Perhaps I’m alone in this, but I’ll admit it: I’m always
looking for signs, something to confirm or deny that I am on the right path and
that God is present. In some ways, this seems pretty helpful, especially during
times of discernment and discovering where I find consolation in drawing closer
to God. On the other hand, I think I often tend to get lost in sign-searching rather
than trusting in God, especially in my most uncertain moments. I become so
invested in looking for deeper meaning in words and gestures that I forget to
see the gift of the moment.
I learned a lesson about this while studying abroad in
college when some friends and I traveled to Rome. We were hoping to see the
Catacombs before they closed for the evening. We arrived late and missed the
last tour and instead decided to chat with one of the tour guides, Martín. He
was from the same region of Spain where we were studying and explained that he
had left Spain several years earlier to respond to a desire that God was
calling him to Rome. After talking for a bit, Martín handed each of us a Greek
cross as a small token of our meeting. When we asked what we could do for him,
all he requested was that we pray for him, because he had been diagnosed with
terminal cancer. I was really stunned, partially because of my surprise from
the gravity of this revelation and partially because of the vulnerability and
humility Martín demonstrated in his quiet but evident trust in—and love for—God.
As he spoke, he truly seemed at peace having followed what he believed to be
God’s plan for him and knowing that God would take care of him, no matter what.
Later, I found myself thinking about Martín and wondering
what was the meaning of this chance encounter. I finally realized that there was a deep
significance to this interaction: it was an opportunity to clearly see Christ
in another person in a way I had never before experienced. This was something
lost on me in the moment, because I wasn’t present to it. I have had many
opportunities over the years to reflect on my meeting with Martín, and what
always remains is the gift of his example; I must first believe in order to see
and interpret the many ways God reaches out to me. For so long, I thought it
was the other way around, that I needed the signs to believe.
How is God trying to
reach out to me in prayer and through others? Are there opportunities for me to
draw closer to God in my everyday experiences? How might I use this time of reflection
during Lent to open myself to experiencing God’s presence more fully?
Reflected by Erica Carroll
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