Go Forth! It's all about the exit...

Last night I witnessed the graduation of my students from my previous school whom I taught in 6th and 7th grade for religion and advisory. They are a great group of young people, and at Mass last night, I was so proud of them...and I also realized how much I had missed them and their families (and my coworkers).

Last night was made even more special, as I was invited to be the class's commencement speaker - the students vote to bring back a teacher (who no longer works at the school) each year, and I apparently made the top of their list. I was honored and humbled, and, while I taught in front of them every day for two years, I struggled at first with what to say to them (and their parents) for their graduation.

Thank goodness for the Holy Spirit and for a good friend at Clement who originally shared with me the homily of the exit sign just over a year ago in a small group for Lent. That story impacted me very much, and the idea of taking our faith out into the world has truly resonated with me, and it seemed like the perfect fit for a graduation.

As I gave the speech, I tried to look out into the eyes of my students as well as to the parents. Afterwards one student even asked if I memorized my speech (as apparently it didn't even look like I was using notes - I guess I surprised even myself!). Many parents and students came up to hug me and affirm both the speech and my time with their children - their kind words meant a lot. A grandparent of a student told me, "You have a rich life." Indeed I do.

I have included the text of my speech below (though, I did add a few impromptu things in last night that aren't reflected here) - I believe everyone would benefit from reflecting on the importance of the exit sign for our faith and for our lives -->


When Mrs. Hill called to invite me to be your commencement speaker, one of the first things I did was text my family. They know how much you all and ICSJ have meant and still mean to me, so I knew they would want to know I would be celebrating this special evening with you. Now, I’m sure I have shared stories about my dad before, but what I might not have told you is that my dad is quite the public speaker himself, so I told him I might be coming to him for some good ideas to share with you tonight, to which he replied, “Kel (because he doesn't call me Miss Foyle), I’ll give you as much perspiration as possible. LOL.” It should be noted that my dad has yet to use an emoji in a text message; otherwise, I imagine it would have been the winky face one. Or the crying laughing one. Perspiration...thanks for your help, Dad. I guess that was a gentle hint from him that he had faith I could handle this one on my own.

In all seriousness, in the past few weeks I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about all of you, of your teachers, and of all of the wonderful things that make ICSJ such a special place...the things that made our classroom a special place… And the truth is, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your smiles and hugs every day, how you used to tackle each other to be altar servers. I’ve missed the crumpled up balls of aluminum with notes that say “Miss Foil...get it?” (In my next life, I’m changing my name.) I’ve missed the creative projects you made, my favorite one of all-time probably being Michael’s infomercial, where he gave one of the best similes about Lent I had ever heard - “Lent cleans up your life like Oxiclean cleans up your clothes.” Your questions in religion class were deep, and your enthusiasm and energy never wavered. I will never forget the Christmas carol where you set my name to the tune of Jingle Bells nor how several of you remembered my birthday this year and emailed me. You are an incredible group of young men and women, and, more importantly, you are incredibly kind. All of us gathered here tonight love you very much.

Now, by inviting back your previous religion teacher, you knew you wouldn’t get away without us spending at least a little time talking about our faith, right? I mean, as much as I love college basketball, I’m not going to go with the sports-life metaphors tonight, sorry. I actually want to share a piece of wisdom with you that I first heard in a homily at a school Mass one time. The priest had finished reading the Gospel, and he came down in front of the students, and he asked them this question: “What is the most important thing in this church?” The students thought about it for a little bit, and then slowly but surely they started to raise their hands. He called on one girl. “The Eucharist,” she said. (That would have been a Miss Foyle-approved answer.) The priest nodded but kept asking. Another student said “the people.” He continued to ask a few more students whose answers varied, but he didn’t get the answer he thought was the correct one. So, finally, when they had pretty much exhausted every possible answer, he looked at them, and he pointed...to the exit sign.

You might be sitting there thinking, “Miss Foyle, you’re crazy! You told us the Eucharist is the source and summit of our faith.” Why yes, I did teach you that...I’m so glad you remembered. But let’s think about it - the exit sign. We come to Mass to be nourished in mind by the Word of God, in spirit by community with others, and in body by the bread that we receive. We come to Mass to worship God and to grow in holiness. But it’s not enough that we do these things within the church walls. At the end of Mass, the priest literally sends us forth from the church to take what we’ve learned and celebrated in this building and be that for others in the world. Our faith is meant to be a lived one...once we have exited the building.

The exit sign, therefore, reminds us that our lives are not about us. WE are the Body of Christ; we are bread for the world. Everything we learned together in religion class and at Mass means nothing unless that’s how you choose to live your daily life - unless you act with kindness and compassion toward others, you serve those in need, you respect your parents, you continue to inform your conscience, you spend time in prayer, you see Jesus in others, and you are Jesus for others.

And tonight, on your graduation, the exit sign holds true for your education as well, as you have now walked through the doors of ICSJ for the last time as students. In your caps and gowns, with your diplomas in hand, we will be sending you forth from ICSJ on to Loyola, Ignatius, DePaul College Prep, Whitney Young, Walter Payton, and other great schools all around our city with confidence that you will excel. As graduates of ICSJ, don’t forget the lessons you learned here - how to think critically, how to thoughtfully and thoroughly support your argument in an essay or debate, how to build the Colosseum out of popsicle sticks (who knows, you might have to help your own kids one day with that one), how to listen, how to be a good friend, how to stay organized… The challenge will be to use these skills and lessons to help you continue to be your best self as lifelong learners and to help your peers along the way too. As your teachers, as your parents, this is one of the most important things we can wish for you - that when you exit ICSJ as graduates you remember who you are, and who you will one day be, as scholars, as leaders, and as children of God. So, as you go through high school, college, and beyond, stop and ask yourself from time to time if you’re using what you’ve learned and the gifts God has given you for others and in order to make this world a better place.

You see, that exit sign is important. It is important tonight, and it is important as you continue your journey into new communities in a broader world. I believe that the priest was right. I challenge you to let that exit sign be a reminder of who you are in here (point to heart) and as motivation for who God is calling you to be out there. Congratulations Class of 2019. I love you. And in the words of St. Ignatius of Loyola, “Go forth and set the world on fire.”

Keep Going...It's Worth It.

"If you go through those rocks and then keep going a little further, it will be worth it," said a fellow hiker we crossed paths with while exploring Sedona, AZ. That comment was spoken nearly 10 years ago, but I remember that encounter and what followed when my ACE housemate and I decided to give her advice a try...

Thanks to an annual festival at school, my housemate (who taught at the same school as me) and I were able to set off on a day-long road trip north. We had enjoyed the beautiful red rocks on previous trips, and the wildflowers would be in full bloom along the highway roads. Spring in Phoenix that year was relatively cool, and that particular day had a mix of overcast and sunny skies. It was going to be a great day.

While we made sure to stop off at Montezuma's Castle & the Chapel of Holy Cross on the way, our main destination was Sedona, especially some of its great hikes. (In looking back, I'm almost positive my desire to spend time in the wonders of the National Parks stemmed from my time in Arizona - there was always something so peaceful about the hikes we would do and the beautiful creation we would witness.)

I am pretty sure it was a Monday, which worked in our favor because there were not many people with whom to contend. (For those who don't know me well, I'm not the biggest fan of huge crowds.) So, parking was simple. We had no hiking poles or Camelbacks - we just had ourselves - and we were on our way.

As far as hikes go, this one wasn't too strenuous; though, we did gain quite a bit of elevation relatively quickly at some points. And it was pretty desolate... until we ran into that one hiker. It's funny the timing of it all, as I seem to remember we were about to turn back when she made that comment about going further. So, we figured since we had the time and the woman had insisted, we would hike onward. Up more rocks and through some more narrow passages we went as we climbed higher up the mountain.

And then, we saw what she was talking about... what a view:

Yes, we agreed that the extra bit of climbing was totally worth it for a view like that. Wow.

Everyone is always saying "Go the extra mile" - and they are usually speaking in a more figurative/metaphorical sense: In life, the extra mile might be a project (or person) at work that needs extra tending/attention, a student who needs accommodations and special care, or the setting aside of extra time to spend with someone who just needs another person to listen to him/her. But here we had a literal, concrete example of how going the extra "mile" really paid off.

As I think back on this lesson of working just a little harder to go just a little further and see just a little (or a lot, depending) more, it gives me a boost at this time in the school year and it makes me excited for my summer trip to Utah, as in both situations I know that going the extra "mile" will be well worth it.

Sacrifices Are Worth It

"I don't mind it because I get to come to work here."

While these were words uttered by a fellow faculty member about his commute from the north side of the city to our school on a daily basis, those words could have just as easily have been mine. It's usually frustrating at least a few (or most) times a week, and it can be rather taxing/stressful when you have to be somewhere else in a relatively quick fashion, but the bottom line is it's worth it because I love where I live and I love where I work.

Life is full of sacrifices - they come with the territory. A these sacrifices are usually for a greater good, for something we (or a loved one) need(s)/want(s) more, to do something for someone else...

I think about one of our teachers who, with less than one month of school left, had to move across the country to take care of her mom who has Alzheimer's and who was also recently diagnosed with cancer. She didn't want to leave her students or colleagues at that point in the year, but her mom and family needed her. And she realized the sacrifice she felt called to make.

I think about my mom (and any working parent) who gave up practicing law (though she still keeps up her credits) to stay at home and take care of me and my sister when we were born. Now she spends her time as a classroom teaching assistant and volunteer at the school from which we graduated. When I look at her, she seems fulfilled, but it still was a huge sacrifice.

I think about a lot of other people too... 

• of our military men & women who put themselves on the line daily to protect our country and our freedom;
• of friends who have spent countless hours (and $$) on flights and car trips across the country (or even just a few states) to try to make the whole long-distance dating thing work out;
• of parents who have taken on a second job to pay for day care or (Catholic) school;
• of those who volunteer their time with their church, as a tutor, or with any other organization;
• of teachers who spend their own money (as well as time) to get their students the books and resources they deserve.

The list goes on because, again, sacrifice (big and small) is part of life, a part of (almost) every decision. Sacrifices make us a part of something bigger than ourselves - they connect us to our families, friends, coworkers, and even sometimes complete strangers. And sacrifices have the potential to remind us of Jesus' ultimate sacrifice - His own life on the cross. And it doesn't get any better than that.

Have a beautiful Memorial Day weekend!

(So...I'll admit that sometimes when I write, my posts take a turn I don't expect or plan from the outset. Today was one such occasion. I opened a blank page with the intention of writing about what I love about my job and how that outweighs the commute, but my mind and fingers took me elsewhere. Funny how that works sometimes... Thanks for bearing with me!)

Cha-, cha-, cha-, changes

I don't believe I've ever heard someone admit that he/she likes change. Change is hard. Frankly, change often sucks.

Back in ACE, I found myself getting sick when my two years with my five housemates was coming to a close. I'm pretty sure I lost at least 5 pounds and definitely could not enjoy most foods for a three-week period. People told me I had Chron's Disease or that I needed to go to the doctor. My dad was the one who turned out to be right - I was bringing it on myself. (It's kind of scary to realize that my mind has that much power over my bodily functions.)

In retrospect, I was nervous that I was going to lose touch with my friends after being so close for 2 years. (Let's face it - and my friends will tell you - I'm terrible at keeping in touch...except for birthday and Christmas cards.) I had gotten comfortable with the way things were, and I hated the idea of the unknown. But it was going to come no matter what - life doesn't have a pause button. (Sometimes wouldn't it be great if it did?)

As we come to the end of yet another school year, change is inevitable. Faculty members are retiring. Friends are moving away. Members of various teams I'm on or groups I'm a part of are packing their bags. And it's time to say goodbye...which gets harder to do each time I see these people because soon they'll be out of Chicago.

I'm so grateful that Chicago is a city where people come to stay, at least for awhile. But it's hard being the one who's left behind, as certain events or places will often bring back memories of times spent with friends. In the grand scheme of life, though, we're all just passing through. And even though certain friends may go, there are always opportunities to make new friendships and reconnect with old ones. There's always an excuse to pick up the phone (which I need to get better about!) to call and catch up - people are literally just a phone call away.

So yes, there will inevitably be tears over the coming weeks. But I am hopeful for what change will bring for this upcoming year too.

And It Knocks You Down

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

When life isn't going right, go left.

If you're going through hell, keep going.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going.


You know the saying - no matter how you say it, the sentiment is the same, as demonstrated above - and we've all been there. Life gets tough. And sometimes it seems that life keeps knocking you down when you've already been knocked down in the first place.

For me, this week was one of those "knock you down" weeks. On Monday, things were going fine minus a few sneezes and a bit of a sore throat. Didn't think much of it, but I ate some chicken noodle soup, bought some orange juice and strawberries, took some meds, and went to bed early just to be on the safe side.

Tuesday morning rolled around, and it was hard to even think about lifting my head. I knew I was not able to be a functioning human being, so I texted my principal and took a sick day (when I proceeded to spend all of it on the couch in a combo of napping, reading, trying to get as much Vitamin C as possible, and listening to podcasts...and then more napping).

On Wednesday, things were looking (and feeling) better. The weather was beautiful, we had girls running club, and we celebrated our 8th grade athletes at the sports banquet. On my way home, though, my tire pressure light came on about 2 miles from home. When I pulled into my garage and got out of the car to check, I saw it - a very flat rear passenger tire. I texted my principal right away - I couldn't believe it! I never miss work, and here I was missing at least 1.5 days in the same week.

Luckily I have AAA, so I called them first thing on Thursday morning, and they came within an hour and a half. While I was waiting, I ended up talking to my dad on the phone. (He was on his way to the dentist, so I don't know which of us was having the worse morning...) He said I sounded surprisingly calm about the tires. I wondered in a situation like this, when there's nothing I could do about it, how I could not be calm or where, exactly, worrying/freaking out would get me? Apparently, I used to be more of a freaker-outer. I guess times have changed...

Once they put on the spare, I headed to a local tire place recommended by a friend. It would be about 2 hours for them to take care of my car, as they had a long line of customers who had previously made appointments. So, I left my car there, headed back home, went for a quick run, got cleaned up and ready for work, and then went back to the car place. By then, my car was ready to go (the tire was patchable...but the front tire was in need of replacing, so they took care of that while they were at it), and I was finally on my way to school...got there right in time for lunch duty.

At the end of the day, which was actually the end of the 1:30-4pm teacher PD session, my principal and I found out that one of our teachers will not be returning next year. It was somewhat of a shock...and we already have quite a few leaving (most of whom are retiring)...so that added a bit more stress...sent some texts to friends before heading out to send quality candidates my way, so praying and crossing fingers on this one.

My purpose in writing this post is not to complain. The truth is, it's kind of comical how everything hits you at once...that when it rains it pours...or, well, you know... It reminds me a bit of that quote that goes along the lines of this: "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." And it also made me realize that my troubles pale in comparison to those that others deal with (some on a regular basis), so who am I to get worked up over these more trivial things that happen to anyone on any given day.

Bottom line - it's not worth the stress or the fretting. Take another look and it suddenly ain't so bad.

Turning Back to Mary

May Crowning - incredibly beautiful...100% Catholic. I loved our simple May Crowning at my previous school, as it was weaved seamlessly into the Mass itself, but the May Crowning at my new school was wonderful in different ways...

Carrying white carnations, the second graders donned their First Communion dresses and suits, while the 8th graders wore their red (boys) and white (girls) graduation gowns (minus the caps), joining the other students and teachers in procession from the school building to the church on a sunny afternoon. Upon entering the church, we joined together in singing "Immaculate Mary," which was followed by the reading of a Gospel passage from Luke and a short homily from our pastor.

We were in the middle of the consecration prayer to Mary, when I suddenly found myself choking up and holding back tears. I realized in that moment that within the past 6 months to 1 year I have not turned to Mary for intercession or help. What once was such a special devotion for me, having grown up with the Salesian charism and devotion to Mary, Help of Christians, was no longer a part of my life. And this saddened me a great deal. I am sure there are many versions of the prayer of consecration to Mary, but I would wager that the gist of the prayer, no matter what words you say, is the same - to give of oneself completely to Mary so that we may grow in holiness to be closer to her Son, Jesus. And I knew in that moment, Mary was touching my heart and whispering an invitation to return to her.

May Crowning continued in lovely and touching fashion with intercessions, followed by the song "Bring Flowers of the Rarest" during the crowning itself. When the song "Hail Mary, Gentle Woman" started, I found myself once again on the verge of waterworks, only this time I couldn't hold back the tears. Every time I hear that song I think of my students throughout the years to whom I have taught the signs to that song, and my heart is filled with both utmost happiness and a deep longing at the same time. For some reason, that song makes me think I have made a difference in some students' lives, not through the song, but through my ministry in Catholic education. And it is a reminder of why I stay in Catholic education. I know it probably doesn't make sense, all of that being stirred up by one song, but for some reason it's true.

So now, on the eve of Mother's Day, I find myself with the deep desire to recommit myself in devotion to Mary. I am on the lookout for prayers/novenas of consecration, books, apps, or anything else that will help me stay on track, so if you know of any please let me know. (Obviously the Rosary is likely a good place to start.)

Mary, our mother, pray for us!

Be still

I honestly think I might have missed a calling to the contemplative life.

I relish the silence - those times when the grocery store is empty, when the Lakefront path only has a handful of runners or bikers, when my roommates have gone on vacation for the weekend or are out for the evening, when the church isn't quite full before Mass, when I'm bagging produce at Mission OLA when no one else is around, when you get to watch the sunrise over the mountains or lake at a National Park...

Don't get me wrong - I love people and excitement too: Notre Dame football weekends, theaters abuzz waiting for a performance to start, summer festivals and concerts, school playgrounds...these things are all absolutely wonderful.

But there's something so incredibly beautiful and renewing about the silence and stillness. And I find that it's harder and harder to find that in today's society. But that doesn't mean we should stop looking; instead, I think it's a challenge to try harder. For without the silence, how can we hear God? Without being still, how can we possibly settle our mind to be grateful for all God has given to us?

Maybe it's time I actually go on one of those silent retreats my friends keep telling me about...