When I get discouraged I start looking for ways to overcome. I believe I’ve always done that. Inside of me, I have a certain self-talk that might sound like a cheerleader. I tell myself things like “when the going gets tough, the tough get going,” or “you have to believe it to see it.” I was raised to be a person of faith and to believe in the power of God, and the possibility of miracles. For example, I knew and loved the stories where children saw visions of the Blessed Mother. In fact, as a child, I watched the old movies of St. Bernadette and Our Lady of Fatima. As an adult, I believe that miracles could arrive in many different forms. I’m sure this comes from being raised in the Catholic faith with very devout parents who truly lived the faith they believed in. They were really good people who prayed to God and loved their neighbors. They sent me to Catholic schools where I read the stories of the Saints and learned about God. This childlike faith tradition I had carried with me somewhere deep down, and surely this was why I took Angie to local healing services and eventually on a pilgrimage to Lourdes, France.
After Angie was born I turned back to my parents for support and more and more to the faith I had pretty much ignored in college. I started going to prayer meetings and taking Angie with me. I went weekly to the Holy Spirit Center, a former monastery turned spiritual center, for Friday night services for a while. Sometimes Mom went with us and sometimes I went with friends. I found hope and peace in these practices. After John was born, I continued to go on Friday evenings to a small local prayer meeting. It was the one night a week I got out with other adults. Sometimes I took the babies and sometimes Mom and Dad kept them home. And sometimes Mom would even go with me. The strained relationship I had had with my Mom was gone. We had come together in the love of these two babies and in the pain of loss as we watched Angie grow. It was hard to watch John pass her up, doing things she would never be able to do. So, my parents, my babies and my prayer group became the center of my existence for quite a few years.
Somewhere in that period of time, I had a dream of an almost healthy Angie standing in my parent's back yard under their maple tree. She was tall and thin with not quite shoulder length dark hair. She was wearing a white gauzy dress that hung long and loose on her. Her head was tilted to the side and she seemed happy. When I woke up I was deeply moved. I can still see the image in my mind today. I never talked about this and I told very few people. This vision haunted me and gave me hope to keep looking for a healing. I never had that dream again but I held that vision deep in my heart for years and years. In some ways I still do.
After years of doctors, prayers, hospitals, prayers and prayer meetings, I found a flyer about a pilgrimage for the sick and handicapped and decided to take Angie. I invited one of my best friends and prayer partners, Rita, to accompany Angie and me. We joined the pilgrimage, led by Rev. Joseph P. Allen, O.P., a Dominican priest from the Washington, DC area at JFK airport and there discovered that we were a very large group. There were several priests, 2 doctors, and 6 or 7 nurses, plus volunteer aids to make the trip possible for everyone. There were probably a dozen wheelchairs and many other people with serious health conditions waiting for the flight to France. In total, we were probably about 65 or 70 people. I don’t remember anymore, but I do remember that when the photographer took our group picture we completely filled the stairs in front of the church.
When we arrived at Lourdes, vans set-up for stretchers met us by the plane. Angie was placed on a stretcher along with 4 or 5 others and driven to our “dormitory.” She was really a good traveler. I had been very worried about the actual trip. How would she do on a long flight? Would she get too stressed? All my concerns were for not, as she did great. Consequently, Rita and I did too.
After getting settled in our room, we headed straight for the grounds where we would find the church and the grotto where Bernadette saw the Virgin Mary. Before we even got through the gates, we heard the singing. It was truly magical. We arrived just as the pilgrims were making their daily walk of song and prayer across the river, past the baths and the grotto, and through the grounds to pray together in front of the church. It felt foreign and yet somehow familiar. I remember being amazed at the sheer beauty of the unaccompanied voices singing. It was mesmerizing.
It took Rita, Angie and I a few days to get familiar with the grounds of the Shrine and the little town of Lourdes. We wondered around anywhere we could push a wheelchair and in Lourdes, just about everywhere is accessible. Even restaurants were extra spacious to accommodate wheelchairs and stretchers. We didn’t go out to eat often because our dormitory had a dining room and our French cooks did a great job with the food. So, knowing that everything was accessible and the food was delicious, Angie, Rita and I settled in for our 8 -day retreat.
We followed the routine of our group. We went to Mass in the morning, then went to the grotto for the rosary. One day we took Angie to the baths where she was placed quickly in the waters from the spring that Bernadette had found when she saw Mary (Rita and I also stood in line to be place briefly in the very cold water). We prayed for a miracle. We collected bottles of Lourdes water. We walked in the daily processions and sang songs, generally in Latin with the pilgrims from Ireland, Italy, Germany, Spain, the Philippines, and the US. We met very interesting people from all around the world. Some came to Lourdes every year to donate their time as volunteers, for example, we met a couple from Italy, a doctor and his wife, who came for two weeks every year to help take care of the sick. And in the evenings, we’d meet up with members of our group for a hot chocolate and some music. The days flew by and Angie loved being there. She was so happy feeling like she belonged. I believe she felt extra special or maybe she felt normal for the first time in her life. What I know for sure was that she cried her heart out when it was time to leave.
We went home without our miracle. Angie road a little taller in her wheelchair though. We took home wonderful memories and new friends that we’d keep in touch with for a few years. And all in all, we felt blessed for having made the journey. When I got back to school I had stories to share with my students. And since I was their French teacher, I could tell them in French. I was grateful for my colleagues who all volunteered to take my classes so I could take Angie to Lourdes, France.
Lourdes, France - This French town is the most famous healing shrine in the world and one of the most-visited of all pilgrimage sites.
When a young servant girl named Bernadette Soubirous claimed to see a radiant vision of a woman in white on February 11, 1858, Lourdes was a small market town virtually unknown to the larger world. Over the next five months, the lady would appear 17 more times to Bernadette, visions that the Roman Catholic Church (though initially skeptical) would declare authentic appearances of the Virgin Mary. Miraculous cures have been associated with Lourdes ever since, and today the town welcomes more than five million pilgrims a year.