“Fog and mist bless the Lord.” -something that’s not actually in the Canticle of Daniel
At the beginning of Spring Break, the Catholic Studies program at Mary College at ASU went on an immersion retreat. The weekend was centered around encountering beauty in nature, other people, and the Lord. We stayed in Flagstaff in a beautiful cabin and traveled from there to visit the Grand Canyon and Sedona. Honestly, the Grand Canyon has never been a bucket list item for me, but the fact that I am living in Arizona for a semester gave me a new excitement to see the big hole in the earth—the idea of going on retreat there made it even better.
A lot happened in the first two months down here, and I was ready for the much-needed break, especially because it meant I could pray about and reflect on all that I had experienced. It was too perfect that our first full day there was exactly a year after the first day of the blessed retreat I went on in Assisi. To make it more perfect, we got to have a holy hour and confessions in a church under the patronage of St. Francis of Assisi. Within the church were replicas of the frescos that are in his basilica in Assisi, as well as a copy of the famous San Damiano crucifix that hangs in a side chapel in the Basilica di Santa Chiara d’Assisi. I was overwhelmed with nostalgia and sadness, thinking about where I was the year before on that day, but I was also moved with gratitude for the Lord giving me that gift of remembrance.
After the holy hour we headed to the Grand Canyon. We knew it was going to be chilly and rainy, but what we didn’t foresee was the cloud of fog and mist that hung over the national park, preventing us from actually seeing the canyon. Everywhere we looked, we saw a gloomy haze that obstructed our view. Rewind a bit to the night before—one of the Catholic Studies professors from UMary presented us with 3 things to meditate on throughout the weekend:
1. Is there something more?
2. How does God see me?
3. What is a grace I would like to receive this weekend?
In the silence that night, I contemplated the desire I possessed for clarity. I looked forward to wandering around the national park and chewing on these different questions. The irony of the grace I asked for coupled with the density of the fog that flooded the canyon slapped me in the face—how perfect it was that I desired answers, and I was literally, physically, given barriers to seeing things clearly. When discussing this foggy reality with the Catholic Studies professor, she remarked, “He always only gives us just enough to see where we’re going. Just enough.” And I came to the realization that my desire to have all the answers and having everything figured out stemmed from my inability to completely relinquish control to the One who has my best interests at heart.
At a certain point, we got off the shuttle that drove around the rim of the canyon just in time to watch the mist clear, revealing the purple and pink majesty of the Grand Canyon, as the sun pierced through the clouds. I couldn’t help but simply stand there in the silence and smile, and then I watched as the clouds returned and covered the canyon again. I was at peace with the lack of clarity because I was overflowing with gratitude for the beauty I had momentarily encountered. Maybe I didn’t gain clarity for the things that were eating at me, but I was enlightened that I shouldn’t grasp for the things that I desire, things that aren’t mine to take—I need only open my hands and receive.
I was kind of given an answer to the request for clarity, but I was then deeply struck by the question “Is there something more?” It’s kind of a haunting interrogation when you really think about it. During our time in Sedona, when contemplating and praying about this question, the only thing that came back was not an answer, but another question: “Quo vadis?” which is Latin for “Where are you going?” Given that the day before I had already established that I couldn’t see where I was going, but it was okay, this inquiry took me aback. Where am I going? I found that, in order to answer that question, I first must answer the question: Where am I? I could feel that I was on the verge of something great, but it wasn’t yet time to take the leap of faith required to take the plunge into the deep. But I also acknowledged that, when/if the time came, the fog may or may not be clear, and I would need to jump and be fearless regardless.
Where are you right now? Where are you going? Is there something more taking place in your everyday life that you aren’t seeing clearly? Is there something more being asked of you? We can’t get caught up in the lack of answers, but we should continue to ask the questions. Life is such an incredible adventure of unknowns and excitement. In the meantime, let’s not forget to be aware of the beauty we are always encountering.