Our Lady of Champion

OUR LADY OF CHAMPION

“Teach Them.”

I’ve spent the past week working on our book project about the pilgrimage Lizz created for us last July. I’ve tried to capture every moment of grace from that journey to Our Lady of Champion—every sound, every emotion, every quiet stirring of the soul.

Our Lady of Champion is the Blessed Virgin Mary, who appeared in 1859 to Adele Brise in Wisconsin—the only Church-approved Marian apparition in the United States—calling for conversion, catechesis, and trust in her intercession.

I thought I was well educated about Marian apparitions, but I realized I had never heard of this one—and that truly surprised me. Lizz and I first discovered this apparition while reading a book together during Lent.

As I write on the eve of Our Lady of Champion’s feast day—and will likely finish on the feast itself—I find myself returning again and again to her simple, profound words:

“Teach them.”

Being a teacher has often felt like an argument between my impatient self and God. I wrestle with this vocation more often than I’d like to admit. Perhaps argument is too strong a word—maybe annoyance fits better.

Those my will, not Your will, O Lord moments.

I’ve always been restless. I crave movement and new possibilities. My heart feels most alive when I’m coaching or writing—when creativity and energy take over and I can breathe freely. Being in a classroom sometimes feels like the opposite of that nature. It becomes a tug-of-war between where I know God wants me to be and the imagined “what ifs” of where I think I want to be.

But teaching, in its truest form, is an unselfish vocation. I often say I know I’ve had a good week in the classroom when I feel too tired to write—because that exhaustion means I’ve given everything to my students. I’ve poured out every ounce of creativity, attention, and care until there’s nothing left for myself.

Since returning from our pilgrimage, though, that restlessness has softened. I’ve found peace. I’ve found purpose. I’ve come to understand, perhaps more deeply than ever, that this is where I am meant to be. I no longer second-guess it. I no longer search for something more—but rather, I search for the more in the place where God has called me to be.

I no longer feel restless. I continue to write. I continue to find coaching moments. I continue to grow within the vocation God has entrusted to me.

Teach them.

There is a quiet beauty in the school where I serve—the beauty of our shared Catholic faith, the unity of our community. The words spoken by the Blessed Mother to Adele Brise are spoken to me each time Lizz leads our class in prayer. After those moments, I often glance at the photos from our pilgrimage displayed in our classroom—and I am filled with gratitude.

Grateful for every Sign of the Cross we make.
For every Angelus we pray.
For every breath of prayer whispered in Eucharistic Adoration.
For every saint whose story inspires us.
For every guardian angel who keeps watch over our classroom.
For every new prayer, every act of faith, every small seed of grace planted in their hearts.

Teach them.

“Go, and fear nothing,” says Our Lady of Champion.

And with that, I have found peace, purpose, and a holy reminder: restlessness is not always an obstacle to God’s friendship—it can be an invitation.

An invitation to seek meaning in our work.
To see teaching as participation in God’s own care for His children.
To lead young souls, however humbly, closer to the Heavenly Father.

Each day, in this wild country, we teach them—and that is enough. —-Mary