March for Life





Wicked Awesome! Wicked Great! Wicked Sweet! Wicked Wonderful! Wicked, Wicked!

The worse part was the bus ride, but let's begin at the beginning.

The bus left St. Brendan's at 9:00 PM. We arrived at the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception at 5:00 AM. It was a miserable night of trying to sleep on the bus. The bus only stopped for us once-- for 15 min. I only had time to make a pit stop and grab a bottle of water out of the vending machine. There was no leg room on the bus. One spring had sprung in my seat. There was no room. The two bus drivers talked all night, keeping me awake--but I couldn't sleep anyway, so I shouldn't blame them. I just couldn't get comfortable.

At 5:00, it was dark, cold, and beginning to rain. We ran into the Basilica. People were in their seats already for the 7:00 AM Mass. There wasn't a seat available. Standing room only and Mass wasn't for two hours!

So I went downstairs to the Crypt where there was Adoration. I saw that that was where a lot of people were sleeping. Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament was in the Crypt Church. I knew I would doze off if I went, but I figured Jesus would understand.

But I didn't fall asleep. A blessing meant for me happened. The student brothers from the Dominican House of Studies came soon after I sat down, and led us in Lauds and Benediction.
Awesome! The only brother I recognized was Brother Augustine Marie Reisenauer, O.P. It was a gracefulled experience.


Benediction was followed by the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. I was hitting everything just right. But I have to give credit to my friend, Jean. Jean was with me and she's a veteran of the March and knew the ropes. After Mass, the cafeteria was opened for breakfast. Thanks be to God.

The March didn't start until Noon--actually two, but at Noon, the speeches start. So we had at least two hours to kill. We walked to the John Paul Cultural Center. But it was closed. Jean and I decided to go to the National Gallery of Art because it was on the route for the March. We had to there, anyway. So we took the Metro.

Forget about Charley being lost on the MTA. Jean and I got lost in the Metro. We asked about three or four different people and were sent three or four different directions. People are willing to help when you ask for help, even when they don't know, but they try. :-/

The National Gallery of Art was wicked. We spent all our time in four rooms--the religious art. We could have stayed there forever. Reluctantly, we pulled ourselves away to go to the cafeteria for lunch. We ate at the Cascade Cafe and decided to make this our main meal, because who knew what was in store for us for supper.

Trying to find the same exit that we used to enter was difficult. We used that coat check room for our belongings, so we needed to exit those particular doors. We were terribly lost, again. However, being lost in the Gallery of Art is by for much more preferable, than being lost in the Metro.

Eventually, we exited. We stood on the steps waiting for the March to go by and we would join the Massachusetts Citizens for Life group. We waited.

We waited.

We waited.

??????????

We could see the Marchers down the end of the street; what was the hold up? We waited.

Gradually, it dawned on us, and everybody else waiting, that the Marchers weren't walking down our street, as they had on previous Walks for Life. They were going a different route. So we walked down to them.

God is good. Another gracefulled moment. We walked right into where we belonged--the Massachusetts Citizens for Life.

It was a proud moment, to walk by the Supreme Court as we exercised our freedoms to protest to the Supreme Court, our disagreement with Roe v. Wade. The Freedom to Assemble and the Freedom of Speech were practiced virtually, literally, and personally.

May God bless America.

Comments

Sounds like it was great time. (As a Mid-westerner, I'm still learning the use of the word: "wicked.")
Faith said…
"Wicked" is Bostonian for "Awesome." I'm surprised when people think I have an accent. I think everyone talks like I do. I never notice accents. I must have poor auditory perception.
Anyway, my friends and I are at Union Station in DC. We're getting coffee at Au Bon Pain (you have that chain of coffee shops in your neck of the woods?) and I'm at the condiment station. I pick up the cream, napkins, stirrers...but I can't find the sugar. I ask the nearby audience, "Anybody see the suga?" The man next to me asks, "Oh, you're from Boston???"

Popular posts from this blog

Posterity

Re-examen