Fantasmic Illuminations ;)

I had the heavenly pleasure of gallivanting about the magical environs of Disney World and The Wizarding World of Harry Potter with my dear girlfriend, Katherine, serving as the executor of many wonderful donations from family and friends to celebrate her graduation with a fun trip.

Disney immerses you in a world of beloved characters, fantasy-turned-real-life settings, and nostalgic narratives brought to life. All of this brings you so easily to a place of wist, wonder, and can't-wipe-the-smile-off-your-face happiness.

Here and there we would run into annoyance and discontent.

I have an incredibly short fuse for people who walk at a snail's pace, or, even worse, stop in the middle of a pathway. I don't mind the slowness or gawking or stopping; just do it off to the side please! It makes me long for a cattle prod that I could use to cast aside the people standing in the way of us movers.

Sometimes in lines, people will become oblivious of the gradual progress their compatriots are making toward the ride and fail to move forward, leaving a tantalizing empty space between you and the ride. It's just helpful to the longing I feel in the queue if I know I'm making progress, you know?

The wonderful Disney employees had their moments of obnoxiousness, too. Some of them are really good at standing and talking to two or three of their fellow cast members rather than helping you. This came to a head when a hungry and tired Dan and Katherine were hopelessly searching for a unique meal after four straight days of amusement park food. We strolled up to a sit-down place where three hosts/hostesses aloofly blabbed away while we futily waited to be offered a menu.

And some struggle to organically grasp the elation of the world, trying to buy it with private character meet-and-greets, expensive visits to gift shops, or superfluous luxuries tacked on to the already high price of admission.

The important thing, though, is that these recognitions are fleeting, and obscured by the constant giddiness of being immersed in such a beautiful world. Even though I don't know the words to every song, I will always have a soft spot for pretty much all things Disney. Just wanted to identify some frustrations so as not to give the impression that I'm brainwashed or something!

The Tiki Room reminds me of childhood family vacations. Star Tours brings to mind the time when Chewbacca scared the crap out of my mom by sneaking up from behind. Tomorrowland Transit Authority was the site of much tomfoolery in my high school days. And now the Laugh Floor will remind me of the new generation of fun and frivolity at Disney. Everywhere there are memories of past visits, of beloved movies and characters, and new memories waiting to be made now and in the future.

I think my favorite memories this time around came from the people we saw. I loved the preponderance of help and love I could see at every turn.

For instance, the park is peppered with strollers and wheelchairs.

At various points, "stroller parking" areas harbor dozens and dozens of these little chariots. These are the means by which parents bravely undertake day-long adventures with inexhaustible little dreamers, often impervious to fatigue. Not only do they try to figure out which ride or character these volatile little humans want to check out; they even allow the kiddos time off their feet, without getting much of a break themselves. These moms and dads get quite the workout walking the environs of these mega-parks while pushing 50 lbs. of precious cargo ahead of them. God bless parents.

Then there's the handicapped. Sure, some of the groups heading backwards into rides via the exit ramps don't look real injured. But for the most part, I saw determined people pushing their own wheels, seeking the same Disney experience as those on two legs. And I saw others who couldn't propel themselves graciously receiving the help of family and friends.

I personally find that seeing and being around handicapped people lays me bare in a great way - I find a purity about their countenances and smiles that is really beautiful. I think God uses the apparent evil of handicap, defect, or disorders to give us constant opportunity to love, for us to show that the love of Christ overpowers any evil. We ought to oppose the root causes of suffering, but we should encounter the suffering in our world with compassion in action.

I saw little kids pushing the wheelchairs of their family and friends. On the shuttle bus to the park, I saw a blind man being led by a woman (sister? cousin? girlfriend?) to his seat on the bus and on to a day at the parks. And I even saw a little boy who could barely walk become a powerful prince.

In the new and improved Fantasyland at Magic Kingdom, they have an attraction called Enchanted Tales with Belle. From Disney's website:

Be magically transported from Maurice’s cottage to the Beast’s library for a delightful storytelling experience. You’ll meet and spend time with Belle, and you may even be invited to play a part in the story. Will you be an enchanted object, or perhaps fill the role of the Beast with a heart of gold?

Katherine and I stayed out of the way as a Disney cast member casted the children in our group of a few dozen people to play their parts in Belle's story. These children, holding little costume props, would be the "actors" in the live retelling of a tale by Lumiere, standing to narrate on the mantle, while Belle, who surprised us later on, would play the part of herself.

At one point, everyone was asked to give their best roar. The kids playfully let out a little scream, leaving the cast member with a tough decision. Near the middle of the room was a mom and dad with a rather bulky stroller and a son who, at first glance, looked a bit too big and old for a stroller. His parents had to hold his arms as he stood, despite the fact that he looked plenty old enough to walk. Next to the carriage was a tiny walker, with sturdy handles and little wheels. And the boy who stood next to it, who had let out a solid roar, didn't have strong enough legs to walk on his own.

Our Disney cast member walked straight over to this little guy and asked him to play The Beast. As he smiled, she tied a majestic red cape around his neck, and he took proudly to his walker with the help of his mom. His beaming smile and delight couldn't be interrupted as the rest of the parts were cast. At the end, everyone needed to practice their parts once more before showtime. When it came time to give one more practice roar, our little hero was more than up to the challenge.

As we were led into the library for the show, the little actors took their places up front, and Belle appeared to lead the show. Every little toot needed the Disney cast members to set them up for their moment in the sun - the best one was the kid playing the horse who rather dutifully and without inflection answered Belle's question with, "I. DON'T. KNOW. NEIGH. NEIGH. NEIGH."

I was welling up as I watched the little man in his cape swivel around on his walker to see all the parts of the show. Then came his big moment with Belle, and God bless the actress, she got down on her knees in her ballgown to talk with him. And when it came time for their big dance, she continued to kneel beside him and move in little steps to match his.

I choked back my tears as the show's hero kissed her on the cheek. I was so ecstatic that this Disney cast member who probably casts dozens of these shows every day saw fit to put a cape on this differently abled little man. She could have easily picked another kid or tried to flirt with a dad or young man instead, but she chose to give this lil guy the moment he deserved. There was no hesitation for his physical shape or ability; she just heard his roar and gave him the cape he was born to wear.

In the midst of so much money changing hands - of pricey tickets, expensive knick-knacks and souvenirs, meals whose cost don't reflect their quality, people trying to use money to create happiness - the greatest love was found in simply leveling the playing field, through treating people with full dignity. The magic of Disney is so potent in its themed lands, amazing rides and attractions, and the settings one can wander through. But it takes on its most human, its most loving form, in the way people were treating each other.

Moms pushing strollers. Dads taking off backpacks to reveal giant sweat stains, shaped like the backpack they'd just removed. Siblings pushing wheelchairs. Parents holding the hands of their little ones, waiting dutifully to meet a character or ride the dream ride. People telling other people that they are worth just as much, carry just as much value, regardless of their age, physical ability, or anything else, but not in often-empty words - in simple yet profound actions.

In this case, the simple donning of a cape to a crippled young man took us past his physical disability and on to his humanity. His life is just as dignified and valuable as everyone else's. His roar was just as good as everyone else's.

When Words Fail, and Love Keeps Overwhelming Us

One of my favorite songs by my favorite artist, Josh Ritter, is Another New World. It's a long, folktastic story song about the allure and downside of exploration and the fortunes, or lack thereof, of one particular explorer. As the man and his expedition set sale for the North Pole, with the thought that they can discover this new world beyond the ice, Josh sings, "But I never had family, just the Annabel Lee, so I never had cause to look back."

I have had this problem ever since I started my driving lessons. When you're ready to make a left turn, you look left, right, and left again, and when it's clear, you go for it. I would always go for it but then look again over my shoulder to make sure I was clear. My driving instructor tried to brake this habit in me. However, I still do it to this day.

My tendency to look back is warranted here, as behind me are tons of amazing students and incredible teachers whom I will no longer see and work with every day.

The magnitude of this parting - leaving this amazing high school and its students and community after one year - continues within me, as now I move from being in the midst of the partings to the epilogue, my six weeks between walking away from my wonderful "job" one last time and packing the car to move back to the Midwest. As I walked toward my car from graduation, a few students stopped me to say a last goodbye, and I joked, "There's a horse waiting for me in parking lot, already saddled up, to ride off into the sunset."

But it's not that easy. And I don't want it to be that easy. Experience only takes root through reflective processing. So here we are again.

I thanked God today because the peace He has sown within me isn't a peace that numbs me to the nature of the present moment or one that removes sensitivity to emotions. Rather, my God-given peace leads me to reflect on it all, the emotions serving as the fuel for my mind to pore over the reality.

It feels so strongly like I'm leaving a retreat... still. Retreats lead you to come off an emotionally intense, spiritually enriching, holistically renewing experience, that is built on the vulnerability and sharing of others and the community you all cultivate together. Leaving a high school after a year of working intensely in theology teaching, campus ministering, and relationship building magnifies these feelings to immense proportions.

In my recollection, I find myself trying to move back to the partings that resemble this one in magnitude and reclaim the lessons they offered:

Sitting at one of my student's (my adopted little sister's) grad parties Saturday with a few other teachers, I thought - did I invite teachers to my party? As far as I could remember, it was just a few: my campus ministers, Fons and Bro. John. And I'm proud that, to this day, John and I are still friends. That a punky 18-year-old kid recognized the value of a relationship enough to keep up his end of the bargain to sustain it enough. I saw him just a few weeks ago, and will see him much more when I return to Chicago. I feel good that a few of my students will help carry the torch of relationship into the future.

I think of parting with the Notre Dame Folk Choir and the air of senior week at Notre Dame. And I remember reminding my friends all year long that we don't need to dramatize the "lasts" because we had cherished and lived fully the 1st, the 27th, and the 74th of everything the right way. The lasts are noteworthy for being part of the end, but we need not overemphasize them or change how we roll on account of the end. And sure enough, our last concert on tour in San Diego was quite the dud for reasons beyond our control. And I was able to laugh it off, knowing that it was the dozens of concerts before that one that defined my memories and legacy.

I remember being a Mentor-in-Faith with Notre Dame Vision, and the intensity of the fraction rite of the 2011 community. The nature of working and living with the same people in a spiritually rich environment brings out incredible depth of relationship because a summer is long enough to get to know someone and grow close to them but just short enough where you don't really grow tired of each other! Amazing relationships were formed, and some of the most important relationships in my life were strengthened to new levels as well. The final Mass we celebrated - impromptu, clearing the chairs out of a small chapel to pack 70 people in, a priest in plain clothes and gym shoes under his vestments, a sign of peace that was thorough in length yet deeply genuine - was perfect. As our chaplain broke the bread, my friend recalled seeing the reflection of everyone in the metal of the patin, while at the same time I was thinking that each of those pieces of the Eucharist were every one of us. We were the most powerful manifestation of a Eucharistic people I had ever experienced, and in the Mass we became what we received: Christ - taken, blessed, broken, and shared for all.

I think also to those kids who were in my small groups. I kept up with some by email or Facebook messages. Gradually, the response rates dwindled, and the few times they'd reached out to me fell away. Now and then, I'll drop a line to one or two of them, but the sustained relationships never materialized. However, God provides - in one Triduum alone, I saw two kiddos who are now undergraduate seminarians, another who studies at Holy Cross, and a fourth who I invited to sit next to me rather than let her sit alone. Each encounter was beautifully affirming. My former "kids" remembered me exactly and were truly happy to see me, and they engaged me as individuals, as adults with their own worlds and stories that they continued to be willing to share rather than reverting to earlier years and clinging to past memories.

Our relationships were easily and comfortably picked up again in these new encounters. The right groundwork had been laid in the way we interacted at Vision because we were seeking relationship in the right ways - giving and receiving love, seeking humor but not at the expense of seriousness, finding Christ in our community. The best relationships are the ones that, even without maintenance when life gets too much in the way, can be picked up again because of the strength of the bond.

And such relationship can happen, in part, because of my attitude, because of what I am seeking and how I go about finding it. The way I engage and interact honestly, friendly, personably, with these students is my contribution to what God will work in and through us. So by building upon my positive experiences with these students, I can and have and will continue to find such live-giving spiritual friendships, relationships in which I can be a positive influence on the person's faith, bring them closer to God, and give and receive love as I learn to be a better builder of the Kingdom.

The Gospel on Sunday morning crystallized this whole thing for me. As the disciples worry about how to feed the multitudes who have come to hear Christ, Jesus calms them down and asks for what food they have gathered. With a glance toward God and the invocation of a blessing, these bits of food feed the thousands with lots leftover. God fills the hungry with good things, even when it looks like there may not be food there for us to munch on. God uses me in his terms of love rather than human terms of limitation and frailty. God takes the few loaves and fishes that I see myself as and shows me that love is not a finite sum to be measured out and allocated.

I don't have to worry about where I'll find my "next meal." I must simply remain close to God, as I have so far on this path, and He will continue to match me up with people and communities that need what I can offer and will feed me in turn. I will miss the little brothers and sisters that I have to leave behind, and we will hold a piece of each other's hearts dearly. However, as I keep in touch with some while others fade into memory, there are some waiting who can use my help and form me as well.

I take delight in the universality of our Church, in the presence of goodness and grace and faith in so many disparate locales of our world - how the love of Christ manifests itself in beautiful and different ways in His family all over. And within this global glory are places where I can teach and learn, where I can lead and serve, where I can give love and receive it.

I once described faith in the mystery of God as a bridge that leads out into a fog. You can't see clearly across the bridge to what lies beyond, but you know that bridges are solid connectors of one area to another. So you walk out onto the bridge, into the uncertainty of the fog, knowing - without seeing for certain - that there is something on the other side. Our faith tells us that Heaven, that the eternal love of God, waits there, the destination towards which we constantly move.

The emotions of these next steps surely merit this reflection, but they should not and do not arouse paralysis or hesitancy. They fuel me to try, as Teresa of Avila says, to continue to be the hands and feet of Christ for others.