A little over a year ago, I finished a historical fiction book called ‘The Kings Prey’ about Saint Dymphna.

I wanted so badly to know more about this martyr whose love for Jesus changed an entire city and their approach to mental health.

On our walk there, I took a picture and when he looked at me, the joy was absolutely tangible.

For months, I had zoomed in on Google Earth.

Using my fingers, I had gotten as close as I could to the place where Saint Dymphna was martyred.

 

And now, my legs and my heart, my husband, my son, and most importantly, my Savior, had carried me there.

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When we arrived at the Church, we tried the doors, but they were locked. We were about an hour early, so I wasn’t concerned.

We walked around the side of the church and found a few parishioners visiting outside. We shyly asked about the 1pm international Mass. One lady offered to unlock the doors and call to confirm that the priest was coming.

At this point, I was starting to get a little nervous. I had exchanged emails with a kind lady from the church for months. What if I hadn’t been clear about our plans? What if we had misunderstood something in translation?

The couple she was chatting with smiled when they found out we were from Texas. He said, ‘oh Texas! Clippity cloppity, yee haw!’ While he made a lasso above his head. I forget that the rest of the world views us all as cowboys

The lady came over and confirmed a priest was on his way! We walked into the Church and I was overwhelmed.

St. Therese of Lisieux greeted me as I walked in. The flowers she was holding felt like they were meant just for me. As if she had been standing there, waiting for me to walk through that door.

“While you are waiting, May I show you something?”, A sweet voice said from behind us. Brian followed the lady who had let us in to an open area behind the altar while I stood overwhelmed just inside the door.

Brian told me to come and see and waved me over.

She explained that pilgrims since the 1500s had ended their journey by walking under a beautiful structure, painted with Saint Dymphna’s story and what was left of her relics. (The relics had been scattered and destroyed hundreds of years ago.)

What a gift to have a true ending to the physical journey to Saint Dymphna’s Cathedral. What a gift to be invited in and told the stories of pilgrims before us!

After Mass at St. Dymphna’s Cathedral, a lady walked up to Father and insisted that he give out the anointing of the sick to all the travelers.

Father grabbed his bag and invited everyone to join him for lunch. We declined and waited patiently for our turn to receive the anointing.

After the Sacrament, Father insisted that we join him. We all walked across the street, into the community.

We ate delicious chicken wings and fried banana bread. We shared orange juice and I watched as Riley played with the other children.

He laughed and smiled and joined them in games and stories.

Community.

My memory wandered back to the time I was struggling with severe anxiety when I was expecting Mary Alice. It was at the table of my dear friend , Cindy Scholl, where I found relief and peace.

I sat in wonder as I realized this was the moment I had been waiting for.

Community. Hospitality. Peace. Rest.

St. Dymphna’s intercession had led us here, to this moment.