Like a Shooting Star

Dandelions drifted in the autumn breeze, birds chirping somewhere in the distance as the leaves turned different shades of autmum. We were crammed together on a rugged patio for afternoon mass during a young adults retreat. As the priest lifted the Eucharist, my gaze drifted towards the dandelions swaying in the distance. Living in Philadelphia, I had grown accustomed to the rhythm of city life. I had longed for a place like this where I could sit quietly among the flowers, with the mountains rising in the distance.

A year later, I found myself surrounded by those very mountains in Idaho’s Sawtooth National Forest, backpacking with the Jesus Youth group. We hiked beneath towering mountain peaks, camped during the night beside turquoise alpine lakes, fell asleep to the distant sounds of waterfalls and streams. Each morning, I crawled out of my sleeping bag, still groggy from the night before, into the cold, damp air. As I brushed my teeth, the morning light settled over the lake. Afterwards, most of us gathered around a log near the fire pit where breakfast was served, warming ourselves with coffee and eating whatever we had that morning: oatmeal, bread or jam.

Our heavy backpack pressed on our shoulders, and the sun beat down on us. With each steep incline, I struggled to catch my breath, wondering how much farther we had to go. But our group of ten made these hard climbs more fun, with plenty of laughter and music along the way. Everyone pitched to get our campsite going with one of the guys made pizza for all of us, while the few guys prepared the bear canister bag, and another set up the tents.

That night, we gathered beneath the stars to share the graces of our trip and offer everything in praise and worship. Wearing only a rain jacket, the cold seeped through my clothes, my body ached, and the rocky ground was uncomfortable to sit on. But even after we finished praying, we stayed outside with one of the guys continued strumming softly on the ukulele. Some of us were tired, others were half-asleep, and few of the girls lingered in conversation. Every now and then, a shooting star would streak across the sky, sending a few of us girls into frenzy and shouting who saw it first. Too tired to move from where we sat, we stayed beneath the vast night sky a little longer.

As we made our way down the trail on one of our final hikes, our legs ached, and we had gone a couple of days without showering. Our priest let us to take turns carrying the pyx containing the Blessed Sacrament, passing it from one person to another as we continued walking in praise and worship. As the days continued, I took in how the mountain rose high towards, waters carving the landscape, and the stars scattered also the sky, but also let myself in the laughter and meals i shared with my group mates.

On the last evening, it rained heavily leaving the logs damp and ground muddy. After dinner, we gathered around the fire pit to prepare for adoration. Smoke rose from the fire, stinging my eyes as I tried to look at the Blessed Sacrament resting on a log draped with a white cloth. I looked up at the stars, their lights scattered across the darkness. Some shone brighter than others, while distant planets and galaxies stretching across the vast sky. I thought of my niece, and the first time I held her as newborn. She was only three weeks old, dressed in a little white outfit. I could not take my eyes off her little features. She was so tiny, small enough to fit in the crook of my elbow. Her little hands folded as though in prayer, her eyes wide open, gazing up at me.

I wondered what the sky had looked like that night, and what it would have been like to look upon the face of the newborn Jesus, lying in a manger on a cold, dark night in Bethlehem. What must it have been like to look upon him with the same tenderness I felt when I held my Ava. To let myself be held with that same tenderness, allowing Him to carry me wherever He wills, like a dandelion caught in the breeze?