Something About Sunflowers and Onions

"When a person sees a sunflower, they can't help but smile."

- Anonymous

"Behind every smile is a caring, gentle person."

- Anonymous

    I've known her for only a year and yet, I feel like she's known me my whole life. I've only seen her three times in the past year, including the week I met her, and yet, I feel like I see her all the time. I'm usually so cryptic and thick that I can't be read, and yet, she looks straight through me like she would a window. We share a favorite flower and a favorite hobby: sunflowers and smiling. And I've been told that there is a serious and obvious bond between the two of us. I am so blessed.

    Those who I chatted with prior to what we call CREW know how worried and anxious I was about coming this year. I won't go into too much detail but a lot of it had to do with how I would be rushing from one week event to another week event within twelve hours of each other AND how I haven't seen my dear sisters for a very LONG time. What people don't know is that I was pretty ready to just quit because of the uncomfortable anxiety. However, one sister reminded me how God needed me to go and that not going would be running away. Lord knows I can't run. Sister reminded me that there was one person I needed to see this week and if I didn't go to CREW, I wouldn't see her. So, I went. 

     Already running late for my supposed arrival time, the anxiety within my heart and soul increased as the minutes went by. I parked the car and literally ran to the front door, leaving my things behind. Not until I saw the boss and two of my closest friends did I unpack my things and then my sunflower's things. Although the girls had all arrived and were diligently working on their CREW waves while bringing much excitement to the room, my heart was still anxiety packed. My sunflower had gone to unpack her things in her room while I very quietly and patiently. I listened to the excitement in the room as I worked and then, without warning, my sunflower snuck up behind me without warning. That's when this precious picture was taken. Having her there immediately eased a good amount of my anxiety. There's just something about sunflowers that can do that!

      The night really hit it off well with all of us jumping into the boat with our captain and sharing our first night of prayers. Immediately all of the girls hit it off so well. Before I knew it, we were all exhausted simply from getting to know each other through prayer and ice breakers. Without really realizing it, I had maintained my quiet attitude throughout the night. As we walked toward the staircase, my dearest Sunflower Sister put her arm around my shoulders and whispered, "You and I are going to have to make time this week to chat and catch up. I can see in your heart, you're struggling." I couldn't argue that; she was right. 

      The next two days were packed with activities such as gardening, dancing in the rain, painting over graffiti in Camden, visiting the PINK sisters and going for a CREW swim. She was only staying until Wednesday morning and because of all the activity, we hadn't yet gotten the chance to catch up. Yet, every morning or every time she could, she filled my heart with positive sayings such as: "We're so blessed you're here," "Good morning, Angel," "Thanks for your witness," "You're the best," and most importantly, "You are so loved here." She never failed to give a hug every time she could or just a simple hand to hold. She knew I was struggling with a storm inside and needed a captain to guide me. So, she was subtly sending me the directions I needed to prepare the ship for the storm. 

     By Tuesday night our time was running out. So, right after our late night prayer, I linked my arm with hers and casually asked if she wouldn't mind peeling onions with me. For those of you who don't know this, onions brings tears to one's eyes. Since I'm both an English major and I love to cook, I'm constantly using crazy parallels with food and real life. So, yes, I more or less asked her if she wouldn't mind letting me cry a little on her shoulder. And so, we had our catch up chat which really consisted of me crying while peeling away the layers of my onions, and her steadying my hand as I peeled. And thank God. 

     I don't do tears well, especially in front of people. There are only a select few I've cried in front of and I can count them on one hand. I use only one finger when counting how many I've actually really really really cried in front of...like the whole awkward breathing, snotty nosey, river of tears cry. And that only happens when I peel onions. 

     There is something about sunflowers that let's you know you are safe and sound and protected and loved.  There is something about onions that truly lets you cry. And there is something about peeling onions with a sunflower that truly reveals to you God's love and healing power. I am so blessed to have spent three very special retreating days with a beautiful sunflower. I can't really put into words how grateful I am for her presence in my life, but if we're being honest, let's just say: my ship would have been lost to the storm. 

I Wonder If Mary and Jesus Would Like Coffee?

"Behind every successful woman is a substantial amount of coffee."

- Stephanie Piro

     Imagine this scene: you are exhausted from your week of adventures and it's 8:55 on a Saturday morning. The only thing you want to do is go back to bed and sleep the day away. But you can't. You made a promise to be present at a Parish event. Dragging your feet down the stairs to the Church Hall, you smell your first whiff of coffee. That very moment, the moment the beauteous scent of freshly brewed coffee reaches your nose, you know it's going to be a great day!

     Today I was fortunate enough to spend my Saturday in retreat with the Ladies Auxiliary of my Parish. The moment I turned eighteen I was told I was going to be enlisted into the names of the Ladies making me their youngest member. While I'm not home for most of the meetings and such because of school, I was blessed enough to be home for the 1st Annual Ladies Spirituality Day. As I made my way into the Church Hall, I found myself "blessed among the women" and was proudly the youngest lady there (shocker!!!). The retreat reflection circled around the Eucharist (coincidentally, what my retreat reflection was last weekend) and Family Life. In the middle of our day, we were given a paper with five words on it and encouraged to write down our personal reflection. Beings that I'm both an English major and a Theology minor, I found no difficulty with this. As I was furiously writing things down, the ladies were all watching me intently until one of them told me to spill. So spill I did, and the conversation went from there. Of course, I had to keep some of the good things for the group sharing part and when the time came for that, share I did. Not thinking anything of the age difference between myself and these women, I shared just as I would if I were on a discernment retreat or on a retreat with my friends for school; honestly. When the day was over, one of the ladies stopped me to thank me for my presence and my reflections. She told me that is was one of the most refreshing experiences she has had for a while. And so, I can't go without sharing some of my reflections on here...

    One of the first quotations Father used was, "To become that which they eat and that which they drink." (St. Augustine) From there, reflection on the day took the Eucharist as the real presence. We, as Catholics, say we believe in the TRUE and REAL presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. And yet we are blocked by truly seeing that real presences because so often, we find ourselves in the obligatory state of mind at Mass and not the privileged. However, being able to go to Mass is such a privilege and when we realize that, we experience the realization of the true presence of Jesus because we are finally truly present. Jesus gives us the beautiful example of being truly present, how we should really be with one another. So often we are distracted by our cell phones or the internet (admittedly it takes me twice as long to write a blog post when I have facebook open...it's open now) or even our daily, busy lives. We are constantly worrying about where and when we have to go instead of enjoying where we currently are. We so often need to just take the time to be really present. And by being present, we are being Eucharist for others; we are carrying the message of the Eucharist...just like Mary, the Mother of God. 

      The second half of the day Father has us reflect on the Visitation. Mary did not go to HELP Elizabeth but rather just to visit and be. Good thing for that teenager there were no cell phones. Elizabeth was an older woman, and an older relative. As much as teens love their grandparents, their presence with their grandparents is almost none existent because of the phone in their pocket. Perhaps the same would have been for Mary? Mary gives us the example of how two people can be truly present with one another. She was literally carrying the message of the Eucharist, the child Jesus within her womb, and she was being Eucharist for Elizabeth. Father then encouraged us to imagine ourselves within the scene. 

      It was so easy for me to imagine myself as Mary, the young visiting the older. Right away I imagined, not two women carrying on a conversation as they might have, but at a little coffee shop on a cute street corner or even in the kitchen on an early morning. Most people don't know this, but the reason I started drinking coffee was because of the sisters. It started while I was helping with retreat for the week last summer. Every morning the sisters would come down into the kitchen (my favorite room in any house), start the coffee and then, when it was ready gather round the little table just to morning chat. Of course, no one was dressed yet; it was a morning pajama party. And so, that idea of having coffee with Mary and Elizabeth was so easily formed in my mind. I find myself so often saying to another when we want to get together: "Let's grab coffee somewhere and visit." I can find myself going to visit the sisters after Mass and drinking coffee at the morning breakfast table, or headed to visit the elderly sisters and drinking coffee, or spending the day with the Ladies Auxiliary bonding over coffee or with my friends, de-stressing and really being present with one another over ... coffee. It's so easy for me to be truly present with another person over coffee (or over a meal is someone doesn't like coffee). Father said, "When we turn our biblical figures into supernatural superheroes, we fail to see their holiness in the ordinary sense and then we fail to see our own ordinary holiness." We so often hold Mary on a pedestal, and although rightfully so, we do so while forgetting her humanness. If Mary and Elizabeth were around today, they could easily be those two pregnant family members hanging out at the cute corner coffee shop. We read in the Scripture that Elizabeth was honored by Mary's visit because she was truly present. We should be able to make others feel honored by our visit but the only way we can do that is be truly present. And we can only be truly present when we turn off our cell phones, turn off the computers, take off our watches and nurse a cup of coffee for a few hours with another person simply sharing time and life. I think having a coffee date can easily be a way to be truly present to another especially since coffee is supposed to awaken our senses anyway.

     One final thing Father mentioned was about a priest he read about who liked to smoke a cigarette and drink some scotch while reading his prayers at night. And when he told his confessor, the confessor said, that he should stop and focus more on the prayers instead of the cigarette and scotch. I laughed because whenever I'm down the shore, I take my prayer book and a mug of fresh, warm coffee to the beach to pray. I never actually thought my coffee drinking would interfere with my prayers. In fact, I always thought of it as a cute little coffee date with Jesus, the love of my life. Hmm...I wonder if He would like coffee????

The Worst Minor Tragedy to Ever Happen - Losing My Voice

"There is a time for speaking and time for silence; He is silencing your heart right now."

- Sister Teri

    One of the first things people notice about me is that I have a loud mouth. Most people would agree that you hear me before you see me. I blame it on my height; I have to make up for my lack of height by my loud mouth. I won't go unnoticed. Those who know me will vouch for the fact that I LOVE to talk and the joke continues that I could talk to a brick wall if I needed to...or wanted to. There are different levels of talking for me such as the basic conversation, using conversation as a ministry, reading to the little ones at school and so much more. However, the usage of my voice doesn't stop there. I also love to sing and whether it's simply singing in the car, or singing in my room to the radio, or singing in Mass, if I'm not talking, I'm usually singing. I'm always using my voice.

     And so, when I woke up on Friday morning with barely a voice, it was a minor tragedy. You see, I was headed to school that day and that drive is about an hour. To take the drive alone is one thing but to not be able to sing as loud as I needed to for an hour, I was going to die without my voice. All day, it fluctuated in and out of sounding normal and sounding like a deep baritone voice. Cute. I was spending the night at the convent at school and all Friday night and Saturday, the sisters playfully kept making fun of my lack of voice. As one sister put it, "This is Bec's greatest tragedy. She can't speak OR sing." I tried to laugh, but of course, my laughter was hindered, too. I have to admit it was quite amusing, even to myself. 

     However, by Tuesday night, I was getting frustrated. We were going on five days without a voice and I was not having it. I was even trying so hard NOT to use my voice. I resisted the temptation to call or skype people or even talk to my family. It was a hard challenge, but I did it. Regardless of how much I tried to gain back my voice, I had nothing, just the occasional baritone, whisper and frog voices. 

      While visiting the convent last night, still with no voice, a few of the sisters said that they really understood how much trouble I was having not being able to talk or sing, especially since singing is my favorite way to pray. One of the sisters told me she needed me to have a voice before our teen retreat week so I could sing for them. Another sister promised to pray for me so I regained my voice simply because five days without talking is a minor tragedy for anyone. Then finally, another sister said, "There is a time for speaking and time for silence; He is silencing your heart right now." My whole way home, in silence of course, I reflected on that. She was right; I needed to silence myself. As I am always constantly running and running and running from one thing to the next, I was in desperate need of some silence. So, I decided to stop fighting the silence, and really quieted myself when I got home. I fell asleep at 9:15pm. That never happens.

      The next day, today, I wake up and head to Mass, still with no voice. As I am kneeling, it dawns on me that it is the Feast of St. Anthony of Padua. Many people know him as the patron of lost things. So, laughing to myself at this coincidence which is really a God-wink, I prayed for St. Anthony to help me find my lost voice. I could not sing the opening hymn, but I kid you not, the moment our pastor begin to talk to me after Mass, my voice was back 100%. Get this: He was asking me if I wouldn't mind doing an informal vocations chat with the young people of the Parish. What started as just having the young women/girls of the Parish be a part of this, turned into a co-ed night and then turned into a day of vocation chats with kids of all ages, and then turned into a potential informal information day for any one who might be wondering what my life as a discerner is like. Of course, the moment God wanted, I got my voice back.

     And so, this week I have learned the lesson of silence, dependence on God and how He wants me to use my voice. I have to laugh because so many of my friends and even some of the sisters say I might turn out to be my community's vocation director one day. The truth is, I've already done so many vocation talks at my grade school and for different groups of people, that I have become the poster child for vocations. So, I am undoubtedly excited for this blessed opportunity to speak with all types of people about my journey so far and where it has lead me. And all of this from losing my voice for a few days!! I guess it wasn't really a tragedy or even a minor one at that!! God sure does work in mysterious ways!!

How To Survive Convent Life - Lesson #2

"In order to properly function in a convent, one must sync herself to the time in which the sisters live. That is, five minutes ahead, on the dot, or five minutes late."

- Lesson #2

     I used to think that nun time was "five and ten" which meant that the sisters got up at five in the morning and went to bed at ten at night. This meant they got a total of seven hours of sleep, and seven is the eternal number, so it was kind of like sleeping for eternity but not really. At least that's what my Dad always told me; that the nuns were five and ten girls. But then I met some real nuns and they proved that rumor false, at least now in the modern world. Maybe that used to be part of their rule, but it wasn't anymore. They could easily go to bed whenever they desired and get up whenever, too, as long as they didn't miss out on crucial community events like Mass and dinner. 

     So, then, in high school, nun time took on a different meaning. My HS principal would always warn us before we would leave for a trip (and being part of quite a few groups in school, we went on a lot of trips), to always be on nun time. No one ever asked her what nun time was, we just gradually shook our heads. Until finally, my Senior year, right before we were leaving for the March for Life, she explained: "Girls, don't forget, always be on nun time today. By nun time I mean, five minutes early for everything. Also, channel convent life today; stay in a small community." Of course, at 5:30 AM, I may have been the only one laughing. 

     Being my father's daughter, I was always on time for everything. And by on time, I mean early...extremely early. We are always a half hour early for Mass. We always leave the house with travel time in mind plus twenty minutes just to be safe. We are early for family parties by significant amounts, we are early for events, we are early for everything. People used to joke and say, we'd be early to our own funerals. Seriously, it made my Dad crazy if we weren't going to be on time, and then it rubbed off on me. I hated being late. My friends used to tell me I was time paranoid especially because I always had to know what time it was. I brushed it off by saying, "Being on time is a good habit to get into. Besides, it's helping me practice nun-time."

     But then I got to college. I started out having to leave for class fifteen minutes before class would start; it only takes five minutes to cross campus, and that's if you run into someone and have a small conversation with them AND check your mailbox. My friends would get so annoyed when I would have to leave breakfast at 8:30 for an 8:45 and my class would be in the next building. I would make them all show up for a seminar early too and we would be the only students present until two minutes before actual start time. I just HAD to be early. However, my time paranoia calmed down a bit when I started work study.

      Sister and I would plan to start work study at 12:30 and I could count on her casually strolling down the hall from the cafeteria at 12:42. Work Study wouldn't actually start for at least fifteen minutes after planned start time if not more, and that was if I got right to work. Most times we would casually chat about life for a good twenty minutes. As much as being late for work drove me crazy, it didn't seem to bother sister any. If I was running late and she just happened to be in her office, she would simply exclaim, "Oh, you're ready for work already?" not realizing that I was running about ten minutes late. Slowing, that eased my paranoia a bit. 

      After I realized that my work study sister didn't operate well on so called, "nun time," I started to see a pattern. If I had any sisters for class, class wouldn't necessarily start on time. I would go to Mass in the morning and no one would say anything if prayers started a few minutes late (unless it was like fifteen minutes late then they would all be like WHAT?!) and thus, had Mass start a few minutes late. I started to realize that these sisters had no time paranoia at all. And then I went on a discernment retreat with them at their motherhouse where the words, "Shall we say..." became more than just a few words, they became a coined phrase that signified we were off schedule...again. Every time after that phrase was first coined, we have never been on time for anything but Mass (which clearly shows their priorities are in check!). 

      On Friday, I happened to be blessed with two full hours and then some with my favorite Work Study Sister!! After having just got back from NOLA (I'm suuuuure you read that post!), I had pictures and stories galore to share with her. And so, since I was headed there for a discernment retreat AND a trip to the Religious Freedom Rally, I figured I could sneak a few minutes with her. Those few minutes, like I said, turned into two hours. At ten til six, just exclaimed that I was going to be late if I didn't get moving. We had been sitting on the rocking chairs on the back porch of campus and it was just so perfect that I turned to her and said, "I'm not time paranoid; I lost that." She asked right away when, and I told her when I met her. True Story. She laughed and we chatted for another half hour before I finally drove across the street. There was some kind of peace in just being and not worrying about time and being on God's time. And the best part, was that none of the sisters noticed I was late because they themselves were on their "nun time."

      So basically from all of that you get How to Survive Convent Life lesson #2. I have realized that yes, being on time is a great habit to get into. However, if every moment of your life truly belongs to God, you should not limit God to work in your time frame but instead His. So, it's ok to be late for something especially if your reasons for being late were talking to a sister about something important like a prayer intention, or you are chatting with a random passer-by about their day just to lighten up their smile, or because you were running a random errand for someone that was unable, or because you were casually letting God work somehow by your presence. In order to survive convent life, you have to put yourself in sync with your community and be on time for those very important things, but make sure you do not forget that every moment of your life belongs to God and He can work in very mysterious ways. 

     As I was driving to my best friend's brother's wedding reception part two yesterday, I was stuck in traffic and I knew I was going to be late for the Mass. So I said, "Ok God, there is a reason you are making me late." After almost getting hit by a train, God laughed and said, "Silly girl, you won't be late, you will just make it. I'm just trying to remind you that every moment is mine and I was busy using those last minutes teaching you true dependence on Me." Yep, sometimes the time paranoia slips back in, but let's be honest, if I depend wholly on God, He'll get me to where I need to be when He needs me there. 

How to Survive Convent Life - Lesson #1

"I believe that in order to survive convent life, one must learn how to cook and how to cook in bulk and make it delicious. Knowing how to bake for a lot of people helps, too."

- Lesson #1

      Maybe it's a small town USA thing. Or, maybe it's a Catholic thing. Or, maybe it's just a Gutherman thing. Regardless of what it is, it's a "tradition" I've grown up with and will continue for as long as I am able. I use the term "tradition" loosely because it does not happen on a specific date or during a specific time of the year every year. It just happens when it needs to happen. Ok, so WHAT am I talking about. I talking about cooking...in bulk. 

      Maybe you're thinking that this type of thing happens every Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter. But did any of those holidays pass recently enough to spark this blog? Nope. So, maybe you're thinking, that this type of thing happens every day when mom makes dinner for your large family of five. Not exactly what I was going for. 

      I grew up with the notion that whenever someone you knew got sick, you cooked for them, especially if it was the mom of the family. And it's not just one person who cooks for the family, it's a whole community that cooks for the one family of the person who is sick. It's not as if there's a schedule that goes out and people pick dates to cook, they just cook a huge meal (and by huge, I mean enough to last a few days or feed a small army) and drop it off. There are no questions asked, it's just done. And there is no repayment, except for words of gratitude and a promise to do the same if needed. I've grown up with my family cooking for people and having people cook for my family. It's not something out of the ordinary; it's actually quite normal. 

     Now, I always thought it was a Small Town , USA thing because I come from a small town that acts very small townish and can stereotypically do small town things, like cook for their new neighbors or near by families who have sick family members or even people who might be strapped for some cash lately. But then, as I was telling someone my story, she told me it was a very Catholic thing to do. She told me that people from her Parish used to do that all the time. Ironically, my small town is made up of mostly Parishioners, so it could go either way. But by this time, I now know it's no longer just a Gutherman thing as it used to be when I was younger...because I would hear story upon story about how my grandmother cooked so much for so many AND how she made all her food stretch for all eleven of her kids and then some. 

    So, yesterday I embarked on a milestone journey and that was making MY very own meal in bulk for my best friend's family whose mom is sick. Now, as many of you know, I already LOVE the kitchen and I love baking and I love cooking and I love eating. Many tell me you wouldn't be able to tell that when first meeting me because I'm so tiny, but it's the truth. And ironically after a few minutes of a person first meeting me, I'm usually offering that person food of some sort whether it's a snack from my purse or a pan of cookies/brownies/cupcakes/etc. or a meal. It's just natural for me to always be eating or cooking or baking (when I'm not singing, painting, making arts and crafts, walking, serving and all the other hobbies I love...).

     As I was walking through the food store yesterday, I was channeling my inner Bea (my grandmother) and trying to think of the best meal ever to make for this family. I decided that chicken casserole over rice and broccoli sounded great! Her family later agreed. I started my cooking at 10 and by 1, I didn't realize I had spent so much time in the kitchen. However, there was enough food there to feed a small army both dinner and dessert. I felt extremely accomplished!! 

     As I was cooking, however, I had a lot to think about and a lot of time to do it. I began laughing because just last week while in NOLA, I said, "Maybe I'll just pull a nun stunt and leave Mass right after Communion to make sure the coffee is ready for everyone." Good thing, my friend saved me from having to do that. This week, while cooking in bulk, I couldn't help but think about when it might be my morning or night to cook for all the nuns in the convent. I thought how it might be easy to cook for a small convent of maybe 6 or 7, because that's not much more than cooking a meal for all my friends at school. However, if I lived in a bigger convent, it might be a HUGE ordeal and an even bigger challenge. I had to laugh to myself when I thought, "They should right a book on how to survive convent life and cooking for large crowds should be one of the lessons." So, that's when I decided I could easily start that as a series on my blog!

     Now, since I am writing this said "blog series", I'll be the judge of how one passes the lesson. Since I successfully cooked a meal for a small army and it was not only edible but pretty delicious, I believe I passed lesson number one. In addition, I made rice crispy treats for dessert and I had a ton left over. So, what did I do with them? I sent them into school with my sister to give to the sisters! That was an easy one!!

Just Call Me Sister Stud - My Week In New Orleans Take Two

"You got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for living."

- Zac Brown Band, Colder Weather

     You can just call me Sister Stud (no, not muffin) from now on. WHAT?! Ok, for those of you who have ever worked in construction, you already know what a Sister Stud is. For those of you (most of you) who have not, a Sister Stud is this...ok, wait...first I should tell you what a Stud is: A stud is a piece of wood, used to frame a house or any other type of building. A Sister Stud is another piece of wood, nailed or screwed, to the original stud to help reinforce the original. I learned about Sister Studs on my last day at our worksite in New Orleans while putting up dry wall (least favorite job ever..) on the ceiling. At first I thought Alex, our supervisor, was just cracking a joke at our CATHOLIC school group when he said Sister Stud...and then after us laughing at him, he said, "Seriously, that's what it's called." And then I realized the beautiful allegory (if you've been following me long enough, you've realized by now that EVERYTHING is an allegory) of the Sister Stud. 

     Ok so a Sister Stud reinforces any already established Stud. All this time I've been Sister Studding walls like it was no big deal. The studs that we had been Sister Studding were, as you can imagine, water logged from all the water damage from Hurricane Katrina. While a bit damaged, they were still standing; they just needed some help. After I had thought this all out on our last work day I realized that I, Becca Gutherman, am a Sister Stud and the people of New Orleans are the original Studs. These original studs have been a little bit damaged by the hurricane waters and just need a little help from some Sister Studs. And so, there I was putting in literal Sister Studs all the while being a figurative Sister Stud, myself. 

     So why New Orleans (which will now be shortened to NOLA)? Well, why not? One of my favorite songs from the Zac Brown Band is Colder Weather (as quoted above) for that very line  of possessing a gypsy soul. From our multitude of fairy tales and history lessons we know that the gypsies are a nomadic people, always on the move and so am I. From a very young age, I've always wanted to do missionary work. Whether it's rebuilding houses or villages, or running orphanages in foreign countries or teaching adults in a classroom or even just performing music for heavy souls, I've always, always wanted to travel the world to help people. At first my idea was to get right on a plane and fly to Uganda, Africa, a place that's still on my bucket list. However, that opportunity never arose. So, I decided to start small and headed to NOLA in May 2011 with a small group from Campus Ministry. This May, I couldn't help my eagerness in volunteering again. 

     NOLA has a place in my heart that I can't really describe with words. When I think of what I love most about NOLA it's the spirit of the people. Regardless of whether you are helping them specifically or just someone from their huge city, they are grateful. They sit on their front porches and wave to you, smile at you and if you're walking down the street, they might come over to you and give you a great big hug. When you go to Mass with them, they will take your hand during the Our Father and hold it straight through to the Sign of Peace where they will proceed to hug you and say, "Peace be with you, babygirl/sugar/sweetheart/etc." When you're on your break from stuffing insulation or dry walling or painting, and stop to talk to the people walking down the street, they will ask your name (because names are so important), hug you, thank you over and over and over, hug you again, and go on their merry way. When you hold their hand as you listen to their story at the Homeless Mission, they will smile so big when you call them sweetheart, and you know you've made their day, week or even month. When you ask them to dance with you instead of packing boxes of food at the Food Bank, they will turn off the conveyor belt and join you for a few minutes before suggesting you get back to work. When you're walking down the streets of NOLA, in the French Quarter, in Gentilly, in the 7th Ward, in the 9th Ward, by Lake Pontchartrain, by the Wetlands, by the Mississippi River and the levee, the people of NOLA will show you their love, their appreciation but most importantly, their hope. These people of NOLA are my type of people, a people I could easily blend with because I am so alike them in my smiles, my waves and my hope. These people are a people I would live with for years and years if I could. 

       The moment I stepped off the plane in the airport, I felt at home. That feeling of home continued all throughout the week we insulated bathrooms, attics and ceilings, dry walled ceilings and walls, painted a house's exterior for days, fed the homeless at the homeless mission and organized food at the Food Bank. Everything we did last week, felt so right, so perfect, so me. And the fact that my Daddy was right there with me supporting me and getting right into the dirty work right next to me, made my week. We did so much work last week as a group and I know I can easily speak for everyone, when I say it was a week of summer well spent. It felt like I was home again, like I had a purpose in changing the world, like I was finally doing what I am meant to do with my life!!!

       Before I end this blog post, I must share with you one of many moments that brought me to tears this week. Among those moments were seeing the HUGE about of homeless men and women still present in NOLA, having TJ propose to me twice, having my dad reflect time and time again on his experience in NOLA, having him change all the "loves" in "Perhaps Love" to "Jesus" (do it, I promise you, you will cry), welcoming home Miss Courtenay to her home. While all of these will leave a lasting impression on my heart, one of the most rewarding experiences was driving by Miss Ora Joseph's house, a house I worked on last May. The house was literally just a frame when we started. We put down floor boards our first day and then bricked the whole exterior. However, there was still a ton of work left to do when we left that week. Driving by her FINISHED house literally brought tears to my eyes. I can't even explain how amazing it felt to see a front porch, and two cars in her driveway. Literally, I felt so blessed. Now, while I didn't get to see Miss Ora, I knew that she must have been so happy in her new and finished home after waiting seven years. I couldn't thank God enough!

        My week in NOLA is another week I will never forget. I am so blessed to be given a missionary heart and a gypsy soul. And I am more than blessed to have met and been remembered by the people of NOLA. I am blessed to feel so at home in a city full of studs. And I am so blessed to have become a Sister Stud!! I can honestly say, I see myself going back time and time again...maybe even for a longer period of time!!

       Thanks for all your prayers during my week there and please, please continue to pray for those who are still suffering from the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and those who are volunteering. 

Les Belles Femmes Francaises I met at Preservation Hall

The Back End of the St. Louis Cathedral in the French Quarter

The view of downtown New Orleans from the Algiers Ferry

 

The Sun/Son coming in the Stained Glass windows of Chapel.

The St. Louis Cathedral

Fluerish: 'nuff said.

Can't wait to do the Nuns' Build ;)

Daddy and Me with Blessed Francis Xavier Seelos

Daddy and Me at Lake Pontchartrain

Just me in my natural domain: the kitchen

Thank God for the Wawa boy who made us coffee every morning :)

The Wawa boy, also known as one of my best friends, MIKE, insulating the attic with me post-battle wound

Daddy and Me on the  Ferry; we're so cute

I got the Praline Pot leftovers at the cooking class!

The French Market in the French Quarter where I met the most inspirational poet

The inside of the St. Louis Cathedral where we attended Mass on Saturday night.