I’m not one to find meaning in every little thing that happens, but every once in a while, something stops me. This feather certainly did. It felt like it was meant to make me pause, pay attention. And although I don’t often feel my mother’s presence around me — in the 36 years she’s been gone I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt her nearness — on that day in that gorgeous square, she was there. I tucked the feather in my bag and put it out of my head for the next few hours. But then. Then, then, then! As I walked down the streets of Rome, I spotted another perfect white feather floating right where I put my foot down. And another and another. I’m not talking the run-of-the-mill pigeon feathers that are all over Rome. These were perfectly white, perfectly shaped, perfectly curled, and no one but me seemed to be noticing them. I lost count when it went over 40 in the next few days. Finally, as we stood outside the duomo in Orvieto, a tiny white feather descended, and my husband caught it and handed it to me.

Right about now, you might be thinking I’ve lost my mind but hear me out. Two of my favorite talented spiritual women writers — Emily Dickinson and St. Hildegard of Bingen — had profound things to say about feathers. Dickinson wrote: “Hope is the thing with feathers. That perches in the soul. And sings the tune without the words. And never stops – at all.” And Hildegard famously said: “I am but a feather on the breath of God.”

Both women remind us that these delicate, fragile, seemingly insignificant natural wonders have something powerful to teach us about trust and surrender, hope and joy. To be a feather on the “breath of God” is to be carried to places we haven’t intended to go but trust in God’s reasons. The tune we sing without words is that deep communication that happens when we let go of the rote prayers that are as familiar to us as our own name and enter into an interior conversation with God in a way that can be all at once beautiful and scary, energizing and paralyzing.

As I tossed all of this around in my heart and soul as we pounded the cobblestone streets of Italy to pray before the remains of saints, we came to St. Mary Major, where our wise Rome guide, Jan, talked to us about the relics housed there: wood believed to be part of the manger in Bethlehem, and relics of St. Matthew and St. Jerome. One of our pilgrims looked at him skeptically and said, “But how do they know that?” Jan went on to say that they do research and can date objects. The he posed a question: “At a certain point, the rest is what? Faith.” He added: “Faith is a decision; you make a decision to believe.”

Like that feather falling from the sky, Jan’s words pulled me up short. I took out my iPhone and jotted them down so I wouldn’t forget. Yes, “hope is the thing with feathers,” but faith is the thing that gives those wings the power to soar.

This column originally appeared in the October 24, 2024, issue of The Evangelist.

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Only a few minutes into “Vision,” however, I realized there actually was a connection, be it a tangential one, between the Lorax who “speaks for the trees” and the mystic who valued nature and herbal medicine as a key part of her spiritual and physical practice.

I was sort of dreading “The Lorax,” which the girls begged me to watch as part of our “girls night.” I love Dr. Seuss, but as far as I’m concerned, none of the modern film versions of the old book classics really measure up. I won’t even allow the Jim Carrey version of “The Grinch” into my house. Or “The Cat in the Hat.” But “The Lorax” was actually good and thoughtful and uplifting in a crunchy sort of way, and, you know me, I love crunchy. So I was totally okay with the over-the-top tree-hugging green-ness of this film. The funny thing is, Hildgegard is kind of just as over-the-top when it  comes to the environment as the Lorax, but with the added dimension of over-the-top visions and voices. She doesn’t just speak for the trees. She goes straight to the top, speaking for God.

The girls actually watched the first part of “Vision” with me. Their choice. It was not a punishment of some sort. I had to force them to cover their eyes during a couple of icky scenes of people flagellating themselves, and I had to read the subtitles aloud for Chiara (since the movie is in German), but otherwise they were actually interested in the story of this young girl who goes off to live in a convent and becomes a strong and forward-thinking woman who could also heal people with herbal remedies, compose beautiful music, write poetry and lead a religious community, all while living with regular visions and messages from God. I eventually had to make them go to bed because it was getting late, but the first thing Olivia asked when she came downstairs this morning was how I liked the rest of the movie.

I loved it. I could watch it again, which surprises me because I kind of thought I’d just get through it, what with all the German and medieval weirdness. But it’s beautifully shot and powerfully acted. And Hildegard, who became a saint and a Doctor of the Church last year, is such a great Catholic story, such a great Catholic woman.

So I recommend both movies. Try them as a double feature.

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