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| Geraldine and Veronica |
Today I left Portlaoise, once again dragging my two faithful suitcases behind me. Apparently, yesterday’s spiritual lesson about “traveling light” has not yet translated into any actual reduction in luggage.
In fact, I must confess: I added a few more “must-haves.”
At the station, I quickly discovered I was on the wrong side of the tracks. There I stood, staring up at the steps with my two cases, completely missing the lift that would have solved my quandary.
As I considered how I might manage the climb, a traveling angel appeared—this time a young man with tattoos. Without hesitation, he took charge of my suitcases, carried them up the steps, and set this wandering pilgrim firmly on the right track for the train to Portarlington.
Lesson number two in becoming a true pilgrim: when you are on the wrong track, grace sometimes arrives with tattoos and strong arms.
At Portarlington, I discovered the lift and used it!
Alleluia!
No more hauling suitcases up stairs. In that moment, the lift felt less like modern convenience and more like divine intervention. Sometimes I miss what is right in front of me, but that is another story for another day.
When I boarded the Galway train, another kind young man lifted my suitcase into its place above my seat. Being short in stature was, in my defense, a contributing factor!
And then the journey took a beautiful turn.
I met two kindred spirits, Geraldine and Veronica from County Kildare—Brigid’s land. We began talking, and our conversation carried us all the way to Galway. They shared wonderful stories of faith and family that touched my heart.
They were delighted to learn that I had written about women saints and a book of healing prayers for everyday life. We exchanged details so they could find my work. From there, our conversation turned to the Roman Catholic Women Priests movement, which was new to them.
Their response surprised and delighted me:
“Could you come and say Mass in Kildare?”
Now there is an invitation that would make St. Brigid smile.
I could almost hear her in the Communion of Saints saying, “It’s about time.”
When I finally reached my hotel in Eyre Square, I left my suitcases behind in at last. For once, they were going nowhere—and neither was anyone being asked to carry them.
I then set out to explore Galway.
That was when another unexpected encounter unfolded.
As I stood at a crosswalk, a woman suddenly called out:
“Bridget Mary!”
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For a moment I looked around, wondering, “How does anyone know me here? Have my suitcases become famous already?”
She told me she followed me on Facebook and thanked me for my work supporting women priests. She also shared that she had spent her life working in the Church and now felt called to be a deacon.
There we were—two women at a Galway crosswalk, speaking about women’s call to ordained ministry.
Perhaps the Spirit really does work at intersections.
Her friend took a photograph to mark the moment. It was one of those graced encounters—kindred spirits meeting unexpectedly in the heart of the city—where the Holy Spirit seems to whisper, “Pay attention. This matters.”
For the rest of the day, I wandered through Galway, walked the Spanish Quarter, and eventually made my way to the cathedral. I stayed for prayer and later attended a beautiful liturgy. The priest preached on holistic healing—body, mind, and spirit.
I smiled.
Of course he did.
It felt like a perfect prelude to the next stage of my pilgrimage: tomorrow I begin my retreat at Kylemore Abbey.
Today reminded me that pilgrimage is not only about reaching sacred destinations. The sacred often meets us on railway platforms, in lifts, in chance conversations, at crosswalks, and through people who recognize something of themselves in our journey.
Perhaps traveling light is not about carrying less at all, but about becoming more available—more open to the interruptions, invitations, and unexpected graces that reshape the road beneath our feet. When we travel this way, even ordinary moments become sacramental, and every encounter a possible doorway to the Divine.
And that, I am beginning to understand, is the real journey.
Author’s note: These experiences, reflections, humor, and theological insights are my own. ChatGPT was used as an editorial tool to help organize and polish my original writing while preserving my voice and story.
https://bridgetmarys.blogspot.com/2026/08/grace-on-galway-train-suitcases.html?m=1
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