Our family had rushed last minute into a middle pew at church and I was squeezed between my little brother and sister, contemplating the broken arm held across my chest in a sling. It was the result of tumbling from a magnolia tree a few weeks before.

 

       My brother pinched me.

       Stop it, I snapped, and elbowed him with my good arm. Mum turned to glare at both of us. I picked up my chin and determinedly tried to look virtuous as I listened to the priest read the Gospel. All of a sudden, a phrase jumped out at me.

      

        What I tell you in the dark, utter in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim upon the housetops.

       (Matthew 10:27)

     

      Me? 

     

       I was not a graceful child and I was extremely shy, so the thought of having to shout to thousands of people while perched on a rooftop without falling seemed impossible. There had to be a better way to love Jesus, a way in which I could speak to people about him one at a time, with two feet on the ground. Thats when I decided to become a doctor.

 

      The decision matured in my heart and soul. I dreamed of going to Africa or the Amazon to be a missionary doctor. I wanted my life to help others and to bring them close to God, especially those most needy.

 

      This was Gods way of planting the seed that blossomed into my decision to consecrate my life to him completely.

 

A TALE OF TWO CITIES

 

      Graves End, despite the morbid name, was not a bad place to grow up. It was right by the Thames River, a little outside of London, England. There were plenty of children to play with besides my little brothers and sister. I happily spent the first fourteen years of my life there. There and in France - my father is English and my mother is French, so I spent my childhood with my winters in England and my summer holidays crossing the Channel to visit my mums family in Southern France.

 

      Mum was determined that her children would be perfectly bilingual. We only spoke French at home, and homework had to be done twice - once in English for the teacher and again in French for Mum. During the summer, when school should have been over, there was no escape from Mums intensive French grammar classes.

 

LIFESTYLES OF THE PLAIN AND SIMPLE

 

      Besides the two nationalities, two languages, and two cultures, by far, the greatest gift my parents passed on to their children was the one Catholic faith. Mum and Dad sought always to give us the best religious formation and to raise us in the best possible surroundings for our faith to grow and mature. In part, this was what motivated them to move the family from England to Monaco when I was fourteen.

      

      Monaco is known to the world as the Home of the Rich and Famous, a tax haven located on the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, on the Côte dAzur (very glamorous), but the majority of those who live there are normal everyday people.

 

      My family certainly fell into this category. We lived in two apartments side by side, because we couldnt afford a house. To avoid confusion and to make life simpler, we kept the keys permanently in the doors. At one point in time there were seventeen burglaries on our street, but it must have been obvious that there was nothing worth taking at our house because even with the keys in the doors, no one ever robbed us.

 

      The move was difficult at first. Every dislocation from familiar surroundings always is; and it was hard to leave my school and my friends. I understood why we had to move, but it didnt make it any easier. 

       The morning I walked into my new classroom, a sick feeling spread in my stomach. I looked at my new school mates, sitting in rows of straight desks with their faces turned inquisitively to me. I knew no one. They had all known each other since kindergarten. Even with my perfect French, everyone knew I was British, which didnt make fitting in any easier. I had long since overcome my childhood shyness, but this new situation made me become less outgoing and sure of myself.  Since my social life was not thriving, I spent a great deal of my time studying and tutoring struggling students. In the end, this gave me the chance to make new friends and prove myself to my classmates.

      

      Worse than this, Monaco didnt have the Catholic environment my parents expected. They hoped to be part of a society where Catholicism was the norm, not the exception. Yet though there were more Catholic churches, my parents, brothers, sister and I were almost the only non-gray haired people in them. Out of the 120 students at my school, only five were practicing Catholics.

      

      I see now that this was part of Gods divine Providence for my family and the beginning of a new stage in his plan over me. Cut off from external securities and distractions, Gods presence in my life became more and more real. He showed me that he was the only truly faithful and reliable friend, and I could seek consolation and companionship only in him.

 

TO CHRIST THROUGH MARY

 

      Time passed, but my dream to become a doctor didnt. I entered a high school especially focused on math and science to prepare myself for entrance into medical school.

 

      One Saturday morning at the breakfast table when I was sixteen my mother put down the coffee pot, looked at me and said:

       Caroline, have you ever thought about volunteering in Lourdes for the summer? Madame Brun was telling me the other day that her son Marc went there last summer to help with the sick pilgrims.

      My father looked up from his newspaper.

      Might be good if you want to be a doctor, Caroline.

 

      Lourdes?

 

      The choice between being able to spend my summer helping others or sticking out a lonely two months between two apartments in Monaco wasnt difficult. I remembered, too, the stories my mother had told us as we were growing up of the appearance of the Blessed Virgin Mary to Bernadette Soubirous. At the grotto in Lourdes, Bernadette was instructed by Our Lady to dig in the ground and to wash in the water. As she scratched at the earth with her fingers, muddy water sprang up. She began smearing the mud on her arms and face as the onlookers stared at her as though shed lost her senses. Little did they know that in a matter of hours that mud puddle would turn into a vibrant spring, turning out over 32,000 gallons of water per day. Many sick and handicapped people have since been miraculously cured by bathing or washing in this spring; sixty-nine miracles have been approved officially by the Catholic Church, but many others consider themselves cured even if their case has not been declared a miracle. Doctors, nurses, and volunteers are always needed in Lourdes to look after and care for these pilgrims.

 

      Mums suggestion was all I needed. Although the official age for volunteering was eighteen, I was so eager to go that I asked for and obtained a special exception. I spent that summer (and the five following) in Lourdes preparing meals, making beds, assisting the nurses, escorting the pilgrims and praying to Our Lady to point out the proper jungle for me to carry out my missionary work as a doctor. By the end of the summer, I was thoroughly exhausted, yet eager to return. From the five summers I spent at Lourdes as a volunteer, there are hundreds of beautiful stories I could tell; however, one episode in particular is worth mentioning.

 

SUBSTANTIAL HUMILITY

 

      It was towards the end of my first summer as a volunteer.

 

      Bless me, Father, for I have sinned

 

      The bearded Benedictine on the other side of the confessional sat quietly as I unloaded my woes.  I cried as I told him how reluctant I was to return to school. After listening to all I had to say, the monk turned toward me, looked me in the eyes and asked:

       Are you willing to do whatever penance I give you?

       Of course, Father.

       I never knew one had a choice in these matters.

       Good, he replied. Then I want you to go to the grotto of Our Lady, lie face down on the ground before her image and, there, in prayer for 20 minutes, I want you to give your life to her completely.

      Oh my.

        Thats really my penance? 

       Yes; and I absolve you from your sins

 

      What had I just committed myself to? I left the confessional stunned, my ears already hot with embarrassment at the mere thought of what I was about to do.

 

      Thinking I had to do the penance that same day, I waited until the last possible moment. The later it was, I thought, the fewer people would see me or worse to step on me. The minutes crept by. 11 p.m. too many people. 11:30 p.m. still too many people. Why wouldnt they all just go to bed already? 11:40 p.m. this was it, now or never. My heart thumped and my legs shook. Here you go, Our Lady, I prayed as I got on my knees and lay down on my stomach.

       Are you alright? someone said, rushing over and shaking my arm.

       Yes, Im fine. Thank you, I mumbled into the ground.

 

      The gravel pressed into my face. I was saturated with embarrassment. This was ridiculous; what was I doing? As I debated with myself about whether or not to get up and leave, a thought crossed my mind:

      Caroline, youre here now. Everyones seen you already. Put your life in your mothers hands.

       I began to pray, simply, to tell Our Lady all I had in my heart: school, my desire to be a doctor, my familys situation, my friends (and lack of them). I confided in her my desires to be able to do something anything to help others and to serve God; my search for the right jungle to go to, and I found there was no reason to dread going back to Monaco. Mary was taking care of me.

      

       The bell rang; the grotto was about to close.

      

       I pulled myself up from where I had been, taking a last look at my mothers image shining in the grotto where she had appeared to Bernadette such a long time ago. A little group of bystanders watched me curiously as I escaped, avoiding their eyes and hurrying off back to the hotel.

      

       I had done something for God, which under no circumstances I would have done for myself. It forced me to overcome the fear of what other people would say and think, freeing me to live facing God, concerned only about his opinion. This same authenticity and loyalty would be asked of me on many more occasions in years to come, in my training to be a doctor and in the everyday living of my consecrated life. Of course, I didnt know that but I knew something was different. From then on I made a point to go back to confession with this same Benedictine monk every year when I was in Lourdes.

 

LEAST LIKELY TO SUCCEED

 

      With the passing of time, I adapted to life in Monaco. I found a circle of close friends, and going to school ceased to be a dreaded event. In my last year of high school, however, I did the unbelievable.

 

      After having focused intensely on math and science, and only on math and science, for three straight years, I swapped my studies to languages and philosophy.

       But youre ruining your chances of getting into medical school, my friends protested.

      

       I didnt care. When my professor assigned a three-page paper proving that two plus two really did equal four I decided Id had enough. If it were truly my vocation to be a doctor, God would find the way, because I couldnt put up with such nonsense another minute.

 

      Despite the verdict that my year would be an academic death sentence, I enjoyed every minute of it. The autumn afterwards, I began classes in the medical school of the University of Nice, near home, but in France. That wasnt such an achievement. In France, anyone who has graduated from high school having passed the tough final exam, the baccalaureate, can enter medical school; the trick is staying in.

 

MEDICINE 101

 

       Medical school in France works like this: anyone with a baccalaureate can enroll, but only 100 will pass the first year. Regardless of talent, regardless of class size only the top 100. Any student who doesnt make the cut the first time around has one chance to repeat the year. If, after that second try, he still doesnt make it into the top 100, hes lost all chance of ever getting into a medical school anywhere in France.

      

       My freshman class had 800 students. Eight hundred competing for the top 100 places. It was every student for himself. Students caring only about securing their place did so by any means. They ripped pages out of textbooks so that no one else would have access to needed information, they sold cheat sheets with incorrect answers, and they gently persuaded other students to drop out.

      

       I was lucky enough to be in medical school with two very good friends. The three of us studied together, stood up for each other and stuck together no matter what. At the end of that first year, all three of us had made the top 100.

      

      However, even with that hurdle cleared, the road to the rest of my medical career was far from smooth. My friends and I confronted principles and practices contrary to our ethics and values.

      

      This was the moment, God thought, that Regnum Christi would cross my path.

 

FR. PIERRE

 

      I opened the door to Fr. Pierre, who stepped inside with a big smile and greeted me, saying:

      You must be Caroline.

      Come in, I said.

       Wed heard that my mothers second cousins wifes cousin had recently been ordained a priest in the diocese of Monaco. My parents sought him out and invited him over for dinner.

      

      My father was waiting in the living room. He offered Fr.Pierre a glass of wine and they began to make conversation with the awkwardness of new acquaintances.  Fr. Pierre was originally from Paris and had become a member of something called Regnum Christi before his ordination. Now he was carrying out his priestly ministry in Monaco and working to start the Movement in Monaco and France.

 

       We sat down at the dinner table and Fr. Pierre asked me what I was doing.

      Me? Im in medical school, in my second year in Nice, I said.

      Oh, he nodded. How are things going?

      Fine, I shrugged.

      I hadnt told my parents about the struggles I was having in medical school because I didnt want them to get nervous, and besides, I supposed that it was part of the process every medical student simply had to endure in order to become a doctor.

 

       Later that evening, as Fr. Pierre was pulling his coat back on and saying goodbye to all of us, he mentioned to me:

       If you get your friends together I can give you courses on medical ethics. It might help, Caroline. Its not easy being a doctor.

 

      He was right. I needed to know more about what I was doing. It wasnt enough just to have a funny feeling that something didnt quite fit between my faith and my training; I needed to know what was right and wrong. And I didnt.

 

      A week later, five of my medical schoolmates and I were sitting in my living room hanging on to Fr. Pierres every word. Even though he was only giving us the basic principles of the Churchs teaching on life issues, after two years of studying and working in such a callous and ethically ambiguous environment, his words seemed like a revelation.

 

      Bioethics wasnt all Fr. Pierre taught. He told us about the Regnum Christi Movement, its mission and spirituality, and what a great idea it would be for us to start off the first Regnum Christi team in Monaco.

 

      Great, I thought to myself, Its a shame that I dont have the time. I lived to study. What if, because I hadnt memorized absolutely everything, a case came up I didnt know how to treat and I ended up killing my patient?

 

JUST WHAT I NEEDED

 

      However, after much motivation, Fr. Pierre convinced me and two of my friends to attend a Regnum Christi young womens convention that summer near Barcelona, Spain. The convention, we were told, was to be international. Thinking that that meant English, I calmly assured my friends:

       Dont worry, Ill translate.

 

      The whole convention was given in Spanish and almost all the girls attending were Spanish speakers.

     

      What did we do? My friends and I should have felt miserable and lost in this Spanish-immersed situation, but we didnt. Miraculously we were able to understand, to a greater or lesser degree, all of the talks and conferences given.

 

      But more than the conferences, it was the other young women at the convention who convinced me of the reality of Regnum Christi. Fr. Pierre had tried to tell me about it, but I had to see it for myself and I saw it in the other girls there. They were normal; they talked, laughed, danced, played the guitar, listened to the same music as me, and had a million practical jokes, but they were the same ones who, when I happened to go into the chapel, I would see in the pews, kneeling and talking to Christ in the tabernacle. Id hoped for friends like them. Not only did they share my same faith and values, but by their simple way of being who they were normal young people they transmitted Christ to those around them.

      

      During that convention, I met the consecrated women for the first time. I was amazed by them. They had given up everything to bring souls to Christ, to feed the spiritually hungry and to nurse the spiritually sick. They had given up everything for the sake of people like me. I felt a strong sense of admiration and gratitude toward them, though I cant say that I necessarily thought in that moment that God was calling me to do the same. I was sure I was going to be a doctor.

 

A PEEK AT THE HIDDEN TREASURE

 

      The day before the convention ended, the chaplain gave us a retreat based on the parable of the Treasure in a Field.

 

The Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.

(Matthew 13: 44-45).

 

      Selling everything to gain Gods treasure. I didnt understand very much of the talk (it was in Spanish...), but I focused on the passage. A treasure. What kind of treasure was God offering me? What did I need to sell? My studies? I put that one aside right away. God wouldnt ask me to sell my studies I was going to be his doctor in the jungles. My rock collection? God didnt want that neither did I, really. It was just another thing to dust in my room. Nothing seemed to really answer the question. I asked God to show me what the treasure was he was offering me and what I needed to sell to gain it. At the end of the day, I solved the problem: the hidden treasure was the hidden qualities of each person I would meet as a doctor. The parable, it seemed, was trying to tell me to love Christ in my neighbor. Good.

 

      But I still wasnt quite satisfied.

       I was sad to leave.

      It was like a chance to breathe, I told my friends on the train home. And now back to medical school.

       The three of us looked at each other.

      What did you think of the retreat? I asked them.

      Fine, said Jeanne. Not that I understood that much.

      But that passage. You know. About the treasure in the field, what did you think it was?

      The Kingdom of Heaven, said Annette, shrugging. Thats what it says.

 

      It did say that. But what did that mean?

 

EUREKA!

 

      Weeks later, that same summer, I was where I always was during the summer: Lourdes. It was my twenty-first birthday. The noonday sun beat down upon the crowd of pilgrims gathered for Mass in the grotto. I, in my blue and white volunteers apron, poured water for the sick. That particular day I was assisting a blind woman, describing the scene of thousands of pilgrims and hundreds of wheelchairs to her.

      

      It was an international Mass, said in various languages: French, Polish, Italian, etc. As the priest stood up to read the Gospel, I set down my water pitcher to pay attention.

 

      The Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure buried in a field... First in French, then in English, then in German (the language I had learned in school), then in Spanish (the language I had picked up during the summer).

      

      Someone should have taken the water pitcher and poured it over my head. It was all so clear! Of course! Listening to those readings of the Gospel was like God shouting at me from heaven: Knock, knock, Caroline! I am that hidden treasure. And, knock knock, to sell everything means to come follow me. And, knock knock, if you didnt catch on at first, let me repeat myself in a language you will understand!

 

      There I was. I had been going to Lourdes for the past five years begging Our Lady to show me where God wanted me to go. In minutes I had the answer to what God wanted of me for the rest of my life.    Once I came to and the Mass was over, I had to take the blind lady back to her room, but the walk from the grotto to her hotel seemed to take forever. I just wanted to go to the chapel and pray, to be alone with Christ, to talk with him about all this. When that moment came and I was on my knees before him, in a state of elation, disbelief, and spiritual euphoria, I thanked him with all my heart for the greatest birthday present he could ever have given me.

 

ALL IN GODS TIME

 

      Now that the question of what God wanted of me had been answered, I still had the question of when?

 

      I knew the consecrated women had their formation center in Rome, where they would dedicate the first years of their consecrated life to preparing themselves for their future apostolic work. Did God want me to go there right away to begin consecrated life?  I still had one year left of medical school. Should I go on to finish it, become a doctor, and then consecrate myself to him?  What was his will?

 

      I left Lourdes without a clear answer, but decided to leave this dilemma in Gods hands, trusting that he would show me in his time and at the proper moment.

      

      Returning home, I resumed my medical studies. It was my fourth year, so, as is the custom, I began interning at a hospital. How well God had his plan worked out for me. While I felt I was hanging in suspense about my vocation, it was precisely through my work in the hospital that God showed me his will. The dramatic cases and the suffering patients made me confront the reality of the world: people were suffering and dying for a lack of Christ, a lack for which no medical care, technology or prescription could ever compensate. The world could not wait longer; it needed him now.

      

      I had dreamed of being a doctor since I was five, of going to the farthest reaches of the earth, to where Gods love and care were most needed. A doctors hands are like those of the Divine Physician, who soothes pain, heals wounds and alleviates suffering. The possibility of becoming a doctor was one I would have to give up forever. 

 

AND SEEING THE DISCIPLE WHOM HE LOVED

 

       Im sure it sounds ridiculous or illogical to many, and perhaps, looking from a purely natural perspective, it is, but I couldnt wait. God was calling me. I had been touched by Christs love and could no longer resist the gentle voice beckoning me to himself.

      

       On December 27, the feast of St. John the Evangelist, with less than one year of medical school left, I made my decision to leave everything and consecrate my life to Christ. St. John, the youngest of the apostles, didnt leave Christ suffering alone on the cross while he earned his degree. Neither would I. 

      

       Was this a difficult decision? Yes and no. Yes, for all the reasons you can easily imagine. No, because I knew clearly that this was what God wanted. Christ didnt want a medical license, he wanted me, and the only thing I wanted was him. After seventeen years of consecrated life, this hasnt changed. These have been the happiest seventeen years of my life.

 

       I have worked in several countries with people of all ages and in all circumstances: those in the pits of sin, and those at the heights of holiness; those who live in material abundance and those whose sole occupation is survival. Jesus Christ is my life and my everything.

 

       Being consecrated means being a missionary doctor in the fullest and most sublime sense of the word. My jungle is the world. My patients are anyone who needs to discover meaning in life. My prescription: Jesus Christ take daily, fully refillable, no risk of overdose.