Live in the Light

Whenever I walk into the main entrance of McGlinn, I see a wall of plaques bearing the names of women who have contributed to our dorm in a significant way. When I wait in line at Subway, I gaze upon a wall covered in accolades for students who have made a significant difference at Notre Dame. Recently, I’ve been filled with joy to see my own friends’ names join these plaques. My friends have told me delightedly about the well-earned awards they received, the honors societies they’ve been inducted into, and the different honors they will receive as they graduate. I am completely humbled to have friends that are so successful and so impactful on our Notre Dame community.

But sometimes, late at night, alone in my room- a sneaky thought tickles my mind, “Megan, you have literally done nothing to contribute to this school.” Sometimes I wonder if I have made any impact on my school, my community. Sometimes I wonder if my presence at Notre Dame has made any difference. In these moments, I retrace my Notre Dame experience, resigned that there is grace in treading lightly. I don’t need to have changed Notre Dame to have had a good experience, I tell myself.

Then I think of this blog and with a burst of blessing-filled love, I realize that I have had an impact at Notre Dame. My legacy isn’t the normal one. It isn’t written on a plaque, but across the bizarre mystery that is cyberspace. I can’t touch it. There is no real physical evidence- no building, no new club or event, no policy change- just a URL scrawled across the screen. It’s a sentence in the Campus Ministry e-newsletter. It’s a link on my Facebook. It’s the fourth thing that comes when you Google, “Megan McCuen blog” (and the first thing that comes up when you Google “confirmation letter for sister”).

Despite being intangible, I’ve seen traces of my legacy all around me for the last three years. I’ve received e-mails that have touched my heart- from people I know, members of the Notre Dame community I’ve met, and several from complete strangers from around the world. On more than one occasion I’ve introduced myself to the response, “Don’t you write a blog?” Or the reverse when I bring up my blog to someone new, to the response, “That was you? I read it all the time!” I’ve been overwhelmed by each comment, each like and share on Facebook, and each retweet.

I am also overwhelmed with gratitude in the way that I do for the people who have been a part of this blogging journey with me. I am so thankful for my amazing, inspiring mother who is my campus minister/spiritual director/overall mentor in faith. She deals with my frequent, “Hey, can I just talk you through this blog to make sure it makes sense” calls and shares every article with her friends (who have become a fan club of their own). I am grateful for my loyal group of friends who read each week and flatter me with the nicest comments. I am grateful to all those who’ve leant their voices to my blog- from people I’ve interviewed to those who’ve shared their stories with me to the priests that have let me steal snippets from their homilies.

I am most grateful for the remarkable faith-filled women I’ve had the privileged to work with as part of the Campus Ministry communications team. Our Wednesday meetings are one of the highlights of my week. We’ve watched hilarious videos, discussed whether the Pentatonics musical genius was made up from their terrible aesthetics, and contemplated “what are the kids talking about?” I’ve also had some of the deepest faith sharing conversations during my whole time at ND in the Communications office. I’ve been so lucky to write alongside Kate Arndorfer whose writing astounds me each week. I am so blessed to have gotten to know Dani L’Heureux whose diligence and energy has made the Campus Ministry Facebook/Twitter/Insta so wonderful. I am so, so thankful to Kate Morgan for taking a chance on me when I was a freshman with big dreams and giving me this platform to share, grow, and write.

My legacy is small. There is a line in my new favorite musical Hamilton that says, “What is a legacy? It’s planting flowers in a garden that you never get to see.” This quote is true of my writing here. I can’t know how my words have impacted you. I hope they’ve made you feel a little less alone. I hope they have reminded you resoundingly that God has a plan for you. I hope you understand that God has given you the skills you need to shape your world in ways that will bring light to others. I hope you have realized that more than anything else, God is always calling you to do the most loving thing. I hope you challenge yourself everyday to be that love for others.

I am at the end of this little legacy. It may be a tiny blip, but this blip has meant the world to me for last three years. I’ve written over 80 articles. I’ve spilled my secrets and shared my soul. But now I just have just a few more words left for you and one last wish. I picked the name for my blog during choir rehearsal one night at the beginning of my sophomore year. We were singing David Haas’ “We Are Called.” This hymn is a little cheesy, but who doesn’t love to belt it? It sums up our call as people of faith to live out God’s call to service, justice, and humility- something I hope this blog has reflected. But even beyond that, I have always connected with imagery of the first line. To me, God’s love looks like radiant, warm sunlight. So of anything I hope for you, as my parting prayer, it is that you live in the light.