Where In The World Is Your Heart?

"Blessed are the feet of those who carry the good news."

Romans 10:14  

     When I was younger, in computer class, we used to play the online game "Where In The World Is Carmen San Diego?" The main point of the game was to travel to different parts of the world, collecting clues and meeting new people, to find Carmen San Diego! If you found her, you were successful. If not, you kept searching. Yesterday, while I was at work at the Motherhouse (and simply beaming with good news for my sisters), one of the sisters told me she wasn't surprised I was leaving the country again. I am simply traveling the world to find something. I immediately thought: instead of Carmen San Diego, I am searching the world for my heart. 

     As most of you know simply from following my blog, I've been to many, many places around the US and the World. I've traveled to places as close as Philadelphia to as far as Jamaica to do service for God's people. It's always been a deep part of who I am: to simply travel and teach the children of the world. Some people love to travel. Some love to teach. I want to do both with the rest of my life and I knew that from a very young age. I've always had a desire to get up and just go. Take all I need in one back pack, and go, living doing service for the rest of the world. However, since I'm such a busy student, I can only do so much during my Summer. 

     While I was praying sometime back in October, it crossed my heart that I needed to go to New Orleans in January this school year instead of May. I had no idea why, but I felt the need and desire to. So, I put in my application and was the last possible person accepted for the service trip. It was as simple as that. God said go, and He made it possible. I still had no idea why He wanted me to go in January. A few weeks later in November, I heard wind of the annual Peru trip. So, I took interest, talked to Sister Elaine and submitted yet another application. Within two days, I got an email saying, "Thanks for the email, Bec. Start saving." Without wanting to assume, my heart suddenly seemed set on going to Peru. 

       A few days after Thanksgiving break, there was an email in my inbox with the formal heading, invitation and congratulations of being accepted for the Summer 2013 Peru trip. I was in shock. This was the reason God said, "Hey, Bec, go to NOLA in January." He had bigger plans for me for my Summer. I suddenly felt so blessed and knew that God was going to take care of this situation. And once the shock wore off, I knew I had one person (in addition to so many others) I had to tell: Sister Miriam Irene.

       Sister Miriam Irene and I met my Freshmen year during one of the annual Camilla trips and hit it off instantly. Every time we visited she would fill my heart with a passion to go to Peru. Or anywhere, but definitely Peru. The sisters have had missions there for a while and that's the life I've always desired. My heart would always be on fire to do what she did after every visit! And so, when I went to Camilla yesterday, I told her. Her beautiful smile got so big and she simply hugged me saying how excited she was for me! I almost cried...and so did she! Once she knew, I felt I could tell the rest of the sisters. And so, at work last night, I let them all know!

      I waited for Sister Martina to "pop in" and when she did, I told her. Within minutes, most of the Motherhouse knew! Except a few others. When Sister Lorraine, the Mother General came in, I told her to brace herself. She took it so seriously, I was laughing so hard as I tried to tell her I was headed to Peru. She, of course, was so excited! My heart was so on fire for Peru, but in general to continue this dream that God has placed in my heart!

     And so, now, I tell the rest of you the good news! I'm headed to Peru to work with the children! Of course, I need to brush up on my Spanish, but I believe that even if I don't understand the language, I'll be able to understand the hearts of the children and beautiful people of Peru. Just like I understood the Patois of the Jamaican babies. Just like how I understood the heavy Southern Accents of the NOLA people. There's a love and fire in their hearts!!! And I share that love and fire!

     I've grown past the years of  searching for Carmen San Diego, and now I'm searching for my heart. Where does my heart really lay?! I know I have so many stirrings to travel and teach. Maybe I'll never put down permanently, but maybe Peru could be ultimately where my heart is. Regardless, God is sending me there to at least pick up some clues!! 

Visions of the Night, The Eucharist and The Moon

"In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep

falls upon men while slumbering on their beds, 

He opens the ears of men and seals their instruction." 

- Job 33: 15

      It all started with the moon. If you hadn't noticed, I'm in love with taking pictures. I love photography. When I was out on my photographic journey the other day, I accidentally stumbled upon the moon. I didn't realize how perfectly clear the crevices in the moon appeared until I zoomed all the way in. Wow! How beautiful! Since then, I've been slightly obsessed with capturing the moon from behind my lens. The above photo is one of my favorites that I captured in quite a unique way:

      We were coming home from the baptism via way of the PA Turnpike. My dad was driving a little over seventy miles per hour. I looked up into the sky and saw it: the moon. Once again, the moon had met me half way. So I yelled into the backseat to ask my sister if she could weasel my camera out of my backpack that had already been packed for school. When I got the camera, I rolled down the window, unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned out of the car window. Ok, I admit it probably wasn't the smartest or brightest idea I ever had, but look at the results. I felt the cold penetrating every open pore in my body, my nose, my eyes, my ears, my face. And my fingers were just about frozen. Finally, I crawled back inside the car only to find my dad and little sisters laughing hysterically. Ironically enough, my dad didn't reprimand me for doing something slightly stupid like hanging out of the car window, but rather he was laughing. He told me he wished he could have taken a picture of my face in the wind. He wasn't surprised at my little adventure, in fact later when I was begging him to "chase the sunset" so I could get a picture, he fed the spirit of adventure in my soul. Essentially, my dad and I share that same spirit. Regardless, I got the moon pictures and I couldn't have been happier. 

      Hours later, when I finally got the chance to lay down in my bed and fall asleep (ask my roommate about that one...), I began to dream quite vividly. While I had been busy taking moon pictures out the car window, my friend Karly asked me if there was a rule about how many times a person can receive the Eucharist in one day. I told her that Canon Law says no more than twice a day. I told her that one sister in my life told me that if I am serving the Lord at Mass and must go to more than two Masses, Jesus would rather I connect my soul to Him via the Eucharist all of those times. And I told her that one sister told me that if we truly understood what the Eucharist was, once, during our whole life time, would be enough. In my dreams, I began to gather answers from various people about the Eucharist and this Canon Law rule. Here's the final scene of my dream:

      I see Sister Marcille in the distance and I run to her. I say, "Sister..the Eucharist?" And she answers, somehow knowing exactly what I wanted to know or maybe...what I needed to hear. She draped her arm around my shoulder, pulling me close as if telling me something only I could hear or maybe....only I would understand. She pointed to the Tabernacle, then to the moon in the distance (because apparently in my dream, we have tabernacles on campus outside....) and then pointed to my heart. As she spoke, I got smaller and smaller, digressing into a younger self. "If you, Becca dear, and I, really, truly, understood what the Eucharist was. If we really understood that Jesus was there, that we were consuming His flesh and blood, once upon our tongues would be enough. All the love and fascination you have with the clarity and details of the moon, would be one hundred times more for the love of Christ. If you and I understood the Eucharist, it would be like you finally touching the moon with your bare hands. You would never have to touch the moon again, because that moment will have had overcome your heart and soul so much. But for now, since it is humanely impossible to grasp the Eucharist, we will simply take pictures of it, like you do the moon, until the day when we can finally touch Jesus. Does that answer your question?" In my tears, I shook my head yes. When my alarm went off a few moments later, I still had tears in my eyes.

       You see, Sister Marcille and I have had this conversation before. However, there was definitely NOT that much lyrical poetry and beautiful metaphors in her answer the first time. I was in awe. When I headed down the stairs to chapel for Mass, I stopped on one of the landings to examine why on earth there was a cherry picker hanging out in the courtyard. As I watched, the same sister who had been in my dream was now walking down the stairs behind me. I greeted her with a smile and she did the same. In our pre-Mass conversation, I told her she was in my dream. Without giving her much detail she said, "Beware of the dangers of the mind at sleep." I laughed, in truth our dreams do tell us so much about ourselves. I am actually a firm believer in that. However, I also do believe that God visits us in our dreams. Some would say it was because I had been taking pictures of the moon and reading poetry by Pablo Neruda right before I fell asleep. And some would say there was a reason behind Sister being in my dream and even the part about me digressing into a younger age. But really, this time, I think it's because I needed to hear/dream something so beautiful about my beloved Eucharist, something I've truly taken for granted as of late. I needed to hear words of sheer poetry, I needed to hear beauty. So thanks God. Thanks for giving me what I need, and thanks for sending me an angel in my dream! If you ever read this, Sister, thanks! Thanks for being His instrument in real life and in dreams! So, until I can finally touch the moon, I'll just keep taking pictures of it's beauty!

P.S. I think Sister Marcille might have been a "Yay" Baby when she was younger. She gets it. 

The "Yay" Babies Make a Comeback

"But Jesus said, 'Let the children alone, 

and do not hinder them from coming to me; 

for the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.'"

- Matthew 19:14

     A long, long, long, long, LONG time ago, I used to be a cantor at my home Parish. One morning, a morning I particularly did not want to be up at the crack of dawn, there seemed to be a lot of babies and toddlers at the nine am Mass. Ironically enough, they were all content, happy, and smiling. Not a single one was making any noise. I was flabbergasted. Finally, I got up to sing the entrance hymn. When the song was over, all I heard from the pews was "YAY!" and clapping hands soon followed by other clapping hands. I, of course, started to laugh. After every song I sang, the babies all did this. During no other part of the Mass did those babies and toddlers make a sound! At the end of Mass, I, too, was all smiles. Next weekend, those babies and toddlers were gone. Never again did I hear the crowd of "Yay" babies. That was until this morning.

     Once again, my family actually had to drag me out of bed for the early Mass. I'm as human as any other when it comes to wanting to sleep in! Trust me, if there is a nine and an eleven option for Mass, I'm taking eleven. Anyway, so dragging my feet (and every other part of my body), I went to the nine am Mass. As I was sitting in the pew with my aunt, little sister and Dad, I began to notice how many bouncing babes were in church. Three alone were in the pew in front of me. I couldn't count how many were on the other side of church or behind me. I smiled, instantly remembering that moment of the "Yay" babies. All these babies were being so perfect and quiet, too. I was just waiting for one of them to start shouting. And right at the consecration of the Eucharist, one little, outspoken girl from the back shouted "YAY!" and started clapping her hands. Before I knew it, all the babies were watching the consecration and clapping, too. I was amazed and in utter awe. I couldn't thank God enough for that moment.

     Later today, after Mass, my family and I headed to my cousins' parish in Ardsley where my youngest Kulesza "cousin" was baptized. Ironically enough, that baptism was anything but quiet. Once again, I was surrounded by the little ones. Some were crying, some were laughing, some were playing with their toys. They were everywhere! And father's Baptism "Homily" of sorts was all about letting the little ones come to Jesus. He openly admitted that most times, when talking about the truth of Jesus' love, the little ones know it better than we ever could. How true!

    I thought about the "Yay" Babies. They knew what was up! They knew exactly was what going on at Mass and truly understood it in their hearts. If we knew, if we really knew, wouldn't we be shouting and yelling praise for our God and our Jesus, our Savior!!??!! Let's really think about this: God, Jesus, is really, literally there in that moment. All we do is sit quietly, bowing our heads, and not even giving Jesus a glance! Yet, these little ones are literally shouting and screaming and clapping and crying for Him! Now, some may say, it is not socially accepted for grown adults to be clapping and shouting during Mass. Ok, I get that. We gotta have that respect thing going. And babies are excused because they are cute....I get it. But, here's my viewpoint on it: let's try to pay attention to what these kids have to say. THIS IS WHY JESUS SAID LET THE LITTLE ONES COME TO ME; THEY UNDERSTAND HIM! And if they are shouting praise at His name and clapping their little hands, well let them. If they are leading a parade around church during a Baptism, let them! If they are laughing and giggling during the Homily, let them. They are giving the ultimate praise and worship to JESUS, my friends!!! 

     And so, since I know most of you won't embrace your inner child during Mass, try to just give it a thought during the next Mass you are at. Instead of bowing your head, look Jesus straight in the eye during consecration. Instead of keeping quiet, let out a little "Hey, Jesus, I love You." And if your pew buddy looks at you weird, just turn to them and say, "Yo, Jesus is here. Don't you think I should acknowledge His presence?" Don't shush the real little ones, and don't shush the little one inside of you. EMBRACE YOUR INNER YAY BABY! JUST DO IT! Because, the truth is, my friend, those "Yay" Babies know what is going on, they get it, probably more than we ever will. Jesus is here. Let's celebrate Him!!! YAY BABIES!

      Congrats Kara and Matt on the Baptism of your youngest little one, Keegan Joseph. Also, I just found out my Uncle Charles and Aunt Mary-Anne just had their SEVENTH (they are Catholic, can you tell?) little one: Emily! Congrats to me and all my cousins on being cousins again! HAHA! I pray they become "Yay" Babies!

A Photographic Walk In The Park

"I chose the road less taken and that has made all the difference."

- Robert Frost

     For the first time in a long time, I took a walk in the park. I stood by my favorite prayer space: the river. I walked past old men walking dogs, young couples snuggled together on the bench, old couples speaking their native languages as they held hands, a couple kissing, another couple holding hands as they watched their children ride their bikes, a bench full of four old friends, and I saw my reflection in the water. As the wind blew my hair across my face, I wondered and prayed about where I am to really go in life. I felt the normal human desire to fall in love and raise a family. Yet, I felt so beautiful embracing the Son on my face and wind kissing my cheeks. And when I visited my dear old friend, Sister Thomasita, I couldn't help but beg for her guidance. After all, she was the one who started this whole thing. God bless her soul! Needless to say, I had quite an interesting journey today. I feel like my photos will say it better than my words this time, so enjoy the photographic journey!

And she's the one who started this whole thing...I miss her so much. 

Give Thanks

"If you only had today, what you thanked God for yesterday....

what would you have?"

- Anonymous

    Well, I'd certainly have my little sisters. Even though last night we were playfully bickering over pajama pants, blankets and hair dye, I thanked God for them. You see, every time I come home, my sisters and I pull out our true Gutherman. To be a true Gutherman, one must be able to stand up for oneself, take a punch, throw a punch, use words wisely, be able to run for your life or after someone else's life, and never forget to say I love you. Oh yeah, and eat like the stomach is a bottomless pit. And so, being home, my little sisters and I engage in various activities like chasing each other around the house, dying hair, eating lots of food (I have right reason...I'm at college, folks) and snuggling while watching movies and complaining about who is touching who with their feet. Yep, we are true siblings.

    Today, for the first time in a very long time, I went back to my Parish for Mass. It was just myself and Mary, my middle sister, so while she went up to the altar to cantor, I sat in a little pew, more than half way back by myself. I closed my eyes, and quite honestly started to fall asleep. For a few minutes, my mind and heart floated between slumber and prayer. It wasn't until two little giggly girls ran up the aisle and sat on my lap, did I wake up. These little ones, Megan and Caleigh, have been in my life for a long, long time. Every time we happen to be at Mass together, they come and sit with me. They snuggle up under my arms and sing, read and pray with me. It's precious! And so, like usual, after they jumped on me, they snuggled up. A few minutes later, my littlest sister popped into the pew, too. There I was, me and my three little girls squished in a pew, each with a book. 

    My favorite part of going home aside from seeing all the members of my beloved Parish family, is sitting with all the children. In the middle of Mass, I saw one of the Parish moms look back and simply smile. This is a very typical moment every Sunday I am home: Becca and the little ones. The best part about this is how innocently we all sing together. Being so young, they have no sense of keys or harmonies, as I have after so many years of singing, but it is still perfect. Their voices are so clear and innocent. I love it. In addition to the little ones surrounding me with song, I could hear Mary singing from the altar beautifully. So, even though I couldn't be with her up there, I harmonized with her from my pew.

     After Mass, another Parishioner came up to me and said, "I love to hear you and all the kiddies singing. When you're home, do you sing with your sisters all the time?" I laughed and honestly admitted that usually we are yelling and screaming at each other (because none of us can communicate in a normal tone of voice) and the house is usually filled with laughter. Quite a few times, I heard how blessed people were to have me back home. I collected smiles and laughs and good words in my heart from my Parish family. I couldn't help but thank God for the blessing they instantly became for me. 

    I am so thankful and grateful this Thanksgiving for my family, for good food and for love. But in particular, I am thankful for my Parish family, especially Megan and Caleigh, who continuously bring me toward God. They don't know it, and probably wouldn't understand it, but they brought me such hope, such happiness today. With their innocent smiles and laughter during Mass, and precious prayers, yes, they brought me hope and they brought me home this Thanksgiving. And of course, I'm so thankful for my very Gutherman sisters who can always bring me laughter and tears no matter what the day. I love them and I know I am so blessed. 

    And so, if tomorrow I wake up with all that I thanked God for today, I'd have my sisters, my family, and my Parish family. And even though, I didn't thank God for all of the material goods I have like a bed, heat, running water and food, I'd survive. Because if I thanked God for the material goods but not the people that mean the most to me, I'd still have nothing. But with them, I have everything. I could live without comfort, food and water, but not without my family. It's a reminder to me that yes, those are "added pluses" to my life, "extra blessings" and I thank God for them, but only after I thank Him for the most important people in my life. Thanks God, for all those people. And of course, for the added blessings You have given me!

Heart Breaker and Broken Hearted - The Stream

"For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. 

It is so lovely dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack."

- D.H. Lawrence

    When I was younger, perhaps about 13 or 14 years old, I remember a family friend putting her hand to my cheek, looking into my eyes and saying, "One day, you're going to break a lot of hearts." While it may have been something that meant so well, I didn't want to break hearts. I only wanted to love. I didn't understand why I would break hearts. I didn't think it was a good thing to break hearts. But...she was right.

     I've gone through boyfriend after boyfriend after....well, I've only had two. Boyfriend number two: he broke up with me. He cried more than I did. And for weeks after, we talked and talked and talked as if nothing really happened, until finally, I said, "talking together, gives false hopes. I'm sorry." I could carve one little notch next to "hearts broken." Boyfriend number one, became semi-boyfriend number three. He was the first notch next to "my broken hearts." However, we could easily call it even after he became semi-boyfriend number three. You see, in a series of conversations consisting of long lists of regrets, his biggest was losing me. Deep down inside, he loved me more than another. And while, I was truly flattered and endeared by his undying love, I just didn't love him the way he needed me to. I simply could not be his significant other. And so, while we dated, we never officially called it being together, and before it got too deep for him, I called it quits. He was notch number two next to "hearts broken." 

     I know it seems so apathetic of me to talk about how many hearts I've broken, which are probably so many more than these two that I know of, but at the time and really up until yesterday, I was apathetic. I cared just a smidgen, but found myself not caring more than caring. I wasn't getting hurt, my heart wasn't being broken. I was being loved more than I needed or wanted. Yet, yesterday, my apathy turned into empathy.

     If you read my blog from yesterday, you know life was rough for me. In fact, it was quite an emotional day. In order for me to really reflect, I took a walk. I hadn't gone for a walk in such a long time. Scratch that, I hadn't gone for a walk during which I had no specific destination, in a long time. I really let my feet move me. I had no plan for a destination, I had no plan for a route. In fact, I felt I could have walked any distance in any direction without caring. I needed to simply put my mind at ease. And so, my feet took over. They took me to a place I never actually went alone before (because the Camilla nuns freaked me out with their horror stories....). The Grotto. As I got there, I thought about how I didn't want to see anyone, because if I did, I would cry instantly. Regardless of who it was. If I continued through the Grotto, I was bound to see people. If I turned around and went back, I was still bound to see people. So, for some strange reason, I sat on the cold stone and let my feet dangle over the stream with Mama Mary standing behind me. 

     Time seemed to not exist, as I closed my eyes and listened. I heard squirrels frolicking in the leaf piles as the stored up for Winter's Hibernation. I heard the cold and frigid breeze whistle through the trees. But my favorite sound was the steady stream singing. As I listened, I truly began to reflect on how the stream could be love and how I was actually the stream. Confused? Read on.

     I know not where the stream begins nor where it ends. All I could see was the present image of the water. I know not where I began (somewhere it God's great creative mind) and I know not where I will end. All I can see is the here and now. But just how water is ripply and unclear, so is my present moment. I asked myself: Who am I now? And so the stream became my love. The stream flowed over and all around rocks and little stones. It seemed to wrap itself around those rocks and stones, going every which why and even out of its way to surround them with itself so they could be soaked. Completely and utterly soaked. But the rocks cannot embrace the water. They just stand there, not allowing themselves to be saturated with the water or the love, and not being able to give back the love. But then there is the soil and the grass and banks surrounding the water. Whenever the water rushes over them, they suck in the love and it's like a hug. They bring the water into their hearts and never let go. They can love the water back. 

     Like I said, I was the water in the stream. There are some people, many people in my life, who are the rocks and stones. I would go out of my way to surround them with my love, so they could be soaked in my love, but for whatever reason, may it be poverty, may it be unability to love, may it refusal to let love in and out, may it be any other restriction. I can love and love and love and love and yet, from these I will never be loved nearly as much in return. Then there are those in my life who are the soil, grass and riverbanks. They accept my love, they soak it in and they wrap themselves around me in return, loving me more than I could ever love them. As my Daddy reminds me, I will never be able to love him more or longer than he has loved me. He is my greatest river bank. I am the stream, some are rocks and stones, and some very few are riverbanks. 

     It was this reality and reflection that came from prayer that broke my heart yesterday. There is a reality in knowing that I can love a person so much and really be willing to do anything for that person, while I don't doubt they wouldn't do the same for me, they can't love me. No, not nearly as much, if even any. For whatever reason he or she may have, it is impossible. I realized yesterday that there are people who I once thought were riverbanks but in reality were just rocks and stones hiding beneath the mud or sand of the riverbank. While they once soaked up my love and gave it back, that could only last so long. They can't, for whatever reason, love me as much as I can love them. This reality broke my heart and made me empathetic to all the hearts I've broken. And I cried for those boys and the pain they must have felt as I walked away saying, "I don't love you as much as you want me to." I cried because I understood. 

      Then I cried for Jesus, who is the ultimate stream. He continuously flows around us trying to love and love and love and love us. Yet, we are rocks and stones. His heart is broken every day by those who do not accept His love or love Him back. And while many do love Him in return, it can't nearly be as much as He loves us. It is impossible for me to love Him more than He loves me. 

      I cried, combining my tears with the tears of the streams, because now I understood. I understood the pain of a broken heart, and I understood that some, for whatever reason, no matter what, can not love (as much) in return. However, as long as I never stop being the stream (and sometimes a tidal wave) of love, I can accept the rocks and stones and riverbanks in my life. I may not know my beginning or my end but I can never stop loving, regardless of how many times my heart breaks. I can never stop. Because Jesus never stops and He lives through me. 

Season of Fall(s)

You know the obvious; I am a writer. You know I write my blog. You know I write letters. What you do not know is that I write poetry. Volumes and volumes and volumes of poetry that no one will read. In a way, my poetry has become my personal journaling. I find life to be lived easier if I can swim within similes and metaphors and symbols. I find such a magical healing within in poetry, especially when words that seem as if they are floating on the surface actually are swimming deeper in a sea of emotion. There is symbolism is every word I write. And so, since I have no words to actually blog today because I have no words to share, I figured the poem that my heart and soul composed after the emotional day I had would suffice. 

Season of Fall(s)

Darkness comes quicker now -

I swim among the black.

Around my neck, a scarf

of bitter cold surrounds me.

Draped across my shoulders

is a jacket of wind; it whistles in my ear

as it holds me tight. It chills me. 

But just as so many in my life, 

it leaves...

Leaves, dance. 

I have become one with the little one, red in the cheeks.

She hangs ever gracefully, by her long, single stem.

She cries as the same wind that loved me, bullies her. 

She falls entering into a series of downward spirals.

And as if that wasn't enough...

she is caught by the petulant cement.

What pillowed fall.

What estranged hug.

The bully wind continues to blow;

she cannot catch a break.

Falling. Falling. Fallen.

Up and down the road,

she scrapes along, not knowing if she can stop,

becoming unrecognizable, even to herself.

She's been dragged along for far too long.

But finally, finally, finally, she falls once more, over the ledge

for the last time

into a steady stream of water salted by her own tears.

The little leaf wades, for she can fall no more.

She can only rest and pray that she will cease in the arms of love.

I have become one with the little one, red in the cheeks,

weak at the stem, 

drenched at the veins.

I have become one in the season of fall(s). 

November 20, 2012

Take it for what it is, or what you interpret it to be. 

Octo-Nun : A Balancing Act

"Your hand opens and closes, opens and closes. 

If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed. 

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, 

the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birds' wings."

- Rumi

     Octo-Nun (not to be confused with the once famous, Octo-Mom): one who can simply do anything and everything do to two visible arms and six invisible/figurative arms.

     Two nights ago was the opening show of our Fall Show, Mame. While I didn't have enough time to offer to actually be a part of the cast, I somehow, last minute, found time to manage being part of the Stage Crew. Within a few short hours, I went from having a free week of nothing to do, to having a week with my hands full. It started with Sunday being in the theater for about a rough ten hours. Then Monday, from 5-12. Tuesday, just the same. Wednesday, even more similar. Finally, last night, the show! All of these hours were spent spiking sets, painting set pieces, cutting fabric, working on curtain calls and cues, and so much more. Last night, those final hours were spent fixing broken tables and running around like a chicken without her head on, trying to find a few pairs of extra hands to move back drops and trees. When the show finally started, I took a deep breath. Finally! 

      In the middle of the show, I was so blessed to be given the extra job of setting up for our concession stands with three of the sisters! All surprisingly went smoothly. When I looked back on it, I realized: of course it went smoothly, the sisters were in charge. As I left, I really thought, praise God for these beautiful women in my life, who truly keep me sane and laughing! I ran backstage to quickly reset the stage and as the second Act begin, headed back out to clean up the concession stands. When I got there, it was already cleaned up. Praise God for my sisters. 

      From a stage crew point of view, the show went phenomenal. I was literally so proud of the crew that had come together in basically a week. Having just striked the set on Sunday and finally practiced on Monday, I'd say we did a pretty good job. I left smiling for sure. After, of course, I fixed those pesky broken tables again! 

      Last night, after having such a successful night the night before, I was truly relaxed and hoping for the best! Everything seemed to be in place after we painted some new tables and so, there was plenty of down time. I went to the dressing room and even helped the girls get ready. You see, usually I am in the shows as an actress, and I am always doing hair and makeup and helping others get dressed. That is really my expertise when it comes to theater. So, I entered into my well-polished stage mom attitude and went to work. It wasn't until a half hour before the show that I realized my stage left, stage hand was missing. In a panic, I ran to our director, the always love Sister Marcille, and asked her what to do! Of course, she said, "Prepare for the worst and hope for the best." We thought about it for a second, and I realized that I could easily do all the stage moves myself. I may be little, but I am definitely strong. It's almost as if I work out...but I don't. Needless to say, my stage hand never showed up. So, I became Octo-Nun. Yep, I grow extra arms and got stuff done. 

     You see, Thursday night during the show, one of the Vocation Directors, Sister Mary Jo, saw me during intermission. In excitement, she said "Becca, how do you simply do it all?" In our conversation, we talked about all the many, HEALTHY, things I am involved in. With Sister Rose by her side, we chatted briefly about having full hands. In thinking about it, I realized I like my hands full. I'm like a little kid who wants a cookie for both hands, not just a cookie to eat. I like taking a bite out of life from both hands. They told me that they didn't think there were enough hands in the world to be involved in as many things as I am. The secret is that secretly, I'm practicing to be Octo-Nun. You know, that Sister that just happens to be everywhere. Hi, that'll be me. Last night, even Sister Carmel and Sister Donna told me that they see me everywhere. Sister Donna wasn't too sure what year in college I was because she sees me so much. 

     And yet, it's mutual. I see them everywhere. I'm convinced they all have multiple doppelgangers. They seem to be able to just do everything. All the sisters. I will see them in their offices and then five seconds later they are on the other side of campus. Or driving to the city. Or directing a play. Or doing other amazing things, that most people don't have time for. And on top of all of that, every person they see, they stop and greet. They make it a point to meet the Jesus in every person! I love it! Needless to say, I've been learning how to be Octo-Nun from the best examples!! 

      OK, so the real secret is the best time management. However, I think the Octo-Nun excuse works much better, in my opinion!

Pajama Parties At Jesus' House

"You must have nice pjs if you wore them to Mass!"

- Sister Marcille

Taking my sleep seriously...of course.

    The older I get, the sleepier I get, and the more I love sleeping and being all snug and warm in my bed. Every chance I get, I am asleep in my bed and I even plan out a nap time for each day. And if I don't get a nap, I sure as the sun shines better get some coffee in my system. I will openly admit that when I don't get enough sleep, I can be a real grouch. Before college, I used to be able to stay up until at least 2, if not later, and still get up early, with only a few hours of sleep in my body and fully function properly. Now, I go to bed before even some of the nuns. That's a true fact. I've been working on really getting enough sleep so my body can work.  These week, however, I'm slackin' really hard. It's been a long trip on the struggle bus.

     This morning, I overslept way past my alarm. My nice little wake up warning goes off at six, then again a six fifteen, then again at six thirty and finally at six forty-five. I have recently realized that in order to maximize my sleep, I can literally shower and get ready in fifteen minutes and make it to prayers on time! Today....I got up at 7:18. Prayers begin at 7:10; Mass at 7:30. I had twelve minutes to get ready for Mass. Not that you really need to know, but I usually fall asleep in what normal college kids wear to class: sweats and t-shits and hoodies. If I didn't have any dignity, I would have strolled right over to Mass in my full set of pjs. However, I couldn't allow myself that embarrassment and put jeans on instead. Everything else I was wearing was what I slept in. I brushed my teeth and ran out the door. I made it to Mass two minutes beforehand.

     The sisters who sit in my pew and the surrounding pews are what I call my pew partners. I share my pew with Sister Cathy and a pole. So, there is really only way into the pew since we are blockaded in. I casually tapped her on the shoulder and she let me slide into our pew without highlighting my shame. However, we did laugh a little. How could you not? It was obvious, I was still on the struggle bus. I could barely keep my eyes open and I took my time standing up and sitting down. I felt like such a sloth or snail or turtle. 

     During the sign of peace, I was shaking my pew partners' hands and finally made it to Sister Elaine. As she shook my head she asked, "So, what time did you go to bed last night?" You see, our school play is this upcoming weekend (if you are close by, feel free to stop in!) and we had play practice last night. She had been there snapping shots for the bulletin board so she knew I was helping out with stage crew. I simply smiled and said, "I'm not telling you," and walked away. She shook her head, knowing that it must have been late. 

      It was later in the day, while I was simply sitting and chatting with my friends at the lunch table when from behind me, I saw a figure dressed in blue and white. Sister Elaine sat down next to me and all she said after she took her first bite of chili (we had the same lunch...twinning!) was "so really, what time?" I laughed and told her what happened. Practice let out about 11:30 and I finally got to bed around 1:30. "So that's why you strolled in really late in your pjs?!" Yep, exactly.

      After practice finished tonight (a little after midnight), I was talking with our theater director, Sister Marcille, about my morning. I simply casually mentioned strolling in wearing pjs and thought nothing of it. Half way through the story, she goes, "Wait. You must have some pretty nice pjs." After laughing, I told her it was actually socially acceptable by most of my pew partners. Ironically, they all just laugh at me. I can imagine them remembering their younger days when they wished they could come to Mass in their pajamas. Essentially, I do that. And here's my philosophy:

      I'm not there to impress anyone by what I'm wearing. Jesus is with me all the time and so He knows what I look like in my pajamas. As long as I am decently covered, I see no issue in having a morning pajama party at Jesus' house. So, I mentioned this to Sister Marcille and she agreed. She actually agreed that on Hurricane or Snow days, when no one is going anywhere, and no one is visiting during Mass (except me and trust me, I've been on enough discernment retreats to know that nuns wear pajamas....SHOCKER, I know), and no one is trying to impress anyone, we should all just wear pajamas. And so, maybe they should all invest in some nice, comfy yoga pants, some plain t-shirts, and bright yellow sweatshirts, and join me at the morning pajama parties at Jesus' house. There's one tomorrow morning....let's just hope I don't sleep past the alarm again!

Who's Your Mummy? - The Museum Field Trip

"What kind of girl does a Mummy take on a date?

Any girl he can dig up."

    I've always loved History. My Daddy grew up a history buff and thus, passed it down to me. When I was younger, we used to walk around Historical Philadelphia every weekend just for fun. We would go to Civil War Re-enactments and various other historical areas near by. However, while we both love history so much, there's different aspects of history that we know better. My Dad was always good for knowing dates and years, whereas for me, I like the quirky, little known facts about a historical period. For instance, did you know that during the Revolutionary War Period, prisoners were fed Lobsters instead of Bread and Water. Lucky guys. It's a mind-blowing experience when you can surprise people with these facts. 

    Anyway, so my love for History is huge. However, as I get older, I realize that really it's my love for American History. In recent years, I've had the wonderful opportunity to study ancient and medieval literature. And in order to understand the literature, you must understand the history and time period. I can honestly say, I didn't really appreciate it as much as US History. I realized, it's because it's too far away for me, it's too distant. For instance, I can go to Independence Hall, and know that once upon a time Ben Franklin and George Washington really stepped foot on those floors and sat in those chairs. But, I can't imagine walking in footsteps of Egyptian Kings, or Ancient Mayans, or even Julius Caesar. It was always difficult for me because I am such a hands-on learner. I could never touch places they have touched. However, that all changed the moment I laid down next to my good friend, Pum II.

     After the initial, "GAG! There's dead bodies in here," I started to really investigate on various levels. First, how is he still preserved so many years later? Second, I wonder what his family was like, and his daily life. Third, I wonder how tall he is? With that question, my friends suggested I find out. So, the easiest way to estimate was to lay down next to him and judge him according to my five foot tall height. We decided he's between 5'2 and 5'5, for the record. I think he was tiny! And it was definitely a man! So, maybe men were short then? In addition to all the Mummies (and Deadies...since Halloween was postponed in my town, I feel it's still appropriate for Halloween jokes) we also dived into the Ancient Iraq/Mesopotamia area where my Lit Class found a lot of symbols from our recent study of Gilgamesh (perhaps, my favorite Ancient Tale). We also did a quick visit of Ancient Greece and Rome (but since I've been there, done that in real life...I went to Maya instead.) In the Mayan exhibit, we college students became little kids once again by going on scavenger hunts and interacting with the hands-on learning kiosks. Not going to lie, it was great. It was after all of those mini adventures, that my professor, Sister Elaine, dragged me and my peers off to the Mummies. Actually, correction, it was after we saw the Monja Meurta in the Dios de los Muertos exhibit that she dragged us off. I guess it was a little disconcerting for her....as it was for me. And so there, my appreciation for all these areas of history was born. 

      Now, I can see a few of you reading this, and thinking, what on earth does this have to do with vocations? Well, here's the thing: First, my teacher is SISTER Elaine, beautiful and wonderfully sarcastic lady. Second, I really got to see her "eat up" all her favorite pieces of history. She has her degree in Ancient and Medieval Studies. This just goes to show that Sisters are real people, my friends. They may not end up in museums as mummies like the real people of Egypt, but they are real. They enjoy the same things that many of us enjoy. They enjoy "nerding out" to fun pieces of literature or history. They don't just have one, solitary, stereotypical interest in Religion. Yes, that's the basis of the interests, but they have other likes. Our field trip to the museum not only gave me an appreciation for other periods of history, but also for the realness of my professor. Especially, when our tour guide was telling us how people we embalmed, and we both happened to have "gag faces" on at the same time. Yeah, she's pretty legit.

 

Keep Calm and Call The Nuns

"I can't walk this road without you, you cannot go it alone.

We were never meant to make it on our own.

And when the load becomes too heavy and your feet are too tired to walk,

I'll carry you and we'll be carried on."

- "I'll Carry You", Rebecca St. James

   

     This is the most accurate description of my panic button. I'm feeling a little dreary in my spiritual life? Call the nuns. Don't know how to politely decline a marriage proposal? Call the nuns. Don't know what courses to take for next semester? Call the nuns. Need a smile? Call the nuns. Need a hug? Call the nuns. The fire alarm is going off at work and you don't know what to do? Call the nuns. Need some ice cream? Call the nuns. Can't figure out a math problem? Call the (right) nuns. Need anything? Call the nuns. You get the point.

     These past few days have been filled with me "calling the nuns." Ironically enough, I've only actually had to call the nuns once. All the other times I needed something, they were already there, waiting for me to ask! On Thursday, I once again spent the day at Nazareth for Pre-Student Teaching Observations. However, this week was a little different because it was All Saints' Day and we were blessed with the opportunity to go to Mass! I absolutely love going to Mass with my Naz girls; there is something so beautiful about going to it. My favorite part, however, was getting able to sit with my closest Nazareth Sister. Sister David was the first sister I ever told I was maybe, possibly, quietly thinking about religious life. Without screaming her head off in excitement, she quietly said, "Oh I know, dear. I've known all along." Weird. But accurately true. Whenever I needed any type of guidance in the "religious life" area, I'd call her. Thursday, I was calling on her to pray with me and warm my heart. She came when I called and I kept calm.

     However, the endless saga of my life with the nuns continues as I went back to work on Thursday night. There is never a dull moment in this "life with the nuns" and most nights than not, something really weird happens in the Portress Office. I used to think it was just me, but apparently it happens to the other portresses just not as often. In the Portress Office is a mailbox for every single sister who lives at the Motherhouse. However, if any sister gets a package, it kind of just chills on the desk or the floor depending on the size. You can guess what was in the portress office this time: A giant package for one of the littlest sisters there. Before anyone could suggest she "wheel it up on the cart" she was opening it. I watched as a "mother of many" as paper quickly filled the floor and sisters quickly filled the office. Before I knew it, the whole office was filled with all sorts of sisters. Whenever hype is happening, they flock and it made my night. As the unveiling of a perfect painting took place, sisters were oohing and ahhing at the excitement! Meanwhile, a few sisters were trying to figure out a math problem resulting in much laughter from everyone else and a smile from me. I needed a smile, so the sisters came when I called and I kept calm.

      Friday was an absolutely long day as I worked both with Sister Cathy and at the Motherhouse. Of course, working with Sister Cathy is always a joyous and adventurously fun time. However, the calling of "my nun" didn't come until Mass when we weren't actually working. Every Friday (for the most part) I go to work at 9:30am and then we go to Mass together at noon since she is Sacristan. Most times than not, I get to read! Since yesterday was All Souls' Day, there were two readings. However, if you ever took a look at the book, you'd realize that there are actually a few less than a million reading options for Mass. So, of course, when she asked me to read, I said sure. Then I saw the book. Guess who came to the rescue?! Yep, Sister Cathy. And of course, we had a fun time sticky noting the lectionary. I'm pretty sure we made the best reading duo the noon Mass had ever seen! Sister Cathy (in that moment and in so many more) came when I called, and I kept calm. 

       Finally at the Motherhouse last night, I was in need of some ice cream, some laughter, and a fire department. The ice cream came about 6:30 when the halls, phones and doors were silent. I was casually reading some Ancient Greek Drama (for class...) when my dear Annie Fran showed up. Within a few moments, she was forgetting why she even came to the portress office in the first place and was sitting, chatting with me, checking up on me. It was so lovely finally catching some ice cream with her! A few minutes after she left, the sister carrying laughter came. Of course, this sister and I go back before her pre-convent days and so, laughter comes easy with us. It had been a while but finally, we caught up. During her visit, not only did the fire alarm go off, but also some random cell phone in the office and the regular phone. So, while I was checking the book for the Maintenance Man's home phone number, Sister Melissa was answering the desk phone and I was simultaneously answering the cell phone (that really, I had no idea it existed until last night). It was mass havoc, and I didn't know really what to do. So, I really called Sister Marie and she helped me with the fire alarm dilemma. And thank God, Sister Melissa was there, else I'd have had to call for backup. But because I called the nuns,  and they answered, I kept calm. 

       You see, I'm convinced that the sisters know everything. Well, about me. And that's because they are my sisters. Whenever I am in doubt, or I need help, or just need a smile or a laugh, I can literally call them anytime and they will be there for me! I am so blessed to have such beautiful women in my life who are always more than willing to help me out! I'm blessed to have my sisters who take time out of their day simply to just check up on me and those sisters who take time out of their day to delve into those really deep heart to heart conversations I need to have every so often. I'm blessed for the sisters who pray with me, and who laugh with me. I'm blessed that know that "Stay Calm and Call the Nuns" is extremely accurate for my life!

         On one final note, while I'm thinking of getting this made into a poster to hang in my room, I'm also thinking of having one made that says, "Stay Calm and ask the Portress" to send to the poor lost Mercy Sisters I helped out today. Having come to campus for the monthly In-Search workshop, they wound up on the wrong side. So, I gave them a few directions and lots of love to In-Search! It was great! Sometimes, actually, all the time, we have to pass on the blessings we are given to others! So, when you need to Keep Calm...what do you do?