A Note on the Archive

Three years ago, I started a blog, "Come! Live in the Light," on behalf of the Notre Dame Office of Campus Ministry. It was a huge labor of love for me and one of the most important things I did as an undergrad. It gave me a wonderful opportunity to my own story and to tell the story of my faith. When I graduated, I wrote my last blog post and started my new blog, content to leave this one in tact so that readers could return to it and read old posts if they chose to. It was to be a "pre-quel" of sorts for my new blog. However, unexpectedly, Come Live in the Light got deleted after I graduated.

I've worked to restore the blog articles and remake the aesthetics of it. I've tried my hardest to match the blog dates to the days they were published. I was able to repost the articles, but the pictures, comments, statistics, and some other details could not be reproduced. This blog will remain as a narrative of my life and faith while a student at the University of Notre Dame.

If you'd like to see what I'm currently writing please visit: Wanders in Wonder.

Live in the Light

Whenever I walk into the main entrance of McGlinn, I see a wall of plaques bearing the names of women who have contributed to our dorm in a significant way. When I wait in line at Subway, I gaze upon a wall covered in accolades for students who have made a significant difference at Notre Dame. Recently, I’ve been filled with joy to see my own friends’ names join these plaques. My friends have told me delightedly about the well-earned awards they received, the honors societies they’ve been inducted into, and the different honors they will receive as they graduate. I am completely humbled to have friends that are so successful and so impactful on our Notre Dame community.

But sometimes, late at night, alone in my room- a sneaky thought tickles my mind, “Megan, you have literally done nothing to contribute to this school.” Sometimes I wonder if I have made any impact on my school, my community. Sometimes I wonder if my presence at Notre Dame has made any difference. In these moments, I retrace my Notre Dame experience, resigned that there is grace in treading lightly. I don’t need to have changed Notre Dame to have had a good experience, I tell myself.

Then I think of this blog and with a burst of blessing-filled love, I realize that I have had an impact at Notre Dame. My legacy isn’t the normal one. It isn’t written on a plaque, but across the bizarre mystery that is cyberspace. I can’t touch it. There is no real physical evidence- no building, no new club or event, no policy change- just a URL scrawled across the screen. It’s a sentence in the Campus Ministry e-newsletter. It’s a link on my Facebook. It’s the fourth thing that comes when you Google, “Megan McCuen blog” (and the first thing that comes up when you Google “confirmation letter for sister”).

Despite being intangible, I’ve seen traces of my legacy all around me for the last three years. I’ve received e-mails that have touched my heart- from people I know, members of the Notre Dame community I’ve met, and several from complete strangers from around the world. On more than one occasion I’ve introduced myself to the response, “Don’t you write a blog?” Or the reverse when I bring up my blog to someone new, to the response, “That was you? I read it all the time!” I’ve been overwhelmed by each comment, each like and share on Facebook, and each retweet.

I am also overwhelmed with gratitude in the way that I do for the people who have been a part of this blogging journey with me. I am so thankful for my amazing, inspiring mother who is my campus minister/spiritual director/overall mentor in faith. She deals with my frequent, “Hey, can I just talk you through this blog to make sure it makes sense” calls and shares every article with her friends (who have become a fan club of their own). I am grateful for my loyal group of friends who read each week and flatter me with the nicest comments. I am grateful to all those who’ve leant their voices to my blog- from people I’ve interviewed to those who’ve shared their stories with me to the priests that have let me steal snippets from their homilies.

I am most grateful for the remarkable faith-filled women I’ve had the privileged to work with as part of the Campus Ministry communications team. Our Wednesday meetings are one of the highlights of my week. We’ve watched hilarious videos, discussed whether the Pentatonics musical genius was made up from their terrible aesthetics, and contemplated “what are the kids talking about?” I’ve also had some of the deepest faith sharing conversations during my whole time at ND in the Communications office. I’ve been so lucky to write alongside Kate Arndorfer whose writing astounds me each week. I am so blessed to have gotten to know Dani L’Heureux whose diligence and energy has made the Campus Ministry Facebook/Twitter/Insta so wonderful. I am so, so thankful to Kate Morgan for taking a chance on me when I was a freshman with big dreams and giving me this platform to share, grow, and write.

My legacy is small. There is a line in my new favorite musical Hamilton that says, “What is a legacy? It’s planting flowers in a garden that you never get to see.” This quote is true of my writing here. I can’t know how my words have impacted you. I hope they’ve made you feel a little less alone. I hope they have reminded you resoundingly that God has a plan for you. I hope you understand that God has given you the skills you need to shape your world in ways that will bring light to others. I hope you have realized that more than anything else, God is always calling you to do the most loving thing. I hope you challenge yourself everyday to be that love for others.

I am at the end of this little legacy. It may be a tiny blip, but this blip has meant the world to me for last three years. I’ve written over 80 articles. I’ve spilled my secrets and shared my soul. But now I just have just a few more words left for you and one last wish. I picked the name for my blog during choir rehearsal one night at the beginning of my sophomore year. We were singing David Haas’ “We Are Called.” This hymn is a little cheesy, but who doesn’t love to belt it? It sums up our call as people of faith to live out God’s call to service, justice, and humility- something I hope this blog has reflected. But even beyond that, I have always connected with imagery of the first line. To me, God’s love looks like radiant, warm sunlight. So of anything I hope for you, as my parting prayer, it is that you live in the light.

Second to Last

I can’t believe it was three years ago I arrived in the Campus Ministry offices in my floral skirt and blue cardigan, asking for the office of “Katie Morgan.” [Editor’s note: I am so thankful my administrative assistant told her my name is actually Kate and not Katie – Megan may not have gotten this job otherwise] I was nervous, clutching my printed list of blog ideas and my newly minted resume. I remember the interview was long and we spent quite a bit of time talking about Twitter as a totally valid place for news. A week or so after my interview, during move out, I found out I’d been offered a spot as a Campus Ministry student blogger. How could I have known then the amazing opportunities that would await me in my writing this blog?

My very first articles were written with a degree of uncertainty. I felt myself trying to write a “good Christian blog.” I wanted to deliver the sort of blog that my imagined model Campus Ministry kid would like to read. I would search the Internet for Bible passages that fit my topics. I doubted myself and would often e-mail my mom and ask for her help in putting together articles. I would interview friends and family for my articles, filling my articles with quotes. I’m not saying that these articles were disastrous, but they weren’t always as authentic as they could be.

I am grateful, so grateful, to have had this job for three years because it has given me the opportunity to develop my own voice. I remember in January of my sophomore year, I wrote a blog called “Religion and Politics,” where I wrote about my complex identity as a liberal Catholic. I was so nervous for the response to that article, dreading a backlash that would reaffirm the reason I had never dared to speak about the topic before. But instead it was met by understanding and affirmation. I began to realize I had freedom to truly articulate my faith- not just what came easily or the ready-made narratives- but the messy parts too.

So over the last few years, I let myself do just that. I wrote about being lonely. I wrote about the way Catholics sometimes judge each other for not being Catholic enough. I wrote about my move to Paris in the midst of a terrorist attack; then later I wrote about praying for the same city amidst another attack. I wrote about inevitable moments of disappointment that come with being a Notre Dame student- when all my dreams for senior year fell apart, when I felt stifled by my inner negative voice, when the process of waiting for future plans made me miserable. These articles came from some of my hardest moments in college, but having the courage to write about these things helped me work through the issues, have autonomy over them, but most importantly, see God in them. It is always these articles written from both pain and honestly that I have been told are the most powerful for readers. It means a lot knowing that I can repurpose painful moments into ones of understanding for others.

One of the moments that stands out the most was when I wrote the article, “All About Pep,” which was about having a transgendered grandparent. This was something most friends didn’t know about, something I was always worried to share about my family. The article was one of the highest read articles I’ve ever written. I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of love the article received. Here, this story I was always terrified to tell was now being a tool to communicate God’s love to others.

Looking back, writing this blog has been a lesson in learning how to be vulnerable. It has helped me find the words to share my faith in my own way, through my stories struggles, and triumphs. I’m so excited to see where my words will take me next and which new stories I’ll write.

On that note, this will the second to last post on this blog. As it is part of Notre Dame Campus Ministry and in essence a record of my undergrad experience, this particular story ends here. This doesn’t mean an end to my blogging, just this blog in particular. I’m pleased to say I’ll continue to tell my stories on my new blog: Wanders in Wonder. It will continue to have faith articles, as well musing about my favorite books, music, and travels. I’m really delighted to see where this new writing adventure leads- both next year in Ireland and beyond.

A Drop in the Bucket

Friday morning at 3:30AM, I turned in my “Final Draft” of my senior thesis. It wasn’t perfect. As I crawled into bed, 10 minutes after pressing send, I thought of at least 5 things I should have fixed. But as I scrolled through section after section, as I finalized my bibliography, as I read over the details- I felt myself swell with pride. I had done it! I had started a club at a local school and it seemed to have made an impact on the kids I worked with. I started figuring out how to write a real research paper, learning how to write literary reviews and use qualitative research methods- even if the big words scared me. And I wrote a lot of pages of academic writing. My draft wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t take away the satisfaction I felt at completing such a feat.

I’ve spent of a lot of this year being “stressed” about my thesis. There was uncertainty first semester about what school I would work with. There was stress when I panicked at not knowing what a literature review was, much less how to write one. There was a comically pathetic day when I started crying because I couldn’t get the car out of the parking lot to make it to a club meeting. Sometimes, most times, my greatest source of stress was the fact it was just “looming.” Short papers for classes are usually a one and done sort of thing, but writing this was a process. Which meant that if I was indulging in Netflix or out with my friend, there was always a voice in my back of my head saying, “Shouldn’t you be working?”

A couple weeks ago, just as I was starting to wrap everything up, my thesis advisor said something to me that stuck- “This is just a drop in the bucket.” Here my thesis had been this huge, hovering cloud of stress to me,when in reality, it was just like she said, a drop in the bucket.

How often do we do that? Take something small and temporary: a paper, an argument with a friend, a disappointment- and turn it into something way bigger than it actually is. This happens all the time, shortchanging us from enjoying the little things in life and the peace of being present, by consuming us in the pressure to finish one thing, then another.

Even college, in the end, is just a drop in the bucket. Whether you’ve had the best four years of your life- or the worst (and most realistically, something in the middle)- it is a just a drop (or maybe a few). Right now, college feels like everything, because this is all we know so far- but there are so many more things to come. I’m excited for the drops that will join my bucket in the future- for visiting new countries, for when I watch my career take off in directions I don’t imagine, for new communities I’ll create in new cities, with new people. I’m excited for the unknowns in the way farther future- marriage, family, career changes, travels. I’m excited for watching this metaphorical bucket overflow, not from singular events, but from a life lived in joy.

Dear Freshman Megan,

Dear Freshman Megan,

You’re sitting in the family van, stuffed full of everything you’ve imagined putting in your college dorm- the one at Notre Dame you’ve spent four years of high school daring yourself to envision. You are wearing the outfit you’ve had picked out for weeks. This crazy dream you never thought was going to come true is about to unfold right before you. And I can promise you right now, darling little almost-Freshman Megan,  it not going to be easy. College is going to be really hard.

You will start college with a list of things you are planning to accomplish. This is what it looks like: Join Folk Choir, work as a mentor for ND Vision, study abroad in Angers, become an RA, intern for ACE, and graduate to become the ideal teacher. All while maintaining a perfect relationship with your high school boyfriend. This plan is so ingrained in your head that you can’t even imagine college being anything but this plan. I hate to tell you this (and of course the last four years would have been a lot easier if I could) but none of this will happen.

A lot of your freshman year will be spent hiding your tears of homesickness, heartbreak, and the realization that the future is made up of uncertainties. Some days, you’ll look up at the dome and wonder if all this pain is worth it for the dream. But, you’ll finish freshman year feeling a lot less homesick, a little less heartbroken, and confident that it’s all going to work out. That’s not to say it gets any easier. You’ll take classes so difficult it will make you question ever thinking you were smart enough to go to Notre Dame. You’ll have nights of terrifying loneliness where you’ll wonder if anyone really knows you, if anyone really cares. You’ll feel as if you are drowning in stress. You’ll have disappointments and frustrations and you’ll stay up late writing angsty entries into your journal.

But in the end, you will grow into yourself. You’ll learn to accept the uncertainties of your life. They are still frustrating, but you will learn to live in acceptance of them instead of in conflict. You’ll learn how to succeed in your classes, but also how get help when things aren’t okay. You’ll learn how to live on your own and embrace independence in a way you’ve never had the freedom to do before. You’ll learn how to take care of yourself when you feel stressed. You’ll learn how to tell your stories, even the painful ones, so that you can help others. You’ll begin to learn how to love yourself in the way God loves you and that is so, so important.

And you will have so much fun because you are going to do incredible things you don’t even know about yet. You will travel to places of your dreams. You’ll do research in France as a sophomore, feeling so joyful and awe-filled as you begin to explore on your own. And then you’ll come back to spend seven months in Europe- studying in Paris, interning in Ireland, travelling everywhere you can afford. It will change your life and all you will do is dream about going back. So much so that you put off your teaching dreams to spend another year in Europe after graduation. It’s not what you expected, but it’s exactly right.

What else? You will make amazing friends. It will take a while to make them, but finding people you can be 100% yourself around is always worth the wait. These friends are the kind of people that agree to making up Hamilton-themed (oh right, you haven’t heard of this yet- it’s a musical and it’s good, I promise) Bookstore Basketball teams. They have creative writing reading nights. They do yoga with you every Friday morning. They are down for brunches out or game-and-wine nights in. They care about you a lot and you care about them too.

Is there anything I’m missing? You get a pet bunny, like you’ve always wanted. You write a senior thesis, even though the prospect of it terrifies you. You write this blog, which is one of the most important ways you contribute to Notre Dame. There are plenty more things I could tell you, but I think you need some surprises, so I’ll stop here. There are things you swear you will never do, but you do them anyway- and that’s okay- that’s growing up. There are things you regret, but we all have those, and in the end, you know every wrong turn is part of God’s plan. Because that is the truth of it, the most important thought I give you- God has a plan for you. Yes, the road is hard. Yes, all your plans will get scrapped. But God’s plan for you is leading you to happiness that you can’t even imagine yet. And in the end, you’ll see that God’s plan might be better than your own.

The night before you go to Notre Dame, you’ll write in your journal, “I go to seek a great adventure.” And that you do. Notre Dame isn’t always easy. But it is always, always an adventure. And it is always worth it.

Now go live it!

-Megan

Easter Unexpected

All week I told everyone how excited I was to go home for Easter. I had been abroad for Easter last year and I will be abroad for Easter next year, so I wanted to absorb as much “Home Easter” as possible because I didn’t know when I’d celebrate it with my family again. I was excited for all our favorite traditions- going up north for Good Friday, going to the Easter Vigil at St. Philomena’s, my beloved home parish, brunch on Easter Sunday morning, and then a huge dinner with our extended family on Sunday night. So it made it all the worse when I got home and found out that Easter was going to be a little different this year.

Due to the snow up north, my mom explained to me, we would be staying home on Good Friday. She added that we wouldn’t be celebrating the Easter Vigil at our home parish either. She was the sponsor for a man who would soon receive the sacraments of Baptism and Confirmation, which meant we would attend the Easter Vigil at St. Charles, a different church in Detroit. “Ugh,” I mock complained (though I’m not going to lie there was definitely a note of truth there), “Why did I even come home?”

While missing Friday was disappointing, it provided me with a chance to catch up with friends and spend time with my family, which were all good things. But missing the Easter Vigil at St. Philomena’s was killing me. I’m obsessed with my home parish. It is full of the nicest people you’ve ever met. It is a very laid back place that accepts everyone and makes each member feel like family. It’s led by Father Pete, a 97 year old priest with the biggest heart in the world. I wanted to celebrate mass in the parish that feels as close to “home” to me as my own house.

So naturally, being the amazing model Catholic I am, I grumbled about missing St. Philomena’s Easter Vigil the entire way to St. Charles. My mom tried to explain the extraordinary story of conversion that had taken place for the man she was sponsoring. He had attended the Capuchin Soup Kitchen for years, becoming friends with the religious that served there, but only now had experience the love of Christ and felt called to fully enter the church. But I wasn’t letting myself be moved. I wasn’t allowing myself to open up to enjoying this mass. I was determined to have a terrible time.

That was until the choir began to sing. There was a gospel choir that made me weak in the knees at the very first note. They made me want to both sing along, but also sit and savor the experience. It was honestly so incredible. There was also a group of dancers that performed with the readings. Obviously, I was so excited about this and I loved the way they made the readings richer.

The most beautiful part of the mass was the sacrament of Baptism. It was done outside, in the streets of Detroit, in 35 degree weather. The baptisms were done full immersion style in what my family lovingly dubbed “the holy hot tub.” As each candidate immerged from the water, the congregation erupted in“Alleluia!” It was as if the whole church was rejoicing for them. I felt a swell of victory and joy as each new member joined our church.

I would eventually learn more about St. Charles. About how my grandmother lived across the street, how my great grandparents were wed there, and how my grandmother’s graduation picture hung in the basement. It was a place that had felt like home for my family long before I arrived there. But it was through the joyous hearts of the congregation that I began to feel like it was a home as well.

The next morning we went to brunch as usual, searched for our Easter baskets, and went to our family Easter party. The rest of our traditions fell into place as if nothing had been different at all. I’m still missing St. Philomena’s, but I know it will be there each week when I visit. But the beauty of conversion and community I saw at St. Charles was unique and lively in it’s own vibrant way and I feel lucky to have witnessed it.