would love to complain otherwise. 😀

Some days we offer up the pain of powering through to get many miles. Others, we offer up the frustration and disappointment of not getting very far. Some days, we offer up rising at ungodly hours to head to Mass, and over a two week stretch in the desert, we offered not having a daily Mass to attend.

For Central Walk, we have been without our RV for over a month. The engine needed to be replaced, and it’s still back in Utah while we’re in Illinois. Without the RV, we are essentially homeless. We don’t know where we will stay the night until that same evening – usually a motel.

Fast food is standard since we have no kitchen to cook, and between shifts, we hang out in libraries or bookstores for a temporary refuge from the heat (with books and wifi of course). We’re blessed to have food, showers, beds, and shelter. But being homeless, living out of very packed cars, and eating out so much is its own sacrifice.

And I think that that is the point. When God called us to give up our summers, it wasn’t a half-way calling. We have received so many blessings along the way, including exceptional weather. But it’s not meant to be sunshine and roses. It’s meant to hurt.

In some ways, it’s easier to make a large sacrifice than a simple one. We all want to offer everything to God, but everything is summed up in the small ways. “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” ~Blessed Mother Teresa

Our country has suffered the scourge of abortion for so long. And while many of our sufferings are very small in scope, we are blessed by them. If we are living in accord with God’s will, it’s not the size of the sacrifice that matters, but the gift our hearts make in offering them to God.

Love Amidst Hate At The Sidewalk

Some of our walkers pray outside of Planned Parenthood in Salt Lake City, featured in Intermountain Catholic http://www.icatholic.org/article/crossroads-prolife-walkers-come-through-utah-6246841#

I’ve prayed at many abortion clinics before, from Sacramento, Pittsburgh, New York, and elsewhere. Clinic escorts have smeared foul fruit on the sidewalk and turned on the sprinklers to deter sidewalk counselors. Others have dragged snow shovels, turned on car alarms or loud music to drown out the counselor’s voices.

Since starting Crossroads, I’ve seen a lot of sinister and eerie abortion clinics.

In Reno, NV, the abortion clinic had two fences with hedges and cacti in between, megaphones to blare music and ugly words, disturbing signs saying in all caps, “God is pro-choice,” “Pray to end sidewalk bullying,” “Pray to end child molestation by priests,” “Bullies, Molesters, Terrorists.”

In Salt Lake City, we had people yell out the window, “Your mothers should have aborted you all,” “**** you, pro-choice!” and other ugly comments.

And honestly, I can take that. I can take being yelled at or mistreated. It exposes abortion for the evil it is.

In Denver though, my heart broke. Planned Parenthood, that bastion of evil, appeared as a professional beacon of hope compared to the anti-abortion protestors. These protestors were filled with such hatred.

Plastic dolls torn limb from limb and covered in fake blood were strewn across the driveway. More bloodied dolls were hung upside down on strings from a pole, and tossed in baby strollers. Huge graphic images of aborted children were set up all across the street. Homemade signs on ladders yelled in all caps, “Don’t Kill Your Baby,” “Repent or Perish,” and “Choice Is Abortion.”

But the worst part of all was the despicable character of the protestors. With bleeding hate, they screamed at the women entering the clinic. Holding more pictures of aborted children, they shrieked, “We have help for you! Don’t kill your baby. You will go to hell! God doesn’t want you to kill your baby. Don’t be a murderer!” And once they were in the parking lot, the protestors would climb on the ladders to see over the fence and continue to scream at the women.

These protestors may have been anti-abortion, but they were totally immersed in a culture of death. Their screams chased these already scared women into the seemingly professional and caring arms of Planned Parenthood. How twisted.

Love is at the heart of a culture of life. To be pro-life is to recognize the dignity and sanctity of all human life – children, elderly, mothers, fathers, abortionists, staff, everyone. It means to work to understand these poor mothers who are struggling, in pain, and think they have no choice. We want to love them, give them hope, and empower them to choose life.

These protestors had fallen so far into despair that they failed to recognize God’s unfathomable mercy for these women and men who are made in His image and likeness. They forgot to hope. But we have hope. Our loving Father loves these women no matter what. St. John Paul II said, “We are an Easter people, and hallelujah is our song.” We know that Christ has already conquered abortion since He conquered death. That is why we must never cease to work for the conversion of hearts.

There is hope for everyone. And we need to offer it with love.

Don’t You Ever Feel Like Giving Up?

She checked our groceries methodically as we told her, “Yeah we’re walking across the country.”

“Wow. Don’t you ever feel like giving up?” she asked. It’s a good question.

I’m known as the always chipper, adventurous and happy one on my walk. I’ve licked a salt flat, walked through a drive thru window, punched a bee by accident, and been excited even when there were no showers because it meant bathing in the sink! Wahoo!

But I’ll admit to you…sometimes I feel down. Maybe it was that mountain where I was searching for breath at 7500 feet. Maybe it was mile 15 when I still couldn’t see the van signaling the end of shift. Maybe my feet hurt and had blisters, and maybe my legs had a Charlie horse and shin splints.

And occasionally, I think to myself about how crazy this all is. Here I am, getting up at o’dark thirty, walking long distances all day, and then stuffing myself in a 35 foot RV with eight other people to sleep in a tiny space for a few hours. Rinse, lather, repeat.

So, yes. Sometimes I do feel like giving up. Yet even here, there is beauty. Even here there is hope.

It’s in those moments where the voice says, “Give up,” that I search for strength. I remember the people we meet at parishes, the people that wave “hi” on the road, the people in my life who I am offering this suffering for. Most importantly, I remember the unborn and their mothers and fathers.

It’s in those moments that I lean on Mama Mary. I begin another rosary and ask her to walk with me and support me. I especially love the second Joyful mystery of the Visitation, since “Mary arose and went in haste into the hill country…” (Luke 1:39).  She would have made a great Crossroader. 😀

It’s in those moments that I search my heart for the One who loves me most. The dear Lord does not abandon His children. I’ll call up some encouraging verses in my mind (Philippians 4:13 and Romans 8:39 especially), or offer up a silent prayer through gritted teeth and heavy breath.

So I lean on the strength that’s greater than me. My toes keep gripping the earth. My feet keep walking. But somehow, my steps feel lighter.

Kindness in All Its Forms

One of the most striking things about walking is the kindness of strangers.

People have taken us to breakfast and lunch, made us humongous potluck dinners, and served us every kind of tasty dish. They ply us with seconds and desserts too, saying, “Oh, you’ve got a long walk ahead of you!” If I gave in each time, I definitely would gain weight over the course of this summer.

More than a few kind folks have stopped in the middle of the desert to give us granola bars, water bottles, and encouragement. One lady drove up to me and Colby in a big truck with a trailer. She asked us what we were doing, and after we told her, she dug a $100 bill out of her truck to hand to us. She shook her head saying, “Wow, I just really admire what you’re doing.”

We’ve also crossed paths several times over the last few days with a group biking across the country to raise money for disabled kids. It’s been super fun cheering them on and having them root for us. “Yeah, Push America!” “Go Crossroads!”

On the weekends when we stay with host families, I’m shocked and humbled by the generosity of these wonderful people. These folks are genuinely sweet and selfless. They open their homes, their hearts, and their fridges to us. Let me tell you, we have more cookies packed into our RV than we could ever eat!

One host family in Sacramento set it up so that every single walker on Central, Northern, and Southern walks would have a prayer warrior praying for their safety every day. We pulled the names out of the hats…I couldn’t contain my excitement and joy. How wonderful that so many people, even people we may not have met before, care enough to pray for us each day. Since this was my home parish, I knew most of the prayer warriors. Mine were an awesome family and my neighbor down the street! One family of prayer warriors makes shirts with the name of their walker on the back. So awesome!

So, to all of the awesome host families, kind strangers, lovely parishioners and cool bikers, I salute you.

Desert. Lots of Desert.

I’ve been walking through the desert all the live long day!

We’ve been through Carson City, Dayton, Fallon, Austin, Eureka, and Ely, Nevada. Sitting in the middle of the desert, it’s a very harsh and inhospitable landscape. They call Highway 50 “The Loneliest Highway in America.” But the rugged terrain maintains a stark beauty.

The sunsets turn the sky bright orange and pink. The brown hills are dotted with trees, gaining shades of blue and yellow silhouettes at dusk.
Bright constellations light up the night sky as we make our way back to the RV we call home. The alkali salt flats that looked white moments before turned into miles of reflective mirages.

By far the most exciting locations I’ve walked by would be the forest fire in Lake Tahoe and the bombing range in the Nevada desert. The wildfire had dozens of fire crews and police, two aircraft and a helicopter dropping fire retardant and water on the small blaze. The bombing range was complete with half a dozen military planes practicing hitting their targets.

Some other highlights include:
-driving the RV (we’ve lovingly nicknamed her Bessie the Struggle Bus)
-flooring the gas (I need to so I can get Bessie up these hills)
-licking an alkali salt flat (note: it tastes like dirty salt)
-walking through a drive-thru in Reno (just because)
-seeing wild horses, antelope, many species of lizards and birds, and a dead rattlesnake and coyote

Best sight by far: the night I first saw wild Mustangs. There were two chestnuts and a paint. They flicked their tails and shook their golden manes in the light of the setting sun. Powerful, graceful, independent and carefree, they pawed, pranced, galloped and grazed their way across the bushy plains.

Wild Horses! I can die happy now.

I fell in love. Truly, I don’t think I have ever seen such majestic creatures in my life.

Of course, now my fellow walkers love to poke at my soft spot for horses. Whenever I start bouncing up and down over how gorgeous they are, they love to point out that they will likely be sent to a glue factory, or starve to death, or meet some ugly fate. But I still love them (horses and walkers).

Why We Walk for Life

So far this trip, I’ve walked further than I ever had in my life (my longest day so far was 14.5 miles). It’s stretched me in the most beautiful ways. Early mornings, late nights, little sleep, speed walking, good conversations and peaceful scenery.

Since we’re the only ones out on the road, I wave at all the passing cars and trucks. Nearly everyone waves back. They probably think, “Human interaction! YES!”

I’ve only had one person yell out the window, “Pro-choice!” It amused me. Pro-life young people walk across the country because we have a cause, a desire, a hope. Our message is life-saving, and each child is life-changing. Yelling a single word at us accomplished nothing.

To be pro-abortion has no fire, no hope. You either believe you’re advocating killing which is frightening, or you are confusedly advocating for a surgery…which is just boring. There is no cross-country walk for choice by the youth because it is a dead end. To be “pro-choice” is to be pro-abortion. It promotes pain, heartache, and death, and few people have such an intense passion for the culture of death.

I don’t think any of us would do something this crazy and intense were it not to offer it up for the unborn. We want to change the world, to save our unborn brothers and sisters, to love mothers and fathers, to spread a culture of life. And that in itself is exciting. It motivates, it fuels our actions, and it pushes our feet when they ache.

 

 

The Surprising, Little Known, Bravest Saint of All Time

Happy Feast Day! On this day, twenty years ago, I was baptized, and became a child of God, princess of the Father, heir to the Kingdom of Heaven, temple of the Holy Ghost, and dwelling place of the Most High. It’s kind of a big deal.

Today is also a very special feast day for another reason. It’s the feast of St. Agatha, and since I was baptized on her feast day, I took her name as one of my confirmation saints. She’s not very well known, although she is listed in the Canon at Mass. But I’m telling you, she is truly one of the best saints of all time.

Agatha was a virgin and martyr. Much of her story is based in legend, but even legends can express truth. At the time of Roman Emperor Domitian’s reign, Agatha dedicated her life to God, wishing to be His bride.

Legend has it that she was from a wealthy family, and was quite beautiful. Yet because of her vow, she refused all those who solicited her or wished to marry her. On the verge of facing their wrath, she prayed for strength: “Jesus Christ, Lord of all, you see my heart, you know my desires. Possess all that I am. I am your sheep: make me worthy to overcome the devil.”

Angered that she would not break nor give in to them, her persecutors forced her into a brothel, then threw her in prison, and finally, put her through many of the worst tortures mankind could concoct. This brave woman received no healing from human hands, but God sent St. Peter to heal her and strengthen her in the midst of the torture.

She eventually died in prison from her wounds and received the crown of martyrdom. As she was dying, she said, “Lord, my Creator, you have always protected me from the cradle; you have taken me from the love of the world and given me patience to suffer. Receive my soul.” All throughout her suffering, she stayed true and courageous to her faith.

See, Christianity isn’t for the faint of heart. As one of my friends would say, the saints are hardcore! St. Agatha suffered intensely, and even the strongest of people would have buckled under the pain she endured. Under her own power, she could not have been so steadfast. But it is God’s powerful grace that fills the martyrs and makes them strong!

Not just that, but she was eloquent, as Christ promised in Luke 12:11-12. “And when they bring you before the synagogues and the rulers and the authorities, do not be anxious how or what you are to answer or what you are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say.” When brought before earthly rulers, the Holy Spirit teaches these witnesses of faith what to say, and the fire of charity in their hearts inspires their listeners.

Something else miraculous that you should know about her is that her body was discovered incorrupt in the 11th century. This means it did not decay like bodies are supposed to, even though she died in the 4th century! This phenomenon is scientifically unexplainable, except that God deigned to allow her earthly body to remain incorrupt as a further sign of her sanctity.

Because of her seemingly impossible bravery and strength, she is the patron saint of just about everything under the sun: victims of torture and sexual assault, martyrs, breast cancer survivors, single women, nurses, miners, jewelers, bell founders, bakers, Sicily, Malta, San Marino, and parts of Spain, Italy, Germany, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Canada. She is also invoked against sterility and all manner of natural disasters including thunderstorms, volcanoes, earthquakes, and fires.

The fact that the faithful ask for her intercession for this entire laundry list of petitions is just one more example of how her testament to the faith continues to inspire zeal in our hearts today. St. Agatha, pray for us.

New Year, New Saints

What do Catholic saints have to offer us?

For one thing, they give us a fantastic example. When we emulate them, we become more grafted to the dear Lord they loved so dearly. Let’s take an example. Every NFL player wishes they could be as good as Joe Montana. They copy his moves, study his films, or just try to spin the football on their index fingers like he did. Why? Because he was superbly talented, and they want to succeed! He also played for the 49er’s, the most awesome team in the league! So, we’re on God’s team, and we want to copy the greats who have gone before us.

As Catholics, we also believe that the saints hear us when we pray. We pray to them in the older sense of the word “pray,” which means in practice that we ask them to pray for us. They are the “cloud of witnesses,” “righteous men” whose prayers are very powerful, children of the “God of the living.”

As the year begins, there is a common devotion that we practice where you pick a saint’s name out of a basket (or use this handy-dandy online saint name generator for the digital age). You can learn more about that saint for the year, and ask your special saint to help you to grow in holiness.

Most years I’ve done this, my heart hasn’t really been in it. I might think of the saint once in a while, but all too soon I forget. Yet, in retrospect, I realize just how important those saints were for me in those years. I can remember the hardest year of my life, I picked St. Michael the Archangel. I think the dear Lord knew the saint in heaven who would fight for me and pray for me during the hard times.

This past year, I picked St. Frances Xavier Cabrini, who founded many Catholic schools. It only just clicked for me what a great match she was for me. Last year, I worked as a tutor for several Catholic students, and received the opportunity to attend a Catholic university myself. I don’t doubt she interceded for me during my crazy finals week.

This year, I chose St. Justin Martyr. Or perhaps I should say he chose me. Justin was a prolific Christian writer as well as a philosopher, apologist, and martyr. He was particularly devoted to emphasizing Christian morality and chastity, which are topics near and dear to my heart.

Also, let’s be real here, he was impossibly brave. At his martyrdom, when told to sacrifice to the pagan gods or be tortured without mercy, he replied, “That is our desire, to be tortured for Our Lord, Jesus Christ, and so to be saved, for that will give us salvation and firm confidence at the more terrible universal tribunal of Our Lord and Savior.” What a winner.

A brilliant communicator, he inspired people and brought them to Christ through the media of the time. That is what I want to do. By God’s grace, I hope to communicate Jesus to humanity. St. Justin Martyr, pray for us.