Amazing Catechists

Teaching and learning the faith together

Catholic Friendship Teaches Teamwork

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“Okay wait, let me try.”

Silence.

I clear my throat and try again.

“Lilly, let me try.”

I watch as Lilly, my roommate, struggles fruitlessly with the lock. She and I are on the third floor of some random storage building, trying to retrieve the stuff from our unit so we can haul it back to our dorm and get it set up for Sophomore year. Unfortunately, our key isn’t working. Considering the unprecedented disaster this whole trip has been, our unit’s refusal to unlock is something I should have expected. It took us a half hour just to get inside the building, since neither of us had ever rented a unit before, and Lilly didn’t know we needed a security code.

“I don’t get it.” Lilly mutters, removing the key and reinserting it for the fifth time. She jiggles the lock, turns the key left, then pulls at the door.

Nothing.

“Oh come on.”

She gives the door a frustrated yank. Still nothing.

“Do you think we should call somebody?” I ask, wanting to be helpful. I realize at this point that the best I can do is offer advice and moral support, since Lilly seems uninterested in giving me a shot at unlocking the door.

Lilly, knowing this situation is absurd, laughs in an exasperated kind of way. “I would feel bad calling somebody because we just can’t use their key.”

“But it’s designed so terribly!” I say indignantly.

“Maybe I’ll try the other key,” Lilly pulls out her keychain.

“Oh! Why didn’t you that be—”

“It’s a duplicate key.”

“Oh.”

I watch hopefully as Lilly fiddles with the duplicate key. I’m so absorbed that I don’t realize the ceiling lights snapping off one by one. Not until the overhead light turns off with a foreboding *click* do I realize what’s happening.

“Hey!” As I take a step back and look up, the bulb flashes on again with a happy *pop*!

The stupid lights are motion sensitive.

This is a predicament whose solution will require teamwork. So, while Lilly kicks the door to our unit and picks at it with the key, I run up and down the corridor so that the lights stay on. Whenever I jog past Lilly, I call out either an insightful comment like “Maybe this isn’t actually our unit” or an enlightening statement like “I’ll have to use the bathroom soon.”

I pause for a moment, leaning against the unit and watching Lilly struggle with the key. “Would it help to get an employee?” I suggest it like it’s a novel idea, and not something I’ve mentioned a million times already.

“It would help me if you let me concentrate.”

“Well I think it would help everyone if I get an employee.”

Lilly looks at me for a few seconds. “Okay,” she says finally. “I’ll call someone.”

“Nice.” It’s been an exciting adventure at the storage unit, but it’s starting to give me the heebie-jeebies. There aren’t any windows and the dumb lights keep turning off.

Once the employee arrives, she unlocks our storage unit in five seconds flat. Maybe we ought to feel embarrassed, but Lilly and I are too busy laughing about it. Having finally gained access to our stuff, Lilly and I load up a trolley and shut the door to our unit. I don’t remember how to get out of the maze of units and corridors, but thankfully Lilly is better at directions than I am. I realize that if it weren’t for Lilly, I’d have gotten hopelessly lost— assuming I’d have been able to locate our unit in the first place. But I also know that if it weren’t for me, Lilly would still be wrestling with the lock and complaining.

I wait in the parking lot while Lilly goes to check out at the office. A few minutes later, she shuffles over to the car.

“Soo..” she laughs uncomfortably. “We were supposed to have left the door to our unit open.”

“Don’t tell me we have to go back up there and close it.”

“Yep! Haha. Isn’t this an adventure?”

I wish the adventure weren’t happening on a 90 degree day, or when I’d only slept for five hours the night before. But I do have Lilly with me, and that makes all the difference.

In the end, we managed to close the unit door without incident, though we did have to go back one more time to retrieve the lock and key we’d accidentally left behind. Lilly kept the key and I kept the lock. They’re a good reminder that, when life gives you lemons, you can turn them into lemonade faster if two sets of hands are working together.

Team work makes the dream work.

“Two are better than one… If either of them falls down, one can help the other up” –Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Catholic Friendship Teaches Compassion

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The evening is off to a great start, especially for a Monday. Swing Dance Club is an event I’d rather eat my hat than miss, and it’s awesome to start off the week with a good time with my friends. But a short time later, I find myself sitting in my dorm room clutching a left foot that’s radiating pain from here to Mexico. I’m wishing that my friends Milo and Lilly were with me, but they’re at Walmart buying me a compression wrap. Milo and Lilly are the dance partners whose overenthusiastic swing move had resulted in my falling and hurting my foot, but our friendship is so far withstanding this setback.

Suddenly, Milo bangs open the door to my dorm and sweeps in with Lilly close behind him.

“Hey hey,  how’re you feeling?” he asks brightly.

“I’m fine,” I reply, even though I’m not. Since Milo and Lilly already feel responsible for my foot sprain, I don’t want to make them feel any worse than they already do. I give what I hope is a convincing smile.

Without warning, Milo dumps an armful of candies on my lap. “I remembered that you like Milky Way bars. I also got some Snickers and Reese’s, Lilly mentioned that you liked those. I wanted to get 100 Grand bars too, since they’re your favorite, but I couldn’t find any. I also was thinking of—”

“Hey Helen,” Lilly cuts off Milo. “Want me to put on some music? You can pick anything you want, even… even Taylor Swift.”

I look at the both of them, not sure who to thank first. Milo had returned with candy I didn’t ask for. Lilly had offered to play Taylor Swift, which for her is the ultimate sacrifice.

I address Lilly first.

“Aw thanks Lilly! Yeah, turn on ‘London Boy’.”

Perhaps Lilly is regretting her offer, but she plays the requested song anyway. I’m instructed by Lilly to stick out my leg, which I do with as much dignity as I can muster, and Milo tries to compression wrap my foot. While my two friends begin arguing over how to use the wrap, I eat a Reese’s peanut butter cup. Sure, my foot is hurting like crazy at this point, but the rest of me is feeling pretty good. I only met Lilly and Milo two months ago, but they’re taking care of me like my family would.

The adventure continues for several hours, with Milo entertaining me with stories and Lilly Googling my symptoms. Eventually, I fall asleep with Ibuprofen by my bed and instructions from Lilly ringing in my ears. (“Make sure you wake me up if you need anything, okay? Anything at all!”) The next morning, I find out that my foot is broken in two places. Although I had never broken a bone before, I knew instinctively that having a fractured foot wouldn’t entitle me to days filled with Milky Ways and Taylor Swift. As it turned out, I spent six weeks shuffling around on crutches, which necessitated my getting up at the ungodly hour of 7:20 AM to make it to my early classes. My foot needed to be iced for several hours every day. I wasn’t even able to get my own food at the cafeteria. But my broken foot opened my eyes to the kindness that surrounded me. From the night of the ill-starred October swing dance session to the December day that I discarded my boot and crutches, my college friends showed me what true Catholic compassion was.

For Lilly, letting me listen to Taylor Swift in the dorm was only the beginning of her honorable sacrifices. Even when my cumbersome walking boot made us both late for class, or she had to carry me to the Wellness Center, Lilly wouldn’t complain. And Milo had a way of materializing every time I found myself looking down a staircase and wondering how I could possibly navigate it. Had he not been there to help me, I promise I would have faceplanted on the landing every time. At night, when I had to stay in and ice my foot instead of going out, Catherine and Lucy made sure I never got lonely. We’d drink tea and talk about everything under the sun. Catherine, who was a lacrosse player and had plenty of experience with injuries, would always help me elevate my foot properly. To chase away the winter blues, Megan would visit my dorm and sing songs while playing the ukulele. Kieran reminded me that I was “a champ,” Justin carried my backpack for me, and I could always count on Thomas to pick up my meal from the cafeteria. There were so many people who helped me constantly— some who I barely knew.

I can’t say that I’m glad that I broke my foot, but I can say that many good things happened as a result. Those weeks spent on crutches gave me so many opportunities to witness the self-sacrifice and compassion, not only of friends, but of strangers. And I was reminded time and again that acts of kindness don’t need to be dramatic in order to have an impact. Always act with compassion. You never know the difference you can make— or to whom you can make a difference.

“Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, you do unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

Catholic Friendship Teaches Community

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As I sit down on my bed, I receive a non-committal text from my friend Maya saying that she might drop by my dorm later that night. Not that I would say it to her face, or to her phone I guess, but I’d rather she not come. I’m stuck in the doldrums and I don’t feel like summoning the energy to pull myself out of them. I’d rather that Disney+ pull me out. I guarantee that The Mandalorian would do so more gently than Maya. I grab a granola bar, get under the blankets, and open up my laptop. I’m feeling more than a little anxious. I have a week’s worth of homework to do, and a paper to write for Professor Adorno. My train of thought is chuffing down an unhappy track. 

It’s 9:30 PM. I’m on my third episode of The Mandalorian, trying to take my mind off homework for a while, when out of the blue someone slams on my window with terrific enthusiasm. I suddenly remember Maya’s text about visiting me that night. A moment later I hear what sounds like a mob banging on my door. Thoroughly annoyed and ready to give Maya a piece of my mind, I march to the door and throw it open.  

Yes, Maya is there. Yes, Maya is dropping by like she said she would. But Maya has brought with her five other people who now enter my dorm room and wander about like visitors touring a museum.  

“Maya, what—? Oh, hey Joey.  Maya, why did you…?  Nico, could you please be careful with that? Hi Milo, yeah, just don’t spill any, please. Maya, I thought you said – “ 

“Hey Helen!” Catherine emerges from the group. “Can I have a Pop Tart?” 

“What? Oh yeah, yeah of course.” I give Catherine the Pop Tart before getting Maya’s attention. “What’s going on?” 

Even though she can hear the note of annoyance in my voice, Maya refuses to answer my question until I put on my shoes.  

“We’re all going out to McDonald’s,” Maya finally replies as I tie up my laces, “and we’re taking you with us.” The second part of her sentence is delivered as a fact rather than a suggestion. 

“But…” I look longingly over at my dimming laptop screen, which is about to shut itself off. “I’ve got to…” I trail off. I can’t say I’m doing homework; The Mandalorian is still on my laptop for the world to see. But I’m just not in the mood to go out. I’m still in the doldrums.  

“Oh come on, stop being such a lump on a log.” Maya begins pushing me out the door. 

I hastily grab my room key, Joey puts the spyglass he was fiddling with back on my desk, Catherine happily finishes eating my last Pop Tart, and Milo shuts the door behind us as the parade marches to the parking lot. 

Adorno’s paper, which had been my biggest source of anxiety, gets dumped for a more pressing concern, as Nico announces that all seven of us are riding in a car designed to seat five. I’m a big fan of personal space and try shooting down this plan. 

“Guys, I’m not sure if we should…” 

“I’ve got shotgun!” Nico jumps into the front seat as Maya starts up her Honda. The rest of the gang piles into the backseat.   

The last thing I want to do is to squish into this sardine can. 

“Helen, are you getting in?” Lucy looks at me encouragingly from over Milo’s knee. “You can get in on the right side, there’s some room here!” She wiggles her foot an inch to the left in a valiant effort to create more space for me. 

Behind me is the road leading back to my dorm and The Mandalorian. In front of me is a carful of my friends, all happy to see me and wanting to cheer me up. My decision is made. 

Treading on Catherine’s feet in the process, I sit down next to Lucy. Everyone whoops excitedly, Joey launches into a funny story, and Maya peels out for McDonald’s. In that moment, I’m the happiest person on campus. 

During my time at college, I’ve learned that the presence of community is not to be ignored or taken for granted. It’s tempting to push people away when you’re stressed, or to cling to the mentality that you don’t need support and are able to power through rough patches on your own. But when you’re at your lowest is when you need your community the most. While the ride to McDonald’s didn’t win any awards for comfort, it provided me with the encouragement I didn’t even realize I needed. The time spent with my friends made it easier to face my responsibilities. As Catholics, we understand that ‘it is not good for man to be alone’. The Mandalorian is an awesome show, but that’s not what will drag me out of my dorm to buy ice cream at 10:00 PM. When you’re feeling low, don’t close the door to your community. It won’t do you any good anyway. They’ll just bang on your window instead. 

Catholic Friendship Teaches Forgiveness

By

It’s a beautiful day on the Belmont Abbey College campus, but within Room 105A of the O’Connell dorms a storm is rumbling. The hum of the air conditioner is irritating me, and I’ve re-read the same sentence three times. I want to clear my throat, but I don’t want to make any noise. My roommate Lilly is sitting on her bed across from me, and she and I are both glued determinedly to our copies of St. Augustine’s Political Writings. Lilly and I are currently not speaking to each other, as we have just had a heated disagreement and are now sitting in deafening silence. Maintaining this silence is difficult for me, since I can rarely hit the five-minute mark without saying something to Lilly. I’d love to tell her about who I saw at breakfast, or the good grade I just got, or at least ask her if we could have our friend Maya over tonight… but I’m not about to sacrifice my dignity and go crawling back. Instead, I’ll give her the silent treatment. Once Lilly notices how unusually quiet I’m being, she’ll realize that I’m mad, and then she’ll feel bad. But I won’t spare her a glance, and will instead wordlessly continue my homework with noble suffering.  

Lilly puts on her headphones. 

Drat. She’s not going to notice that I’m sulking if she’s busy listening to music. I need to accidentally-on-purpose get her attention. I try throwing a sock clear across the room and into my hamper, but sadly this is too regular an occurrence for Lilly to glance up. Perhaps I should take a more direct approach?  

“Hey,” Lilly says as she moves her headphones off one ear. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” I respond in what I hope is a miffed tone. 

“What’re the pages we’re reading for Dr. Hren?” 

“24-46.” 

“Okay that’s what I thought, thanks.” 

“Yep.” 

“Yeah.” 

Lilly puts her headphones back on. 

Okay, that made some waves. Unfortunately though, I’m not feeling sweet revenge. I’m feeling uncomfortable. My misery is going unacknowledged, and, for some reason, Lilly is acting as if nothing were the matter. I’m just sitting on my bed, disgruntled, in my own personal cloud of dejection. I should be doing my homework, but my mood is making it difficult to focus. As I grab my room key and walk to the bathroom, I try to worry less about Lilly and more about my midterm grade for Dr. Hren’s class. 

I’m sitting down on my bed, post-bathroom trip, and realize something’s been placed on my copy of Political Writings. What is that, a bug? I squint: it’s an Oreo. 

“Hey, Lilly?” 

“What’s up?” Lilly takes her headphones off. 

I hold up the Oreo. “Is this for me?” 

“Yes!” Lilly looks at me with a smile kind enough to make me feel like garbage. “I’m sorry I upset you earlier, and I wanted to cheer you up.”  

“Oh,” I consider the Oreo in my hand. “Thank you,” followed by a weak smile. 

Lilly beams at me before putting her headphones back on. I eat the Oreo, feeling stupid. This Saturday’s argument with Lilly had taught me a valuable lesson that I would not forget: forgiveness. 

This Oreo olive branch became the solution to our disagreements. Lilly would leave an Oreo on my bed, or my book, or simply hand it to me, or in some cases where emphasis was needed, chuck it at my head. But the Oreo would always come with an apology that, like the Oreo itself, I couldn’t help but accept. It wasn’t long before I picked up on this practice. If I used Lilly’s mug without asking, or left our window open and bugs got in, or I spilled Gatorade on her copy of The Theban Plays, I’d offer her an Oreo.  

While I don’t remember what Lilly and I were arguing about that Saturday, I do remember that she forgave me, and in doing so taught me how to apologize like a Catholic instead of sulk like a heathen. Asking for someone’s forgiveness requires more than an Oreo; it requires humility, and that you acknowledge what you did wrong. But I realized that it’s better to lose your pride than to lose your friend, and that while requesting forgiveness isn’t pleasant, it’s a lot more palatable when there’s an Oreo involved. I was able to focus on my homework a lot more easily, too, which Dr. Hren was thankful for. Forgiveness truly makes the world go ‘round.