Every Moment Is the Summation of Choices

We seniors receive our diplomas from Boston College in four weeks; I am in sheer gratitude.

We arrived at this university from foundations of love, of support, of opportunity. We have been formed through demands of divine discomfort, through challenges to choose virtue, through trials to turn toward what is above. 

Life is a riverbank of relationships. Those who flow through our lives shape us; they form us into the people we are today. We are being ever-changed, ever-formed, ever-impacted by the souls placed alongside ours. Our present state is the summation of relational choices: our choices and the choices of those before us; the choices we make with one another; the choices we make with God.

I owe the opportunities presented to me over the past four years to pivotal choices of two men in my life, my grandfathers. The first choice, an act of surrender to God’s will, was made in 1960 by my paternal grandfather, John Foley. The second, a decision of unconditional self-giving, was made in 2013 by my maternal grandfather, Ronald Campagna.

My grandfather, John Foley, graduated with his Bachelor of Science from Boston College in 1961. But that’s not the whole story.

At age eighteen, Papa entered the seminary to discern the Catholic priesthood, first at Cardinal O’Connell in Boston and then at Saint John’s in Brighton. To place oneself in the vulnerable position to surrender to God’s direction is powerful. During my time at Boston College, I have been graced to witness men and women earnestly discern their religious—in addition to their professional—vocations.

After six years of theological study, the Lord called Papa out of the seminary. The Almighty God uprooted my grandfather from the certainty and comfort of his previous six years and sent him to finish his degree as an Eagle. Then, God’s voice called John into the United States Navy, and, later, to my grandmother Carole. If Papa had stifled the voice, if he had said No, if he had never sought divine discomfort, I would not be here today. Sixty-two years later, I am John’s only granddaughter and first grandchild to earn a college degree. I am humbled that I may graduate from the same institution: Boston College.

Ronald Campagna’s story looks a little different. Ron grew up in one of Philadelphia’s Italian ghettos. His parents saw through the construction of the local parish, and Ron worked for a poultry shop from a young age. After graduating from a Jesuit university himself, and spending time in the United States Air Force, Ron worked diligently to be able to eventually open his own business—an image of the American Dream.

But life comes with challenges. I lost my grandfather Ronald following his battle with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in September 2013, my eighth grade year.

On June 20, 2018, I received my financial aid award from Boston College. I’ll never forget opening the email, my mother and father nearby; the grant could sway my college decision one way or the other. In short, I was ecstatic at the generosity of the university, but it did leave me questioning, How was I going to pay for college?

“MomMom and PopPop decided before PopPop died that they would assist,” my mother explained. “PopPop wanted this for you.”

My grandfather would never witness my high school performance, or my college decision, or any obstacle, struggle, or set-back leading up to this moment. And yet, he chose this for me. Unconditionally. In an act of love, he created the opportunity for his granddaughter to choose her path—the opportunity for me to succeed.

Seniors receive our diplomas from Boston College in four weeks; the next path is uncertain, unknown, full of choices. But our question must not be, Where do I go next? Rather, it must be, Wherever I go, who shall I be?

My grandfathers’ legacies illuminate my answer. 

John’s divine awe and Ronald’s charitable love mirror two facets of Christ’s nature in the powerful image of the Garden of Gethsemane. Imitators of Christ’s final choices, His moments, in prayer.

Soon after, Jesus is crucified, betrayed, excoriated. And, yet, in perfect, unconditional surrender, He loses Himself out of love for the Father. In perfect, disinterested love, Christ loses Himself out of love for us: sell-outs, traitors, persecutors.

Christ in the Garden is Who my grandfathers, throughout their lives, chose to be. 

He is Who we must be.