I have been working as a faculty member at a large research institution for about a decade now. My work involves leading a research program investigating the role of diet in risk of chronic disease. I also teach and mentor graduate students and postdoctoral fellows. While I discovered a passion for research early in my college years — a curiosity that gets me out of bed very early every day — I never imagined I would become a teacher or mentor to young adults pursuing careers in research. I've been fortunate to have teachers and mentors who were giants in my field, possessing an incredible ability to "see" both the details and complexities of the scientific problems we worked on together, as well as the major questions driving our field in new directions. With my own shortsightedness and limitations, I never thought of myself as someone who could help guide others on their journey. That changed when students began knocking on my door.

About three years ago, I started teaching a new class on applied research methods. For the first time, I could teach some of the methods I use and share concrete examples from my work. One by one, students began to ask to meet with me or wait to continue the conversation after class. Sometimes, there was a line of students wanting to ask questions about the concepts and examples I brought up in class. Often, these conversations evolved into discussions about their personal and professional journey.

What surprised me wasn't just that these conversations were happening increasingly often, but that I was actually happy to engage with them. At their core, their questions resonated with my own: What am I called to do at this stage of my life with the talents, interests, and time I've been given? What are my circumstances pointing me toward? What are the signs presented to me — academic/scientific interests, concrete needs, family circumstances — and how do I understand and follow them? Engaging with the students made me more aware of my own questions.

I also realized that facing these questions with the students required me to look at my own experience. In doing so, I recognized that I have been given a place, a space, and a method to look at those questions. Over the years, I have been accompanied, challenged, and corrected as I walked along the way. I recalled discerning my vocation for marriage, searching for my first job after graduation, and making many small and big decisions that led to a new step, a direction. In all these occasions, I have been encouraged and helped to take all factors into account and compare them with the needs of my heart. I realized more clearly that this is what the work of the School of Community has done for me. Recognizing that, through this continuous ascesis, I am given “flesh, bones, intelligence, heart”, I felt deeply grateful and desired more and more to share the adventure of life with my students.

This summer, one of my students received her PhD degree after a journey that included some serious difficulties. She had been working with me during her doctoral training, and we became very close. I was often struck by her resilience and hard work, especially during critical periods of personal loss and uncertainties in her family life. During her commencement ceremony, I was very moved and kept reflecting on all she had been through. I had the opportunity to meet her parents, who had traveled from another continent to attend her graduation. I was struck by the richness of her culture and the sacrifices her parents made for her education. Reflecting on chapter 8 of The Religious Sense, I vividly recalled Fr. Giussani's words: “The present, then, is that mysterious moment where the richness of the past is conceived and reconceived in an image not only provoked and made possible by the past, but also filtered through the mystery of the originality of the present”. As I drove back from the celebration, I wondered, "Who are You, who prepares such a beautiful journey, and allows me to see Your mysterious ways?"

Months after her graduation, my student faced unexpected twists and turns, making the path to a much-needed job less certain than she had initially thought. Anxious and worried, she came to me to discuss her situation. We brainstormed various options for post-graduate fellowships, application processes, and timelines. As I looked at myself in action, I was struck by my desire to do everything I could to help her. As we continued to meet to review potential opportunities and job applications, she grew increasingly overwhelmed by the process and the fast-approaching deadline to find employment. As her anxiety grew, so did mine, prompting me to reach out to colleagues for possible opportunities we might have missed. Throughout this period, I continued to pray for her journey and for guidance to help her in any way I could.

One day, we went out for dinner, and she asked many questions about me. As the conversation continued, she shared more about her life. I asked her if looking at her experience, it was reasonable to say that Someone has been caring for her and her family during the critical moments of her life, including the present moment. She is a non-denominational Christian, and we had not talked in depth about faith before. On that day, I found myself asking her if it was reasonable to trust that God was in control and would show us the way. I noticed a change in her face — a light in her eyes, a sign of hope. It was as if she was reminded of something true. A week later, Fr. Giussani helped me understand what had happened. Reflecting on the experience of freedom, he wrote that “reliance on this Presence is my freedom”. In front of my student, I understood the "capacity for God" that Fr. Giussani refers to. Something we are born with, and that is constantly rekindled in me when I recognize His presence along the way. To me, this continuous recognition is the only way I can take a step, trust in reality, and, just as St. Paul says, keep walking, not by sight, but by faith.

Marcia, Houston, TX