It is so easy to lose the courage to love, knowing that everything one cares about can simply fade in a moment. The pandemic reminds me of this, and it can be utterly frightening, especially when one’s usual approach to life is thorough planning.
Last spring, I saw this campus become a ghost-town. All my friends, classmates, professors, and faculty went home because of COVID-19. I was saddened that my time with my then-senior friends was shorter than expected. I also thought about what the changes meant for the future. These months were a time of deep reflection for me.
I knew that senior year would be different not having my graduated friends on-campus. I also contemplated the implications that the sudden closing of the school would have for my steady and stable approach to life which consists of envisioning several years into the future. How do I allow my heart to be vulnerable through the care put into my studies and my friends when all can seemingly be taken away in an instant? Could all my plans for a prosperous future and relationships be made invalid by unexpected circumstances? The recent occurrences seemed to scream “yes.”
I dearly missed my family in California. I eagerly awaited my arrival home where I could care for them. Additionally, I thought about those who were ill and dying because of this virus. Amidst all the ambiguity, one thing seemed sure: the gloom of the world. It rained internally every day while I was on campus, missing home, missing friends, and missing the façade of normality.
However, there was always something reminding me to be grateful whether it is a talk on the phone with my mother, a chat with friends over Zoom, or my professors’ kind understanding. Furthermore, I began to pray the Servite Rosary daily, a seven-decade prayer in honor of Mary’s sorrows. This allowed me to see deeper into Mary’s world, such as how she felt when she suddenly left the familiar behind in Nazareth to travel to Egypt. She was the one with whom I felt most comfortable sharing my sorrows, praying that I would know hers too. When mostly everyone was accessible only virtually, I learned how to become close friends with my guardian angel. In that Lenten season, my desire to share in Our Lady’s sorrows and Our Lord’s Passion gradually increased, and with prayer, I became grateful for my own trials.
Antifragility, Nassim Taleb’s concept of the condition in which one prospers and thrives because of stressors, shocks, and failures, became wholly more appealing. Antifragility is very different from resilience and robustness which is recovery from challenges or resistance to them, respectively. This is the acceptance of life’s trials, an embrace which leads one to thrive. My longing to live like this bloomed. After all, Christ perfectly embodies this in His Resurrection, and so does His Mother in her love and compassion. It was not in spite of her sorrows that our Queen is so great; rather, it is because of her pierced heart and hope in God that she reigns. It is because of the saints’ persecution and death to themselves that they now share in God’s glory. With this reflection, I better understood that the tears I shed and continue to cry are growing a beautiful garden hidden from my eyes which will only be completely manifested through sanctity.
Therefore, although there is much that may lead one to sadness, there is much more of an abundance of surrounding grace by which to be overjoyed. When I left the campus to return home, I became grateful for the changes and the decay of life because it is this which will bring my soul to Him. It is through death that life is found. My greater yearning for sanctity meant that my approach would change. It implied that with the Holy Spirit’s guidance, my courage to be charitable during uncertainty would increase because of the shaking foundation upon which we all stand.
Recognizing all as blessing has called for some concrete new habits such as daily meditation in prayer, fasting, dedication to physical training at the gym, taking cold showers, and setting aside time for spiritual reading, as well as simply opening my heart to the Christ in others, whomever I meet. These practices have aided my appreciation for the present moment and my thankfulness for times of discomfort and pain. These are small ways through which I pray my soul will transform to become united with my Love on the Cross, where I long to join Him each day.
In the words of St. Ignatius’s “Suscipe” prayer, I pray that I will accept all by surrendering to the Lord all I have been given—“my memories, my understanding, and my will…all that I possess,” asking only to do His will. This year especially, I pray that I only be granted His love and grace, for “with these I will be rich enough and will desire nothing more.” All I have and love is on the Cross.
Lourdes Macaspac, graduate of the class of 2021, wrote for The Torch as a C101 writer during her first three years and as a Faith Feature Columnist during her senior year. At BC, she majored in a bunch of things, enjoyed giving her time to service, and cared greatly for her friends. Through the fleeting sweet and sometimes chaotic moments, she rediscovered the meaning of her life: sanctity.
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