Monday Motivation: I’m One of Them
Monday Motivation, Inspiration, Faith, Italian Roots
I was perched high in the mountains in the tiny village of Aviligano in Southern Italy, the hometown of my grandmother and great-grandparents who left their country to go to America for a better future. They left in 1906 which was 118 years earlier than my discovery.
As I walked the worn rocks that made up their roads and traversed tiny alleyways leading to their Chiesa (church) where everyone in my family would have attended masses, weddings, and funerals, my DNA rattled with excitement. We even passed a building with my great-grandparent’s last name on it, “Pace.” Could my DNA know where I was? Could my Great-Grandparents know a century later their great-granddaughter would visit?
Opening the doors to the Chiesa, The Sanctuary of the Madonna del Carmine, a Catholic church dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary in existence for over 500 years, a congregation of women were saying the rosary in Italian. I flashed to my grandmother’s rosary beads she gave me before she passed away – tiny worn-out pearls with a silver cross – a treasure. My husband and I sat down in the second to last pew to listen and pray in this beautiful solemn place.
As the rosary progressed, other community members came in – men, children, and teenagers. I realized Saturday Night mass was going to begin. My heart leaped in emotion realizing I would experience mass in my great grandparents’ home parish – an unexpected blessing from above.
Standing taller than anyone else there, I saw the petite frames of the women instantly reminding me of my grandmother and her sisters. I had forgotten what they looked like. Their stylish dresses and shoes were on display too.
On the altar was a pristine statue of Mother Mary with a crown of white halo lights, holding baby Jesus. I stared and prayed to her with love for finding this piece of my personal history. She has been my true mother I’ve adored her all my life thanks to my grandmother.
The mass was in Italian and the only word I understood was “Alleluia” which does not have an Italian translation. “Alleluia,” I said as my heart expanded in size. After receiving the eucharist, I walked down the aisle with the congregation staring and wondering who these two tall, unfamiliar people were on a lone Saturday night in their village. Little did they know, I was one of them.
This memory beats loudly in my heart and will never leave. I am changed by the experience. I am grateful to God for allowing me to find this special Chiesa at the right time when my country’s future looks so dark. I now have the light of this moment and place – a gift from my ancestors above – to lead me forward, and maybe someday back to our family’s homeland to live forever.
Women TIES 