Wicklow Mountains National Park, Ireland 2015
About four years ago I was waiting to board a familiar flight from Boston to Baltimore. The 30,000 ft. journey was one I took often for work and I had come to look forward to those sixty minutes in the air. It was just long enough to get into a good conversation with the person next to you, but not too long if things got awkward, you know?
An airline attendant’s voice flittered over the loud speaker, breaking into the silence and interrupting my thoughts: “We will begin boarding for flight #8027 to Baltimore in ten minutes.”
That’s when I saw her, sitting in a wheelchair near the entrance to our gate. A signature black and white habit framing her weathered face, sweeping down to brush the tops of her shoulders. Her thick glasses resting neatly atop the rise of her soft cheekbones. Her skin glowed white, almost transparent from the gentle erosion of time. The contented smile she wore gave her an approachable, and inviting face. I knew immediately, I wanted to sit next to her.
We formed a queue for boarding, and she was the first escorted onto the plane. I was only five or six people behind her, so when I stepped into the plane’s cabin I had about one hundred and forty-four seat options. With one hundred and forty-four open seats, my social skills reminded me it would be weird if I were to take the seat right next to her. So I opted for the seat right behind her instead. As the plane filled, the middle seat next to this lamb-of-a-nun remained open.
And I wanted it.
As the final few passengers were stepping onto the plane the middle seat in my row was still available. I noticed a couple in line straining their necks, eyes hope-filled, scanning the length of the aisle for any chance of finding two seats next to each other.
This was my moment.
I locked eyes with the woman, and gave a wave, “Hey! Hi, would you two like to sit next to each other?” A grin exploded across the woman’s face, “Oh, yes we would love that! Are you sure you don’t mind moving?” I played it cool, “Oh no, of course I don’t mind! I can hop right up here,” I said, tapping the headrest of the empty seat in front of me, right next to my soon-to-be-nun-friend.
I grabbed my things and shuffled into my new seat; fastening the buckle loosely across my lap and sliding my small backpack down next to my feet. I have never loved a middle seat so much, nor do I ever think I will again. With quiet joy, I turned towards the kindly face on my left, placing a hand on my chest as I said, “Hi! I’m Victoria!” And with that simple greeting we entered into a conversation that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
In between her bites of apple slices, and with the hint of an accent from the Old Country, she began to tell me her story. Now eighty-three, she came to America many years ago from Ireland, just nineteen at the time. She told me the decision to become a Nun was easy in some ways — she knew she was following the Lord’s leading in her life, and that gave her reassurance and courage. But, she went on to say, her ‘yes’ to the Convent meant ‘no’ to a life spent living and loving her teenage sweetheart.
“We had already talked of marrying,” she told me, “We had plans to build a home and raise a family together in Ireland.” Though, the more she prayed, the more she knew the life of a wife and mother was not going to be her path. So, at nineteen she said goodbye to the place she had called home and the people she so dearly loved. She said goodbye to the future she once envisioned to embrace the unknown ahead of her.
I sat, eyes wide, soaking in the depth and beauty of her story, “I think it was so brave of you to follow Jesus like that; leaving behind the boy you loved, leaving behind the chance to marry and have a family. I think it was really courageous of you to go against what society still seems to expect young women to do, and to follow God instead.”
She sat silently, but only for a moment, “Yes, I guess it was. But, you know, marriage is brave too. Committing your life to another person is very brave. Daring to bring new life into the world is brave. Raising a family is tremendously courageous.”
It was as if I was hearing this revelation for the first time.
Reflecting on what it means to live a good story, a brave story, a story worth retelling, I’m coming to realize something my wise old friend knew all too well:
Our stories are not brave in comparison to the world’s stories. Our stories are not brave in comparison to each other’s stories. Our stories are brave when they align with the heart of God and we say “yes” to living them out.
Too often we see friends getting married, babies being born, families being built, and wonder – will that ever be my story? Or we see promotions taking place, positions being acquired, and people moving to places that seem exotic and exciting, and we wonder—is my life good enough? We take a step that seems big to us only to look over and see the person next to us taking a “bigger” step.
But my sage-friend is reminding us, that the stories Jesus calls us into do not matter more or less in comparison to the stories around us. The stories Jesus calls us into matter simply because He called.
I’m reminded of a scene at the end of the book of John. Jesus, Peter, and John are hanging out. The scripture says, “When Peter saw [John], he said to Jesus, “Lord, what about this man?” Jesus said to him, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me! ” —John 21:21-23
In so many words Jesus is actually saying, “Peter, it’s not important for you to know what I have planned for John’s life in order for you to live the life I have planned for you. What’s most important is that you know me and we live this life together, regardless of what John’s life or anyone else’s life looks like. You can’t compare. Trust that I love you, and trust what I have for you.”
You see, Jesus may not ask of Peter what He asks of John.
Jesus is not interested in us living in comparison to one another. Jesus is interested in us living our lives walking with Him; mustering up the courage and bravery to trust that every invitation He extends is one towards life, and life abundant.
