We just returned from our France pilgrimage and are still working through the jet lag. This means early bedtimes and wide-awake pockets in the night. When this happens, I say a Chaplet of Divine Mercy. As I leaned over to grab my rosary, I sadly remembered losing it during the rosary procession in Lourdes. That simple wooden rosary had been with me since World Youth Day 2008 in Sydney. It began as an ordinary olive wood rosary that every pilgrim received. Still, as our children progressed through their teenage and young adult years, that rosary (among others) became a constant companion. Each bead was filled with thousands of prayers for them, and countless tears were absorbed within. The wood became seasoned over a decade and a half, and the grain pronounced. It was more beautiful than ever and a reminder that God is listening and acting.

My husband and I flew in a few days early to spend some time in London before joining the group in France. In the dark and quiet night, my mind wandered back to when we lived in England in the early eighties. We had already spent several years in South Korea, where we lost our first child to miscarriage, and now, we were overseas again. It was during the Cold War, and things were complicated. Housing was sparse, and we had to move frequently. Adjusting to a new culture, military life, a husband who was frequently away, and the inability to conceive wore heavy on me. I was a very frustrated American. Rather than make the most of things (as my mother often reminded me in her letters), I fixated on what was wrong with our situation. Instead of being present in the present, I wished for a future that did not pan out as quickly as I hoped. I wasn’t where my feet were; I was always elsewhere in a fantasy future.

I know that God is in the present, which is the gift. When I spent my days wishing and hoping things were different, I was not enjoying what was before me in the present. I needed a positive attitude adjustment. Instead of thinking, “Here I am, far away from my family and country again.” I should have been thinking, “Wow, Europe is my playground!” I almost missed this great opportunity. I needed to be where my feet were and begin my new adventure. It took some time, but I eventually did just that.

As we walked around London forty years later, we were fully present in the moment. I saw through older, wiser eyes what my youth could not see before it then. It’s funny how a few years under your belt can do that. Sure, it was an entirely different circumstance, yet I was thankful God gave me this moment to realize the importance of the present and gifts he lays in front of me each day. Thank you, Lord, for forming in me the eyes to see and the ears to hear you with more sensitivity.

On the pilgrimage, I was amazed at the abundance of opportunities the Lord places before humanity to give us a peek at Himself through His holy saints and the churches that honor them. I wondered why their magnificent churches weren’t full of people praying instead of shooting photos. I wonder why ours aren’t either. Have they gotten so accustomed to the impressive edifice and missed what they point toward? Perhaps they do not yet know Christ or left him back in a childhood memory.

We could have spent hours at each location we were privileged to see. Time simply did not allow for it. While many of our parish’s stateside pale compared to the architecture, art, and workmanship there, God is ever present even in the humblest chapel made of mud and straw.

Open your eyes and ears today and see God all around you. Hear His timeless voice. Walk and be present to Him here and now, for tomorrow may be too late.