Learning to See Again



I have returned home, but a part of me is still walking cobblestone streets. Italy did not simply offer me a vacation — it invited me to pay attention.

Before the trip, I spoke about travelling with attention and intention. And in Italy, those companions became my teachers.

Every day, I learned again how to see:

Beauty surprises me around every corner, a splash of terra-cotta, a balcony of geraniums, the glint of sun on the Ligurian Sea.
History rising in arches and alleyways, whispering that time is a holy storyteller.

I stood before the Duomo in Florence and cried, not because I was supposed to, but because devotion carved into stone is overwhelming.
People gave centuries of their lives to build something beautiful for God.
What kind of love inspires that? What kind of courage to believe beauty itself could be prayer?

At St. Peter’s Basilica, awe swept over me like a liturgy.
Under that dome, I could almost hear the heartbeat of faith, steady and ancient. There, differences dissolved. Protestant, Catholic, doubting, trusting, we were simply human beings in the presence of the Holy.

Rome’s ruins reminded me that even empires crumble, but art, story, and soul endure. Cinque Terre revealed how fiercely human hope can cling to the edges of the earth. Florence taught me that theology sometimes needs colour more than words.

And through every moment, a truth kept rising: Wonder is always worth the risk of wandering.

As a Canadian, I come from a land where “old” is barely older than my grandparents. Italy reshaped my sense of time, reminding me that what is ancient is not outdated, but often deeply alive.

And through all that beauty, Sallie McFague’s wisdom echoed in me:
We are called to pay attention to this world, to its beauty and to its suffering, because this world is God’s body, aching and glorious, fragile and sacred.

Seeing beauty trains our eyes to see the places where love is needed.
Seeing ancient resilience inspires us to protect what is still vulnerable.
Seeing how faith built cathedrals reminds us to build justice now.

I came home with a changed pace. A changed gaze. A changed heart.

Italy renewed my trust in wonder, not as escape, but as motivation to love this world more fiercely.

So, I continue the pilgrimage here in my own city, on my own streets, with my own neighbours, paying attention to grace as it gleams in everyday life and paying attention to the cries of those who have passed by beauty.

The journey isn’t over. Not even close. Because once you have seen the world as holy, you cannot unsee it.

 

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