An Unexpected Lesson

An unexpected lesson
By Alison Oen, BCC Leadership Team

The school year had ended but apparently God still wanted to teach me a lesson.

It was the first day in the middle of my doing my hours for IPPE-Introduction to Pharmacy Practice Experience when I heard a voice I recognized. I was the voice of Valerie, a fellow peer in my pharmacy class. Little did I know that she worked part time at this Walgreens store. My first impression upon meeting her last fall was highly judgmental. I had immediately written Valerie off as someone who I would never be able to connect with, to learn from or to work with. I had felt that our personalities were too different. I admit I was panicked when I heard her voice and my stomach sank. I was worried my experience was going to turn into a disaster but it turned out better with her. Valerie was so nice to me. I could ask her a question without her judging me or telling me I should know that by now. She stood at one of the cash registers with me and explained how to look up certain medications, how to find out if a patient’s medication was ready, how to enter a new prescription into the system, and even how to enter a new patient profile. She is one of the most upbeat and energetic people I know, a lot of people would call her “perky” but I like her enthusiasm and it has made the long hours more bearable. I will definitely miss her enthusiasm when she starts her own IPPE hours at another store this coming week. I guess the old saying is true “never judge a book by its cover.” I believe God tried to teach me a lesson on judging others before I even know them. I hope that I can continue to learn more from her and work more with her in the coming school years we have together at Butler.

Lent Time

Lent time

by Mary Allgier

BCC Leadership Team

It’s almost Ash Wednesday, you know what that means? McDonald’s Filet O’ Fish returns.

Okay, yes, but it means Lent will have officially started and many of us will be giving something up.

Many choose chocolate, or some other food item. Some try to give up or limit technology or anything they think they use too much.

For me, Lent is a time to become a better person. What keeps me from God? What do I need to work on?

Last year I gave up swearing (Not afraid to admit I can be a potty mouth). It was good, but two years ago I decided to give up complaining. I realized after a day I didn’t know how to have a conversation without airing some sort of grievance. It’s too cold! It’s too early! I’m so hungry! My C-Club pizza is SOGGY (Yes. That happened).

So I tried to just put a positive spin on all my complaints.

At least I have food to eat. I have to get up early to go to school, but many people don’t get that chance. At least the snow is pretty.

And I think that’s my favorite thing I’ve ever done for Lent. I think I’ll do it again this year (along with Strawberry Pop tarts… seriously, it’s a problem) and I encourage you to join me. Instead of whining about what we don’t have or what we have to do, let’s try and focus on how blessed we are!

Here are some other idea too  http://www.examiner.com/article/ten-innovative-things-to-give-up-for-lent

A Reminder of Good

A Reminder of Good

By Lauren Stark, BCC Leadership Team

(Written December 20)

It has been an emotional week for the nation. The Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting has impacted many Americans. The photos. The videos. The stories. In the midst of this tragedy, it’s hard to see God. It’s hard to find the good in the world that He promises. But on Monday, I caught a glimpse of it.

I met one of my closest Butler friends, Brett, in Chicago for a day of holiday fun. We went ice skating and window shopping, reminiscing about old memories and planning for future ones. Finally, we said our goodbyes, and I sat down on my train for the ride home. That’s when I realized my wallet was missing.

I panicked when I realized that I had left it on the bus I took to the train station. That wallet held everything—my license, car keys, cash, credit card. I was stuck in the city. On the verge of tears, I called home. My dad said he would call the bus company. Then I called Brett, who, without a second of hesitation, walked the five blocks to come wait with me and gave me money to buy another train ticket.

I have heard so many times of people whose wallets get stolen. And mine was just sitting there, free for the taking. That’s when I started crying. It was just a few material things—some paper and plastic and fabric—but I felt so helpless and lost.

Then I got the phone call from home. A man had found my wallet and had it at his apartment for me whenever I could get there to pick it up.

Tears kept flowing, and this time, they were out of pure relief.

By this point, my dad was already on the highway coming to pick me up, assuming as I had that the wallet was gone for good. When I told him the news, all he could say was “Wow.”

Two hours after I first realized the wallet was gone, I stood in the courtyard of a downtown apartment complex, waiting for this Mr. Napier who had my wallet. As soon as he walked out, I started crying again, getting out a few “thank you’s” amidst the tears.

My dad tried to give him some money, but the man refused. He said to me, “I don’t need any money. Why don’t you just give an extra five to your church this weekend?”

Tears seemed to be the theme of the day because as I sat down in my dad’s car for the ride home, my wallet sitting safely in my pocket again, I was crying again. Only this time, they were tears of sheer joy.

Now, I have heard the story of the Good Samaritan dozens of times. But that day, it finally made sense. There are people in this world who will do uncommon good, who will go out of their way to do what is right. Mr. Napier is my Good Samaritan.

As we hit the expressway, my dad turned to me and said, “Well, this goes to show that there are still good people in the world.”

Such true words. We see so much horror and tragedy all around us that the brightness and good become obscured. But God is always working to bring that good back into focus. I have no doubt that God put Mr. Napier on that bus, in that seat, to find my wallet. God gave me a model of goodness, a stranger who could show me the light.

And this year,  I’ll say a special prayer of blessing for that stranger…and a special prayer of thanks to God, for always giving me a light to hold on to.

Finding our Elis...

Written by Danielle Vaclavik
BCC Senior

The first reading we reflected on during the Busy Person’s Retreat was about Samuel, a student living in the temple and learning from the priest Eli.  He knew who God was supposed to be but did not know who God was personally because he lived in a time when signs from God were rare.  In the night, God called out to Samuel but when Samuel heard God, he thought it was Eli and went into Eli’s room.  Eli told him to go back to bed.  This happened three times before Eli realized what was happening.  He told Samuel the next time he heard the voice to respond “Speak, your servant is listening.” 

I started Sunday school in Kindergarten and attended all the way through Confirmation.  My mom took me to mass every weekend and to confession when I didn’t.  Like Samuel, I had been schooled in the ways of the church.  I knew who God was supposed to be, but like Samuel, we live in a world where messages from the Lord are rare and visions are quite uncommon.  For me, God was a hypothetical not a reality.

Like so many kids, college offered me the excuse and the freedom to walk away from church.  Soon Sundays were for sleeping in, not church.  For the next three years, I never regretted my decision to walk away.  I had everything I needed.  Looking back, God came to me so many times to offer me his hand.  He came through my family.  He came through my friends.  He came in the quiet of the night when I cried out wondering why I wasn’t happy when I had everything on my “checklist to success”.  He followed after me, calling my name, promising comfort and healing if I could just hear him.  But, I walked past him in the night, attributing those promises of comfort to other things.  Money. Boys. Drinking. Prestige. Yet, he did not give up.  God kept calling my name.

Last spring I studied abroad.  I arrived in Rome not knowing anyone.  I was scared but hopeful for the semester to come.  Never could I have imagined the plans God had in store for me.  God followed me to Rome.  Well actually, it would be more accurate to say he called to me all the way from Rome.  I arrived searching for the voice in my head.  I followed it all over Rome and half of Italy before it led me into a little chapel on Ash Wednesday, my first mass in over three years.  Here I met my Eli.

As my friends and I sat waiting for mass to start, a tall blonde deacon came over to ask us to help with the readings.  Flustered, I said “Yes”, while I internally thought, “I haven’t been in a church in three years and this guy wants me up on the alter?!”  Deacon Victor was an American seminary student in his last year before priesthood.  I didn’t know it at the time, but he and his good friend, Deacon Pat, would become stables in my everyday life from that day forward.  God, it seems, impatient for me to finally get the picture, had sent me not one but two Elis for my time in Rome. 

Through a chain of events that could truly have only been divine intervention, my roommate, Erica, and I agreed to attend Day 3 of the Lenten Station Churches with Victor and Pat the following day.  Station Mass is not the Stations of the Cross, but an ancient Roman tradition in which, during Lent, a mass is celebrated at a specific church each day.  Not just any 40 churches, but the same 40 churches every year since the Council of Trent.  Some of these churches were so old that they only celebrated this one mass a year.  After mass, we would look around and sometimes get to see tourist restricted areas like crypts and underground chapels. 

Without really knowing why, my roommate and I decided we would go to every 7am Station Mass we were in town for.  This was no easy commitment for a study abroad kid looking for a laid back semester in Europe.  So here I was getting up at 5am everyday to attend mass, totally out of my depth.  I clung to the little red history book they gave us detailing each church’s unique history.  I clung to it like a shield because being there for academic reasons was easier than being there for the right reasons.  Because even though I was going to mass with all these seminarians and nuns, I still felt silly.  I felt stupid for wanting to go.  I felt like a fake.

Mass was usually followed by a cappuccino and croissant at a café, which, as Lent and our friendships progressed, turned into two hour daily breakfasts where I learned about God from my Elis.  They were unknowingly preparing me, so that one morning, in some cathedral in Rome, in a sleep deprived haze, as I was going through the motions of mass, when God spoke quietly in my heart, I knew him.  My response was not as eloquent as Samuel’s.  I am ashamed to say it was more like a litany of angry accusations.  And you know what?  God laughed at me and then politely listed off all the moments in my life when he had come to me in the night and I had walked straight passed him to seek refuge elsewhere.  That day I started to pray, really pray.  It changed everything.  I would just kneel there talking to God…yelling at God…crying with God…simply listening to the silence, letting his voice in.  And it was wonderful.

Like Samuel, my Elis showed me how to hear God when he called my name.  The men and women I met in Rome changed my life.  They opened my eyes simply by being living examples of Jesus, being present in my life and including me in theirs.  I have learned, we all have Elis in our lives teaching us and preparing us to know and understand God.  They prepare us so, that when God calls out, we will be able to answer confidently; “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”

The Presence of Jesus in Adoration

Written by Lauren Stark
A Sophomore on the Leadership Team
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            Growing up Catholic and attending 13 years of Catholic school, I had experience in practically every Catholic activity. I was an altar server and Communion minister. I attended and led retreats. I prayed the rosary. But for some reason, I avoided one event:  adoration.

            I guess I considered adoration something I could do without. I prayed on my own, so why did I need to do it in front of a shiny monstrance?

            So when I attended the Steubenville Youth Conference this summer with my home parish and found out that we would be participating in an hour-long adoration, I was a little nervous and skeptical.

            But that all changed the minute the priest came out holding the monstrance in the air.

Something inside of me stirred. I felt…Jesus. It seems almost too cliché to say, but in that moment when the monstrance was right in front of me, I for the first time truly felt God’s presence—His real presence—inside that host. I fell to my knees and joined all the people around me in prayer. I cried and smiled. The feeling of God’s love filling me was something I had never felt before.

That hour was the quickest of my life, and from that day on, I was hooked on adoration.

Adoration is something uniquely Catholic. When the monstrance that holds Christ is set before the worshippers, He is really and truly in that room. Although we do believe that God is always with us, this is a more tangible way to recognize that—and to remember Jesus’ sacrifice for us. I am truly lucky to be a Catholic and to have adoration as a way for me to worship.

A few weeks ago, I was struggling. I felt disconnected from my friends, my school life, and my faith. And I didn’t want to stay that way. I had been wanting to participate in adoration in Indy since the start of school, but I had been putting it off, once again thinking that I could do enough on my own.

But that day, something—God—was tugging at my heart, telling me to go see Him. I jumped in my car and drove to St. Luke’s down the street. There, in the beautiful adoration chapel, I saw my God again. It was only a short thirty minutes of prayer. And for most of that time, I didn’t say anything. I just sat in His loving presence. And it worked. My spirit was revived, and I felt happy and full again. Adoration connected me again to my faith and the world around me.

I know adoration can seem intimidating or unnecessary. But I really encourage you to give it a try. Just twenty minutes. Bring a prayer book or the Bible. Bring a rosary. Bring some worship music like I do (“Savior, Please” by Josh Wilson is my favorite song to adore God to). Bring your needs and desires. Or just bring yourself and your openness to hear what God has to tell you. You won’t be disappointed.

Miracles

Posted by Chris Antolin
Leadership Team

So I've been listening to this song called "What Faith can do" by Kutless. It's a great song! I actually heard it while working (or leading) a Christian awakening retreat this past Oct. This song constantly strikes me. More notably, it reminds me of It all goes back to when I was a Senior back at Roncalli High School. It was in May, just a few weeks before Graduation. My parents and my sister were off at one of her gymnastics meets (she got a gold in vault! I was proud of her!) and I found myself alone at home. I decided to go and eat lunch out by myself. Most of my friends had spring sports and jobs that took up a lot of their time. As I was eating alone, this man confronted me and asked me if I was a priest. Me, being kinda shocked by the question, said that I was a little too young to be one. I asked him why he thought I was a priest. He told me, "I have never seen a kid wear a cross (refering to my retreat cross) and value it so much that he does not want to ever forget it".  I told him how great of an experience I had and how I think of my faith as something that will always stay in my life. The gentleman and I had a conversation about faith for the next half hour. I will remember this conversation for time to come. I remember how he considered it a miracle that I wore the cross. He told me how he sees kids now and how they don't tend to live up to their faith. He never thought that he would see a kid, yet a guy, show his faith off so proudly. I found his comment true, but I never thought the word "miracle" would seem fit for this. I asked him why he used the word "miracle". He then went to ask me a question I will never forget. He asked me "Do I believe in miracles?". Now me, having a different definition of a miracle (a supernatural one), said no. He told me that I should, because they are always happening throughout the world.

 I thought about what he had told me at that point. I still didn't know whether or not they exist. I, later, changed my opinion.

 Many of you probably had no idea, but for the past 18 years, I struggled to be able to hear like a normal person. I was born with a 95% hearing loss. My hearing was compared to someone talking to someone else and that someone else is under water. My parents said that they would yell my name while I was near them and I could not hear them. My parents hated it, and I had no idea what was going on. They made a decision: I had my first surgery on my ears in first grade. It was either that or a hearing aid. There was one problem that occurred as time went on. My hearing got better, but there were "issues" that came with the surgery. I was one of the kids with a rare case in which the holes in the eardrums did not close after surgery. Seems like this was not problem? It was the worst problem. This smallest drop of water into either of my ears would give me a serious infection for a week sometimes. I went through this and 2 more surgeries as my life continued on.  This July of 2012, I had an opportunity to try and have this problem fixed for good. Another surgery, except this time it was to patch the holes created in my eardrums.

The surgery day came, and my surgery went well. The surgeon told my family and I something that shocked me. My eardrum had hardened into a bone-like eardrum (they are suppose to be soft for sound to bounce off of it). The surgeon said that I was another kid with an extremely rare case. So I was already a kid with an extremely rare issue with my ears. The surgery went from being a simple patch job into a complete removal and reconstruction of an eardrum.


 Now going back to the song I mentioned earlier, there is a part of the song where the lyrics go like this:

I've seen miracles just happen

Silent prayers get answered

 My surgeon told me that the condition of my "Petrified" eardrums was the most interesting scenario. For the past 4-5 years, my eardrums were like this, petrified and rock hard. He told us all that my eardrums were NOT suppose to be working (In other words, I was suppose to be deaf for the past 4-5 years). Today that remains a mystery. My surgeon has no idea on how I could hear or even hear as well as I did.

 To me, this is that "miracle" that the gentleman was talking about. I knew at that time, that miracles DO exist. Think of it like Love; there are so many definitions of what it is or can be, but it happens all over the world that we know so well. I believe that God had blessed me with this miracle and I am extremely grateful to have had such an experience.

 So, to those reading this, take the man's advice that he gave me. Believe in miracles. They happen all over the world and they may even happen to you one day! Never lose HOPE and never lose faith in what God has in store for you!