The Sisters of Providence of Saint Mary-of-the-Woods (Lizz)

Our first official stop was the Sisters of Providence at St Mary of the Woods, Indiana.   

As soon as we exited the car, we began to wander.  We were so eager to get started that we parked in the first available spot and just started walking. 

Mary was completely at ease with this “let’s see what we find” approach.   Meanwhile, I was already feeling lost and panicked.  “I’ve failed. I don't even know where we are supposed to go.  We are wasting time, and there’s so much walking ahead—this is completely aimless.” 

The pressure of being the leader was already setting in, and I started to doubt all my preparation. Where did my peaceful, let-it-go attitude from this morning go?

I look behind me—Mary is the picture of calm. “Ooo, a buckeye tree!” she says. “Look! A raccoon.”

I try hard to latch onto her calm, to let it wash over me and bring me back down. We keep walking, heading toward the church steeple, even though we’re surrounded by buildings and not even on a clear path.

Then, in the distance, we spot what looks like our first grotto. A jolt of excitement hits me. I take a deep breath—the weight begins to lift. It’s going to be okay. We’re on the right path.

We come upon a statue of Mary, nestled in a roughly assembled stone grotto with a more modern roof overhead. Looking closer... is that a heart? All our symbols—Mary, grottos, hearts—coming together. It feels like a giant flashing sign telling me to relax, to trust, to just let ourselves discover on this journey.

We keep wandering until we spot some signs in front of what looks like an office building, and beyond that, the church. I hesitate. Is it open? Are we even allowed to be here? I should’ve called ahead or something.

After second-guessing myself at least three times, I finally buzz the door, silently praying I won’t have to speak over the intercom. But we’re let in right away.

A warm, smiling nun greets us at the front desk. “Are you here to see the shrine?” she asks.

Yes!

A wave of peace washes over me as I take another deep breath. We’re back on track. She hands us maps and brochures, and just like that, we’re off.

Google is what first led me to this place. It looked like a peaceful spot to stretch our legs—and there were alpacas! But as I dug deeper and began reading about Saint Mother Theodore Guerin, I became genuinely excited to visit.

Not only was she a teacher, but she also suffered from stomach issues. Her story is far more dramatic than mine, but learning about her while I was navigating my own struggles with food and restrictive eating brought me unexpected comfort.

There was something powerful about the timing—about discovering a more recent saint whose experiences I could relate to. Visiting her shrine became more than a stop on the map; it became a quiet opportunity to lift up my own journey in prayer.

We had the shrine all to ourselves.

Soon enough, we were wandering again. Mary and I easily slip into a rhythm—bouncing between, “Oh, look at this cool fact!” or “I love that quote,” and then dissolving into laughter over something random that reminded us of an inside joke.

We didn’t need to say much. We gave each other space but also called one another over to share discoveries. There was an unspoken understanding in how we moved through the space—together, yet independently.

I especially loved seeing the remnants of Saint Mother Theodore’s teaching methods. And it was incredible to stand before actual items that had belonged to a saint.

I’ve never been to a shrine before.

It made me pause and reflect: What would be on display if someone wanted to remember me as a saint? What objects would they gather? What words or phrases would they recall? 

As a Montessori teacher, I have the gift of following a group of students for three years. It’s such a joy to watch them grow—gaining confidence, wisdom, and maturity—as they become the leaders of our classroom.

In those final months of their third-grade year, we often spend time reminiscing together. I love hearing what they remember about their time in our class, and we look back through old photos, laughing and marveling at how far they’ve come.

Now that I’ve been at my school for eight years, my very first group of first graders are eighth graders. When they come back to visit and share their “remember whens,” their smiles remind me how impactful our time together truly was.

It’s so important to honor those who’ve impacted our lives. This shrine was clearly designed with deep love and affection for a caring and passionate woman who touched the lives of so many.

As teachers, we often work hard without much recognition. The pay isn’t great, the respect isn’t always there—but I find deep encouragement in my students: their joy for learning, their visible growth, and knowing that I get to be a small part of that journey.

I imagine it must have been the same for Mother Theodore Guerin. She worked tirelessly for her students and her community. Her legacy lives on through the devotion of those she served, earned through her consistent leadership and her fierce commitment to what was right.

One quote of hers that brings me comfort is:
“Be assured that in leaving the past to the mercy of God and the future to (God’s) Providence, you will derive from your offering very great peace and very great consolation.”

I’m grateful that we began our pilgrimage as future teaching partners by honoring the memory of such an extraordinary teacher. My hope is that our year ahead is inspiring to our students and their families—and that our shared experiences draw us all closer to Jesus.

This job is challenging, exhausting, time-consuming, and never-ending… but it brings me such deep consolation to be surrounded by children—with childlike faith—who trust me and who yearn to grow in their relationship with God.

I can’t wait to pray with my students, to sing with them, to laugh with them. I want to be remembered as the teacher who shared her faith, who walked with them in love and joy, and who inspired them to do the same for others.

Through our love, our light, our words, and our actions—that is how we find peace and great consolation. —Lizz