Letter from Cassie Coyle

Picture of a station of the cross outdoors. Reminding us to unite our suffering to Christ’s passion and death.

Photo by Chelsey Shortman

My dear Sisters,

I want to start by dispelling a lie many believe. Kansas is in fact not flat. No matter what the world may tell you. This state does, in fact, have hills. This was a lie I believed until I moved here for school. Truth be told, though, on a given day I walk up 152 stairs just to get from my house to my academic building. The other option is a steep hill up the side of campus. Starting school, my legs got real fit real fast.

Right before the start of my junior year I was on mission in Lourdes, France. One of the highlights is getting to take a plunge into the healing waters discovered by St. Bernadette herself. Most of my trip to Lourdes was spent asking the Lord to reveal where in my life I needed the most healing, and after sitting in the queue for over an hour, meditating on rosary after rosary, I was finally ushered inside to ask the Blessed Mother to heal my heart from a life of past abuse. As I was getting into the baths, I slipped and fell, injuring my knee. I think I may have been the first person to be injured getting into the healing baths, but thought nothing of the injury at the time. After a few days back in the States in consistent pain, the doctor told me I would need to be on crutches for the first few weeks back at school. Those 152 stairs I was once able to fly up just a few months before, now seemed like the most daunting thing I would have to face come Monday morning classes.

Each morning I started my trek, one stair at a time, people would pass me by, giving sympathetic glances then bustling along as if I was never there. As I neared halfway,the steps seemed to never end, and each step turned into a small mountain to conquer. No longer was my mind thinking about making it to the top; I was just thinking about the one step ahead of me. Climbing that one, then doing it again. Sometimes people stopped to help me, but most days I just got encouraging cheers: "You are doing great!" "You are almost there!"

One day in the midst of all this I found myself in prayer on a particularly burdensome day. My family was falling apart, campus life was overwhelming, I had felt no healing in my life, and it seemed to me that the burden I’d been asked to carry was only going to crush me under its weight. Alone in a chapel kneeling before the Lord, I was weeping, crying out to my Father asking Him to heal me, to be with me, and to remind me of His presence. The Lord reminded me of this little experience climbing up to classes and I felt Him ask me in my heart of hearts, “Why is this any different than the way I’ve asked you to walk with me, my daughter?” He was asking me why I don’t walk with Him one stair at a time, conquering each little mountain, thinking about only that which is in front of me. Not wanting that which is beyond me, but simply looking at what has been placed in front of me one step at a time. Walking with the cross He has placed on my shoulders one stumbling step at a time, because ultimately He stumbled with His cross too.

Sometimes I think we tend to look at our lives as one big mountain to be climbed in one fell swoop. Society tells us that to be successful we must always know what lies at the top of the stairs and even what lies beyond. This is the way that I've lived my life. Always having the next adventure lined up, and my life planned for years. I always thought I would study special education in college, spend two years as a missionary post-college, then start teaching in a general education classroom, and so on for the rest of my life. Everything I did was for this life I had planned, not giving the Father a chance to work on His plan in me. In this injury, He was asking me to slow down, to stop looking ahead and to let Him work one slow step at a time. Allowing myself to constantly climb. Constantly be defeated. Constantly persevere to reach the mountain with God.

I’ve now taken time to let myself walk with God, to only look at the step in front of me, and some of them are harder to take than others. Slowing down means not asking what He wants of me in a year, but asking Him what he wants of me today. Responding when I feel the little tug to abandon my perfectly laid out daily schedule to help a friend, or visit the Chapel. Moving one step at a time means facing hard healing that I’d rather continue to push down, but doing so by conquering one little wound by little wound, letting Him heal my heart in His timing, not mine. It means not seeking my vocation but letting Him bring me to it. As I’ve come to embrace this understanding of slowing down, I can invite others into it as well. College is a time of fast paced living, and as I learn what it means to slow down, I have had the privilege to share that understanding with others. Inviting those women I live with, to embrace the now. Reaching out to peers and helping them climb one step by one step, no matter how hard it is.

Some days the Father asks more of me than I think I can give, asking me to stay up a little later with the friend who is in need, and waking up a little earlier to finish the homework I had to push off to do so. He asks me to trust in His plan even when it makes no sense; to pursue a teaching degree when I know I’ll never be a teacher. He whispers reminders to follow His will for me here in this moment and nothing beyond. Eventually though, I look up and realized I’ve reached the top. It is there that I allow myself to experience the joy of being His beloved, knowing that I gave everything to be there.

Tobit 7:17 says "Take courage, my daughter! May the Lord of heaven grant you joy in place of your grief! Courage my daughter!" And you know what dear sister? Eventually, I may have to take courage and go back down those 152 steps again, like the apostles abandoning Mt. Tabor for the Passion. Sometimes someone stops to help, and sometimes I do it alone. The joy is replaced with grief and it seems like everyone has abandoned me. These are the little passions He uses to strengthen me. I implore you, dear sisters, look at the bottom of the stairs. The beloved Father is there waiting, always, ready to walk with us if only we cry out “Abba, Father.”

Always with you in Christ

-Cassie

Photo of Cassie

About the Writer: Cassie Coyle is Colorado Native, who currently calls Kansas home while currently finishing up degrees in Theology and Elementary Education. Cassie hopes to use her degrees in the area of youth ministry post-college, while also pursuing a passion for domestic short-term mission. She will never pass up the chance to be amazed by the Lord’s goodness by watching a sunrise over the river, or sunset over the mountains. People call her crazy for her morning personality that meets you with a smile as early as 5am every day. You would be hard pressed to find Cassie without a book, rosary, and coffee in her possession at all times.

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