The Rode to Rome

My trip to Italia in the winter of 1999 was an adventure. It was a quasi pilgrimage through all of northern Italia via a Peugeot. My dad and I were going to navigate the Italian auto Estrada from Mialoano to Rome. On the way to Rome we stopped in to Firenze, Venezia, Piza, and Genoa.

My dad and I were ready to conquer Northern Italia. We were armed with our Michelin map, Triple A map and many prayers, yet we still managed to get lost at least once a day. Even though, by the end of the expedition, we were fed up with being lost it was worth it; We got to see a quick glance at the beautiful art scenery that makes Italia infamous.

One of my favorite cities was Firenze. I had just learned about the Italian Renaissance in my world history class, thus I was extremely excited to visit the womb of European rebirth. I think I walked around Fierenze with my mouth half-open simply because I was in a constant state of astonishment. The city has an air about it that reminds its visitors that Firenze was once a great city state, and everything within its perimeter echoes this truth. From Il Dummo to the David just found across the street. Firenze tantalizes you with its sights.

Another city I loved was Venezia. It is hard for me to put words to why it is such an enchanting place, though I think it has something to do with its history. As you walk around the city it finally dawns on you that the only reason you are afloat is because the stilts of old are still working. You look all around and see and sense its history in the walls and in its waters.

I am a city girl through and through. I love my large concrete jungle. I love the variety a city has to offer in terms of shopping, food and people. A city is always changing, always new, and I feed off of that. Thus it came as no surprise that I enjoyed Italy’s primer cities. What did surprise me, though, was that these cities were not my favorite part of the trip. Nor was my favorite aspect of my journey an artistic masterpiece or even a quaint piazza. Rather, it was the mountains.

That past summer I had come to the understanding that I was not God and that the God reveled in the Christian Scriptures was. I was just getting to know the great” I Am” when I went on my Italian pilgrimage. I was not expecting to encounter Him there but He was expecting to encounter me.

I grew up in Miami, a place where a hill seven feet tall is considered a mountain. Miami, like most cities, has only hints of nature found in potted plants and the occasional planned park. But Miami has something different from other metropolises because of its beach. In Miami if you face the ocean with your back to the oversized hotels, for a second - just a second - you forget you’re in a city. But only for a second, because sooner than later a speed boat breaks your tranquil state and you’re back to life as usual.

Driving along Italy’s auto estradas, I saw a lot of nature but much of it didn’t impress me. It was beautiful but it didn’t wow me. What did amaze me was the postcard perfect mountains on our way and at Genoa. For the first time I had seen genuine, majestic, rock. Two images of these mountains will ever be embedded in memory. The first memory begins with me waking up from a dozed sate. I looked around me and there were snow-capped mountains to my left and to my right. It dawned on me that these giants were no mere accidents. The Lord of all who created me, created these natural skyscrapers. All I could think was, Wow, and offered my God a prayer.

The second memory I retain is one from when we entered Genoa. To my right I had tightly packed rock with plants growing out of its side. To my left I could see Genoa alongside the vast Mediterranean. It was the perfect balance of nature and civilization. The small buildings complemented the blue pristine ocean. The ocean and the mountains framed the city masterfully.

Once again I encountered God. The juxtaposition of the natural and the manufactured screamed that there was a God. I realize that as much as God is in the mountain God is also in the crafted masonry. God’s glory is revealed in the work of His creation whether we realize it or not.

When I was little I was taught that God was everywhere. As I got older I forgot that truth. Though I was not expecting to encounter God on my trip, I felt that if it was going to happen, it should have happened in Rome. I should have felt His presence in the Sistine Chapel, or maybe by the alter in St. Peter’s. But I didn’t. Instead, He encountered me on the road to Rome alongside stone giants.