Shoeless Joe Jackson Celebrates the Triduum

"Down the Via Dolorosa, called the way of suffering,

like a lamb came the Messiah, Christ the King.

But He chose to walk that road out of His love for you and me.

Down the Via Dolorosa, all the way to Calvary."

- "Via Dolorosa," Sandi Patty

     These are the days I live for: the days of the Triduum. Out of all the days in the year, these three are my absolute favorite: Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Lent is my favorite Liturgical Season, as you may have read in an earlier blog, but these three days are absolutely perfect. Once Palm Sunday rolls around I get super stoked. Except this year, my energy was a little low since I  was still a bit under the weather.

      Monday of Holy Week started the three day Busy Persons Retreat that God wanted me to partake in. Loooooooong story short, I had not signed up for the retreat, which essentially lasts about three hours over the course of three days where you meet for a daily hour-long meeting with a spiritual director. At the end of our final play on Sunday, I was listening to my voicemails when I got one from Sister Mary Jo, my retreat spiritual director. After working through all the confusion, we decided to meet for the first time after work on Monday night. In all honesty, meeting with Sister Mary Jo as my spiritual director for the three day retreat was the most fruitful three hours of my week. We read the psalms together (ironically two of our favorites...139 and 116) and prayed with them. She also asked me quite a few questions about the Scriptures and my life in general. One question I remember in particular: What are you most looking forward to during the Triduum? I couldn't quite answer honestly because there were just so many things I was looking forward to. But I told her about my personal Holy Thursday tradition of visiting the seven churches. Ironically enough, I didn't get to do that this year.

       I woke up to my little sisters begging me to take them out for the day. And since I had some shopping of my own to do before the Triduum festivities began, I figured why not drag them along to the Mall with me. Of course any car ride with Lizzie means surrendering my cell phone to her so she can keep herself occupied. In the middle of a game of Temple Run 2, a text message from Sister Marcelina, CSFN interrupted Lizzie. That meant...I got my phone back. Within a few seconds, my plans to simply go to my home Parish for Mass and then the route of seven churches I had planned out earlier in the week were changed. Suddenly, I found myself agreeing to join her and her brother (who is a Pauline Father) at the Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa for Holy Thursday Mass. How blessed and beautiful it was! Of course, the car rides to and fro were quite entertaining as they consisted of conversations of mice in the trunk and heart to hearts about my vocation. 

       When I agreed to go to Mass, there was a part of me that was so unsure to go out of my traditions. I was also afraid I was not going to understand a word of what was going on as they often have Mass in Polish there. But, God is good, and Mass was in English for me. However, there were plenty of people surrounding me whose first language is Polish, Sister included. As I was listening to the readings of the Scriptures, I began to reflect on feet. I know, two days ago it was hands, and now feet...but bear with me and see if you can follow where I am going here.

      Back in Jesus' time, every one either wore sandals or no shoes. They didn't have paved roadways or sidewalks to walk on. Instead, they walked in the dirt, mud and rocks. Absolutely, positively disgusting. It's like walking on the beach forever but with the addition of mud and rocks. Ouch. From what I've heard, before entering a person's house, you would most often remove your shoes. So imagine, Jesus and all his disciples, after walking for days in the dirt and mud and rocks, enter into this room where they will soon share a meal; none of them have shoes on and it stinks. After the meal is over, Jesus gets up, takes a pitcher of water and starts washing the disciples' nasty feet. Gross, man, gross. Not only is He washing the dirty, disgusting feet of the disciples, but He is also the "Master" or the "Teacher." Typically, a servant or a slave would wash the feet of the guests, but Jesus is doing it. He once again, humbled Himself to the form of servant, to wash the feet of His disciples. Of course the disciples are either all : "Ok, this is weird, Jesus. No way are you washing my feet," or "You're gonna wash just my feet? Better do my head and hands, too; I'm pretty dirty." And then Jesus responds by saying, "I am going to wash your feet." So He does it. All of this is playing through my head as Father Nicholas is washing the feet of twelve men on the HUGE altar at the Shrine. 

     I have been known, at random times, to be caught without my shoes in Chapel while praying. In high school, I would leave my clumpy, combat boot shoes at the doorway of Chapel and walk up the aisle, find a pew and just sit and be with Jesus. Sister David, CSFN told me once she always looked forward to seeing my shoes at the door of Chapel after school. At school now, often times I'll do the same but only at Marian Chapel. Sometimes, I won't even wear my shoes down from my room. Just last Sunday, Palm Sunday that is, I was walking down the hallway with my stockings on when Sister Regina, IHM saw me and said, "Bec, you barely have anything on your feet." I just smiled and shrugged as I continued to Chapel. I hate wearing shoes, and if I could, I'd go barefoot anytime. Someone told me once that it was very Franciscan of me to do that. But, because it's illegal in most places to not wear shoes, I keep them on. Except in Chapel. Even during Mass, I can be caught swinging my bare feet under the pew. Here's why: Sister Mary Annette, CSFN, once told me that where Jesus is, is Holy Ground. Just like the disciples would have removed their sandals before entering the House of the Lord, we should remove our sandals before entering God's House. God's House, is after all, Holy Ground. God also tells Moses in the Old Testament to "remove the sandals from your feet for where you are standing is Holy Ground." So, it essentially became a little tradition for me, to enter into the Chapel with socks or tights on, or to remove my shoes at some point during Mass. It's subtle, so most people would never really know, unless for some reason, you just happen to look at my feet. 

      While I was reflecting on the feet of the disciples last night, I realized that just because the washing of the feet was over, the prominence of feet wasn't going away. You see, Jesus was stripped of all His clothing and most importantly, His sandals before He was forced to carry the cross to Calvary. I realized this as I was swinging my bare feet under the pew (Ok...I had tights on...). I couldn't imagine the pain that Jesus must have felt while not only walking up hill, but while also carrying a huge and heavy wooden cross. As I was trying to fathom this, I felt in my heart, a whisper to join Jesus on that road to Calvary. What exactly did that entail? Well, not wearing shoes of course. And I had already accomplished step one: taking my shoes off. 

       About halfway through Mass, the gentle, old Polish man next to me realized I had no shoes on. The look on his face was priceless. As I told Sister Mary Jo, IHM, I often try to visualize what the Scriptures are saying and so I was doing the same during Mass. After our "Last Supper" during Holy Communion, I decided to remove my shoes for good...well, until the end of Good Friday liturgy. I imagined Jesus and his disciples walking through to the garden just to pray. It is the Garden that I visit at seven different churches, that is, staying up super later just to be there with Jesus. As we processed from the church to the chapel, I felt the cold marble under my feet and imagined the cold of the desert like ground the disciples and Jesus would have walked on. I knew when we got into the car that I most likely wasn't going to make it to seven churches that night, but I could keep my shoes off. So I did. 

       After Sister Marcelina and I made it back to St. Katherine's and participated in Night Prayer, we walked through the convent so I could wish my sisters a happy Triduum. At this point, it was close to 10:30 at night, Jesus had already been arrested. I stood shoeless in the kitchen while we chatted for a few moments and soon, I was headed out the door and on my way home. Don't tell my mom...I drove home with no shoes on. This morning, I woke up, put on the same tights and went about my morning visits to the various Chapels and Repositories to pray with Jesus some more. I started at my home Parish, where I joined a solitary soul in Chapel. When I was leaving, she turned to me and thanked me for being so open on my blog. I was surprised; I didn't know she read it. I continued my journey outside to pray the Stations of the Cross, something I absolutely love so dearly. It was about eleven in the morning, Jesus was just finishing up His being questioned. He still had His shoes at this point...mine were long gone. 

       I visited a few more chapels and then headed home. Around noon, my family decided it would be a good time to go out food shopping. So, I donned my shoes for this adventure. But soon, we were headed home again and I enjoyed a small nap. At two, I woke up with this intense, burning feeling in my heart. It was Jesus calling out to me, to go with Him, to carry His cross. So, I left the house in a haste, shoes in my hand, and walked to church from my house. At first, it wasn't too bad. The black top was warm, and smooth since we just had our street re-paved last summer. But a few blocks later, I was feeling the rocks in my heel and between my toes. And trust me when I say, I know there's tons of broken glass out there. I began to really think how grateful I was for having shoes to wear on my feet and I understood the pain Jesus felt as He walked to Calvary. A few people I passed by looked on questioningly and a little boy even asked his older brother why I was carrying my shoes. I had to laugh...no one asked Jesus why He wasn't wearing shoes; they thought He deserved it.

      Well, I finally made it to church and as I knelt (yes, I knelt :)))) ) I had the most beautiful conversation with Jesus. I didn't NOT wear shoes for attention from anyone, nor for any other reason other than Jesus called me to it, so I did it. And out of curiosity, I wanted to know what He felt. I left my shoes off for our Good Friday service and quite a few parishioners came up to me and asked me where my shoes were. I simply shrugged. I wasn't going to actually do a blog about going shoeless until one of the parishioners asked me why I wasn't wearing shoes. And then three more people asked me. So, I decided that I would just to clear up all the confusion.

      So, yes, I got this crazy idea last night in the middle of Holy Thursday Mass to go shoeless for a day. But it really wasn't as crazy as it first seemed. In going shoeless, I had a conversion of sorts. I may not have understood what it meant to walk in the dirt and mud, but I understood the rocks. I may not have carried a cross, but I carried my shoes and the prayers of all those I promised to pray for. I may not have walked three miles, but in the twenty minutes of walking through Croydon shoeless, I had a deeper understanding of Christ. Somehow, I know it was truly Jesus who called me on to this mini sacrifice. I know it was Him who whispered into my heart to take off my shoes and walk with Him on His way to Calvary. I took my shoes off because Jesus knew I needed something to help me go deeper in faith with Him. Besides, where Jesus is, is Holy Ground and and Jesus is everywhere, so every where is Holy Ground. I'm not suggesting you walk to church in your bare feet, but maybe next time you're at Mass, just slip your shoes off and let your feet experience what it's like to stand on Holy Ground. Besides, look how far Jesus walked shoeless out of love for you and me...what's a few minutes bare foot? 

Holding Hands With God

"I, the Lord, have grasped you by the hand. 

I formed you and set you as covenant of the people, 

a light for the nations to open the eyes of the blind,

to bring prisoners out from confinement

and from the dungeon, those who live in darkness."

- Isaiah 42

      The wind was blowing my curly hair every which way and the ocean was spraying its salt spit at my face. The sun was now a bright orange circle just above the horizon, something I watched form from somewhere on the expressway. The sand was cold between my toes and it was starting to drizzle. My glasses were sitting on my messy, salted hair and my eyes were closed when I felt the gentle hand of my dear sister on my shoulder. All around us were the retreat girls and the other sisters giggling or running down the beach. I looked her in the eyes and smiled; I felt a humility in my heart. She began to tell me how much she loved me as we walked arm and arm down the beach. To anyone else, the woman appeared as a grandmother walking next to me (as we share the same very curly hair). To me, she was my sister, not just my Sister, but my sister.

     As the wind and the rain picked up, we walked to take shelter in the lifeguard stand. Of course, for someone who had had double knee replacements, this was a feat to be had. So, I got up first, and then with all the strength I could fathom, pulled her up. Together, we sat. Literally, we just sat there in the quiet and let ourselves simply be. Eventually, she took my hands in hers and opened them. She then simply placed them in my lap and said, "Always pray with open hands, Bec. Always." This was two Summers ago. From that moment on, I, without a doubt, always pray with my hands open. 

     After our prayer on the beach, the whole group of us headed to Mass at a church so familiar to me from my childhood. We sat next to each other, giggling like little girls as the pews creaked with every move we made. After finally calming ourselves, we settled in, with hands wide open in our laps, and listened to the readings for the day. The reading was the above reading from Isaiah 42. This reading came back to remind me of the reason why I must pray with my hands open yesterday as it was the first reading for Monday of Holy Week. Needless to say, I got a little nostalgic in remembering the day at the beach so clearly.

      Sister Virginia, after Mass that day at the beach, sat back for a few minutes with me in our pew. She told me to close my eyes and leave my hands open as she read the few lines from Scripture above. It hit me. I got it. I understood. She told me that without my hands open, how could God grasp them. If I pray with my hands folded all the time, there is no room for God to literally take hold of my hands. Just as a person cannot give a hug with his or her arms folded, a person cannot have her hands held unless they are open. She continued by telling me that in praying with open hands, it is a physical image of me being open to whatever God wants to give me. A person cannot receive a gift if her hands are folded or balled up in fists. No, in order to receive all that God wants to give me, I must say to Him with my heart and my body that I am open. My hands are open for You, God, to place whatever it is You wish in my them. My heart is open and my hands are open. I am allowing You, God, the opportunity to GRASP my hands, to HOLD them tight, and to LEAD me wherever it is I must be led. 

      When I think back to that memory of the beach, I remember how much it changed my heart. I called Sister Virginia today to tell her that I was simply thinking of her yesterday and praying for her. She taught me a lot that day, more than just how to pray with openness. She taught me that in opening my hands, a seagull might decided that it's the perfect place to go after breakfast. She taught me that some people might take my hands and later let go. She taught me that my hands will help the elderly, the poor. They will get dirty, they will get rough, they will build houses, they will wipe away tears, they will touch hearts and souls. My hands, my being open, will do all that Christ would do if He walked this earth again. Just as in my most favorite prayer of all time by Teresa of Avila, mine are the hands and feet of Christ. But honestly the best part about learning to be open like this, is knowing full well that I am open to holding anyone's hands.

     I guess that's why I am such a hand holder. Even if I am simply walking with a friend down the street, I am most likely going to take their hand. This is why I hold the older sisters' hands when I visit them or simply am just saying hello. Being open to holding hands is so important for me because I am convinced that in the other hand, is the hand of God. In the hands of the children I play with like my sister or Caleigh and Meghan, in the hands of my Mommom, in the hands of my older Sisters at Camilla or the Mount, in the hands of my Daddy, in the hands of my peers during the Our Father at Mass, in the hands of anyone willing to place their hand in mine, is the hand of God. 

     I am brought to a more recent memory of my hands. Just two weekends ago, during SEARCH, it snowed (seriously...the snow....ugh). Snow, while I love it, also gives me reason to worry. You see, my biggest worry is that it will ice over and the sisters will fall. Honestly, that's my biggest fear. So, in the snow and ice, I was a little more than worried about Sister Cathy falling. Despite the fact that being clumsy is usually my job, I was worried about her simply slipping. You see, if you fall there, it's all down hill from there....literally. One slip and you're down the mountain. Anyway, so I offered my hand. And by the good grace of God, she took it. So, needless to say, Sister Cathy and I did a lot of precious hand-holding that weekend. But there was something different about holding hands with her. You see, she wasn't simply holding my hand for support on the ice, she was literally grasping it, as if she really was depending on my hand. 

     She put that line in Isaiah into true perspective for me. God said he has grasped my hand. Not merely held it, but rather, grasped it. Literally took hold of my now forever open hands as if He depended on it. And the truth is, so many people in my life have depended on my hands. Sister Virginia taught me a lot that day on the beach. But it all starts with being open. If we are not open, if our hands are not open and willing to accept all that God has in store for us, He cannot hold us; He cannot grasp our hands and make us light for those in darkness. 

I'll Carry You - Battling the Flu

"When you saw only one set of footprints, 

it was then that I carried you."

- "Footprints In The Sand"

      It's been a pretty frigid winter. I hate wearing a coat, but I'll often bundle up in multiple layers just to keep warm. One afternoon, the topic of getting and staying warm came up at work study with Sister Cathy. I began to tell her how hard it is to get warm in my room because my roommate and I have this on-going, back and forth, passive aggressive fight over the heat. I'll come in, turn it up, go to bed. She'll come in, turn it down, go to bed. I'll wake up in the middle of the night freezing (under five blankets) and turn it up again! Back and forth we go, turning it up or down when we enter the room if the other isn't looking. I just looked over at the heat adjuster...guess what: it's been knocked down again! Of course, this little debate we have going is all in good fun...except when I'm freeeeeeezing! I just can't ever get warm unless it's Summer outside! I like to be warm, I like to snuggle, I like to sit by a campfire, I like Summer heat, I like sunshine. I hate being cold. 

      This time last weekend, I was freezing by behind off despite snuggling next to two Searchers on the notorious blue couch. I had almost all the clothes I packed on my body and I was under two blankets. I had a distinct throw-back to freezing every night while in NOLA, but this was different. I could feel heat behind my eyes, but I was shivering. Earlier that day, I had rolled out of my bunk bed and shuffled over to where Sister Cathy was sitting. Like the SEARCH Mother she is, she felt my head and cheeks only to tell me what I was already fearing: a fever was coming. A few minutes later, I took the hottest shower of my life and was finally warm. But soon after, I couldn't get warm and up until about Wednesday, I spent almost every moment of my days shivering in my bed. I spent the rest of retreat, trying my hardest to be the active, bubbling over self I usually am, but I was sooo cold. I even was bundled under my blanket during Mass. Nothing like the flu to humble me. At least I had a beautiful SEARCH Family to carry me. 

       After retreat, our Peru group had a mandatory meeting about Peru. All I wanted was my bed and sleep, but alas, that was not going to happen. My little sister had to cuddle me for two hours while I tried to listen to "all I needed to know" before I went to Peru, but to be completely honest, I retained nothing. I was too focused on trying to stay awake. I think I slept twelve hours that night. For the first time in a very long time, I didn't set a morning alarm. When I woke up, I found quite a few layers on the ground under my bed. Apparently, I had started to sweat it out over night. But the fever wasn't gone for sure. In fact, it held on for a few days. Today is the first day I am actually starting to feel closer to 100% better; even my cough is minimal!

      Sickness always humbles me. While on retreat, I had to let people help me with things and let me tell you how perfect my small group was, especially my other leader half, Matt. The other leaders really helped me out and reminded me that no matter what, I am loved. Whether it was simply rubbing my back, or tucking me in, or bringing me a cold water bottle for my head, they stepped up to the bar. Also under the "taking care of Becca catagory" was sitting on Becca's feet, legs, entire body to keep her warm, taking horrendous pictures of her, holding her hand so she didn't fall and making her smile despite the rainy days. In fact, I'd go back to SEARCH VI in a heart beat, because of what it did for me. It reminded me how to truly live the Fourth in a whole new way. 

      Back on campus, all the beautiful retreat bliss faded, but the love didn't. On Monday, Sister Cathy brought me an extra smile and told me that I didn't have to come into work study all week. On Tuesday, Sister Elaine told me she was postponing the due date for our research paper. On Wednesday, Sister Marcille reminded me of our Cast and Crew's ministry to simply smile. On Thursday and Friday and today, so many more gave me gentle smiles, uplifting words and lots of hugs! I felt as if I was dragging my feet every place I went, every time I got out of my nice, warm, bed. And yet, God surrounded me by so many uplifting people. I received encouraging emails, heart warming conversations with the Mother General and lots of laughter from the sisters at work. I got check up text messages and facebook posts. I have never felt this loved before. And to think that I needed the flu to help me realize it. 

      The flu honestly helped slow me down! Of course, I'm sure a SEARCH high played a huge part in my realization that I am loved, but the flu really helped. I didn't realize the amount of people in my life who would be willing to help me when I need it until this past week. I almost refused to believe that people actually do care for and love me here at school. But I couldn't ignore all the love I was given, especially from people I didn't think loved me as much as they showed me this week. I was blessed with so many little things, like smiles, gentle words and hugs, that really, truly, deeply showed and reminded me that I am loved. I learned a lot this week, but most importantly was that I am loved. It's hard for the lovers to accept and realize that they too are loved and the flu definitely helped me. It showed me how many people are willing to carry me, because at most moments this past week, it felt like all the sisters were literally carrying me. My heart was definitely being carried...the rest of me was probably being dragged (especially by Sister Elaine!) I guess you could say I am grateful for the flu. So, thanks God, for knocking me down, giving me the flu and then giving me so many people willing to carry and love me. Thanks a lot, from the bottom of my heart! I'd do it all again in a heart beat!

My Best Friend, Katie D

"My sweetest joy is to be in the presence of Jesus in the Holy Sacrament.

I beg that when I am obliged to withdraw in body, I may leave my heart before the Holy Sacrament.

How I would miss our Lord if He were to be away from me by His presence in the Blessed Sacrament."

- Saint Katharine Drexel

      Just a few days ago, I had the realization that if we weren't blessed with a priest to say Mass for retreat, I would have the crisis of a Mass-less Sunday. Now, of course, I would try everything to get to Mass somewhere, but the problem is: this girl has no wheels. I have a mandatory meeting for my upcoming Peruvian adventure...one that I am not allowed to be late for or leave early from. This meant, I either had to find someone with wheels who wouldn't mind going to a "last chance Mass" at West Chester or I was out of luck. When I was telling one of the sisters, I actually just started crying. My tears were not sobs or forced tears. In fact, I didn't even know I was crying, until a tear dripped onto my shirt. I didn't know what to do; my heart was literally breaking at the knowledge that I could quite possibly not be able to be united with the love of my life in the Most Blessed Sacrament. So...what did I do? Well, I called on my Facebook prayer group and asked for their prayers for my special intention. BUT, I also called my best friend, and told her about my predicament knowing that she would understand exactly how I felt. Of course, she took care of it. 

      I carried the crisis (and that's what it really was...a crisis) on my heart all day. Needless to say, I fell into my very quiet, problem-solving self. All day I was constantly thinking about how I (and my fellow retreatants) could get to Mass. Eventually, I wound up with a few "worse case scenarios" but I knew they still weren't the answer to my prayers. Even after talking to someone about, I was still in a predicament-plagued, heavy-hearted mood. I definitely moozied on through my day. However, there were a few spots of sunshine in my day when I randomly saw Sister Cathy. Seeing her more times than I normally would on a Monday gave me some hope that I would get the answer to my prayers soon. I felt that her over joyous smile was Heaven's hope to my heart. 

      Soon, the time came for me to head to the Motherhouse for work and still, I had no answer. I prayed as I walked across the street, feeling the heaviness in my heart. It wasn't a heaviness of guilt that I wouldn't get to Mass, but rather a deeper pain. It's a pain almost like that of an aged couple where one is suffering from Alzheimer's and cannot remember his wife so much so that he cannot live with her. The wife desires so much to be able to at least hold his hand or kiss him again, but he refuses to be touched. The wife, while knowing she can visit her beloved cannot kiss his lips and feel the physical uniting with her husband. I would be able to visit my Beloved in the chapel, but I would not be able to taste His Goodness on my lips or unite my soul to Him in the Eucharist. My heart simply broke and gloom filled the cracks. 

      The Motherhouse was very quiet for a typical Monday night, but I guess the oh so attractive scaffolding has been scaring away visitors...well, at least to the front door. I easily fell in the quiet pace of reading the most horrendous book for class and let God take care of the rest. I happened to look up from my book at the same time the Mother General was walking into Chapel. I smiled, not thinking she saw me before she opened the door, but then she pressed her face to the stained glass door, smiled and wrapped her arm around the door the wave. Once again, she became a glimmer of hope for me. After supper, she came through the "Portress Fortress" just to "catch up" on my life and hear the good news about Peru (we just ordered our plane tickets yesterday...IT'S ON!) and everything else. She playfully mocked my inked hand (where I had written down ALL my play lines...) and my bright yellow nail polish. Of course, I think she was just jealous about the nail polish. Regardless, the few minutes I had conversing with her was actually exactly what I needed. It was just a few minutes and I began to feel hopeful. However, it wasn't until Sister San came to visit me that I knew I was going to get an answer to my prayers. 

      Imagine the tiniest sister you have ever seen with the most beautiful white hair and most gentle eyes. She came almost dancing off the elevator. Now, you must understand that sister and I share a very special bond. We have a HUGE devotion to St. Katharine Drexel and she knew the closest SBS sister, Sister Thomasita, I ever had. I found out not too long ago, that Sister Thomasita would frequent the IHM Motherhouse just to visit her. She walked the same hallways I do now. And how perfect that our paths crossed once again. Last night, when Sister San came dancing into the "Portress Fortress," she handed me a tiny, paisley jewelry box. I asked her if I should open it and she said, "Yes! Of course!" So, I gently opened the box and inside was a medallion with Saint Katharine Drexel on the front. My mouth curved into a smile and my heart felt happy. But that wasn't the end. She asked me if I had any idea of who had given her the medallion. I said no. She then told me so gently that it was my dear Sister Thomasita. Instant tears. I leaped out of my chair, wrapped my arms around her and essentially wept uncontrollable tears into her veil. A few of the other sisters walked in and out and didn't know I was crying until I sat back down behind the desk. They didn't understand, but Sister San knew exactly why it hit me so close to the heart. Sister Thomasita is the reason I have a vocation to the church. She prayed for my vocation before I was ever born. It's a long, beautiful story and one day I might tell you, but right now, all you need to know is that Katharine Drexel used Sister San to give me the reassurance I needed to know that she was taking care of my prayers. I think after Sister San left, I cried a little more and simply ran my fingers over and over the medal, thanking God. 

       When I got back to my room after making a stop at play practice, I hopped on the computer to do some homework. Of course, like every typical person of my generation, I checked Facebook first even though everything goes straight to my phone anyway. As I was scrolling through my notifications, a little message box popped up at the bottom of my screen from Sister Cathy. Her message, "We got a priest!" I through my hands up in the air and thanked God out loud. Katharine, my girl, Katie D, my best friend, my number one God girl, did it again. She pulled through and answered my prayers while at the same time reminding me that I am loved and that right now, I am exactly where I am meant to be.

      On Sunday, my Junior class celebrated Ring Day, another IU tradition, together. A dear heart friend of mine, Kristie, an alum of IU, presented me with my ring and I was so grateful. However, she went above and beyond and got me flowers also: White lilies (for St. Joseph), White Roses (for Mary) and Yellow Sunflowers (for the Sun in my life...Jesus). Unfortunately, I didn't have a vase in my room so I asked Sister Cathy if I could share the happiness with Marian Chapel, my favorite place on Campus. She said yes and today, as I placed the vase of flowers right in front of the Tabernacle, I had this strange feeling that Katie D was standing there right next to me and all I wanted to do was hug her. I know she is always with me; she is always reminding me. And I think, as Sister Ruth Catherine, SBS, once told me, she is calling me onto something higher, to walk in her footsteps in a whole new and unique way. But I'll wait for a confirmation from her, before I let you know! One thing I am certain about is that as soon as I get to Heaven, that girl and I are having coffee forever and sharing our lives with each other, even though she'll already know everything about me! She's my best friend, and best friends just know!

A Day In The Life of a Monjita

"Do not think that I am sitting here to pass away the time

telling you that religious life is poetry; 

it is the roughest type of prose."

- Mother Justina Reilly, IHM

     Every so often, I tell you that I spend a day in the life of a Sister. This day consists of prayers, Mass, meals, maybe visiting the older nunnies and some recreation. Occasionally, there will be some "laboring" activity (like that one time I literally built two benches with one of the Sisters...) but most of the time it's the "normal," "every day," activities. Eat. Pray. Love. But today I spent a few real hours in the day of the life of a Monjita. Let me tell you a few of the things I learned today: I now understand why the Sisters wear aprons while cleaning; I now understand why they often times go to bed so early; I now know the best possible way to clean votive candle holders; and I know that no Sister is perfect. 

     This morning started like every morning: I woke up smiling at the crack of dawn and ready to greet the day. Okay, okay...really it started like this (which happens most often...): my alarm went off at 6:00 AM screaming in my ear that I needed to get up. I yelled back by hitting the snooze button three times. Finally by 6:27, I was rolling (literally) out of bed and dragging my feet to the shower room. By 6:45, I was ready. I had thrown on a sweatshirt, some yoga pants and my shoes. I tossed my hair up in a bun and ran down the stairs. This morning was the second morning in a row that I was doing wash before anyone else on campus (minus the Sisters) was up. Only this laundry wasn't my own. These towels ad such had to be washed for our retreat in a few weeks. Ironically, this was all part of my "work study assignment" for the day from Sister Cathy. At college, we often sticky note our washers with our room number just in case the wash cycle gets done before we get to it. I was so tempted to put "Nun Laundry" on the sticky note this time, but I didn't....I simply put my room number.

     After the wash was thrown in, I headed over to prayers and Mass. You know, the usual. And by the time Mass was over, the retreat wash was ready to be put in the dryer. So I said to myself, I said, "Self. You deserve a nap." And so, I took one. In a hour, the retreat wash was ready to be folded. In rainbow order, I folded the retreat wash in a nice orderly fashion and moved on to job number two. This is where the apron comes in.

     You see, I had spent countless Fridays after school with Sister David in high school cleaning Chapel. We would do everything from rearranging the flowers to...cleaning votive candle holders. The thing that baffled me the most was that Sister David would always wear her apron while cleaning. Like why? I thought those most unfashionable things were only used for baking. Okay, now flash forward to Camilla Fair 2011. All of these sisters had on these beautiful, hand-made aprons. Many times the sisters at the Motherhouse would wear them while doing housework. While still confused by the notion of wearing an apron while cleaning, I needed an apron for baking. And you know what, they weren't unfashionable anymore. I was soon the proud owner of a pink Camilla apron. Now, present day, I am sitting literally picking wax out of these tiny votive candles trying so hard to get all the wax in the trashbag. Where did most of it end up? All over me. Yeah...needless to say, next time I clean votive candles (or anything at that), I'll be donning my apron, too. 

     Of course, in cleaning these votive candles, I also learned the best possible way to do it. Of course, I was not instructed to how to really clean these things. I was simply given the supplies at my door the night before. However, I am convinced that somewhere inside all sisters and sisters to be, there is an INNER NUN, almost like a conscience, but better. This INNER NUN tells you how to do things perfectly in NUNLY fashion. Because after I had scraped as much wax as I could from all the votives (and trust me it wasn't all), I had this genius idea. SOAK THEM IN SOAPY SCORCHING HOT WATER. Ingenious, really. So I filled the sink with SCORCHING HOT WATER and some Palmolive soap (it HAS to be the green kind, right, Sister?) and let the votives soak. Can I tell you that it worked like a charm? Literally, it was so much faster. So, for all my nunny friends....here's a (maybe) new way to do it! Of course, your INNER NUNS probably told you that years.

      Soap and water, as you know, often make things very slippery. And so this is where "No Nun Is Perfect..." comes into play. While washing the votives and lining them up to dry, I accidentally dropped one on the floor and to no surprise, it shattered into a million little pieces. Instead of being disappointed though, I merely shrugged and said, "Well that's the first of many votives I will break." It's true. I am sure sisters EVERYWHERE, while cleaning votives, drop one every so often. Of course, just no one tell Mother Superior and we'll all be fine! I realized that it was lesson in perfection. No one is perfect, we all drop a votive candle holder at some point in our lives. It's bound to happen. I found myself thanking God for letting me realize this early on so that I'm not an older sister when I drop my first votive; that would be earth shattering. Besides, I know this is God's way of saying, "I'm keeping you humble." 

      At the end of my morning, when I was carefully (very, very, VERY carefully) transporting the votives back over to the "Jesus Closet," I realized how exhausted I was. Literally, I found myself closing my eyes for longer than a few seconds and thinking, am I ever going to get a nap today? As some of you may know, I am a pro napper. I pretty much take a nap every day. Today, I did not get a nap. Right now, it is 9:16. As I was crossing back campus from play practice just a few minutes ago, I promised myself that I would be asleep tonight by 10:00 at the latest. I now understand why my Daddy used to call the Sisters the "Five and Ten" girls. No, they didn't work at five and tens. But rather they were up at five and in bed by ten. After a mere few hours in the day of a monjita, that life is literally a life I would be all about. I guess to elevate in the levels of getting closer to a monjita, I better start doing other nunny things. Maybe I'll start sewing a habit....that'll take a few years!

Okay, it's a bit extreme but....all for good humor!

Breaking Down Stereotypes - Anywhere With You

"I'll go anywhere.

I travel light and my bags are packed.

Just as long as I'm where you're at, 

I'm gonna have a real good view. 

I'll go anywhere, anywhere with you."

- "Anywhere With You," Jake Owens

    Imagine: You're a freshmen in high school and you find out your Theology teacher is a nun. Go figure. You're not only new at school, but you still have this idea that nuns are going to kick your butt. You sit silently as the young nun in front of you tries to start prayers. This woman in front of you is a ball of mystery and you're intrigued. 

    It's not that hard for many of you to imagine. Perhaps you were a few years younger and in grade school when the nuns taught you. Maybe you were a little but more terrified because the nuns were stereo-typically  harsh and cruel to any bad students. Maybe you never spoke in class because nothing you could possibly say would have been right. Many of you reading this have had a sister in the classroom at some point in your life and so, going back to those moments isn't hard. 

    Now imagine: Sister is trying to start the YouTube video for prayers when suddenly there's a knock on the classroom door. You have no idea who these two young women are, except one appears familiar to you. Sister stops what she is doing, throws her hands in the air and almost picks up the taller of the two, the one who seems familiar. After a few seconds of joyful conversation, Sister goes back to prayer. The two strangers stand there, heads bowed in prayer. You try so hard to pay attention, but you can't stop thinking about where you've seen the one young woman before. After prayers, the two quietly tell Sister they have to leave but before the walk out, Sister mentions something about having a movie date again soon. Then the familiar girl laughs, asks Sister if she wants to go Ice Skating later that night and you remember where you saw her: the other night at dinner...out with another sister. 

     Your first reactions? Nuns go ice skating? Nuns leave the convent? Nuns have friends? Who is this girl? Why does she hang out with nuns all the time? Is she serious? She's not a nun but...maybe? Ironically, as I was leaving the classroom atmosphere I just described (yes, I was that girl who interrupted class), I heard the class begin to whisper all of these questions. I had to laugh at the girls and my sister, who was with me, casually said, "Don't they know she's a cool nun?" 

     Often, I forget that it's a little "abnormal" to hang out with nuns so much. I forget that walks in fly helicopters, or drives across the city, or invitations to go ice skating is normal until nuns are involved. Most people are shocked when they see sisters or priests out in public, but why? I simply giggle and move on. Yes, we often get questioning glances, or even sometimes we meet extremely brave people who ask the questions everyone else is thinking. I watch as my sisters shrug, smile and answer the questions. It doesn't bother them....it doesn't bother me. My sisters are just as real as you and me. And I guess that's why I really often forget that it's "abnormal." Oh well...

      Yesterday, I partook in my own personal "Convent Run." I started with interrupting classes at Nazareth with my real life, blood sister, then I ran to visit Sister Phyllis, then after having been in my house no less than a half hour, I was out the door again to visit with my lifelong cheerleader at Santucci's and then finally a night of feeling old and out of shape at the skate rink with my partner in crime. Each time I walked out the door, my mother asked me where I was going. My answer? The convent, Mom. Don't worry, I'm with the nuns. It's a common joke in my family that while most people think when a person is hanging out with the Sisters, there would be no trouble. But when Becca hangs out with the Sisters, there is always trouble. 

      I was already thanking God for the amount of blessings He was giving me before I left Nazareth. Little did I know, He would continue to shower me with blessings. Not knowing it at the time, I wound up spending a good few hours chatting it up with Sister Phyllis and ironically most of it was about my girl Katie D, better known to the world as St. Katharine Drexel. As we were chatting, I could feel nothing but blessings from the good Lord above. I am so spoiled, I decided. God is so good. The adventure continued when while I was with Sister Phyllis, Sister Virginia called me. Of course, as usual, she didn't answer when I called back. We're like little kids in the sense that we love to play tag....phone tag that is. 

      But finally, we connected. I told her that I had a few hours before my ice skating adventure and so, within minutes after hanging up the phone, I was in the car headed to her convent. The thing about friends, I have learned, is that if they are true friends, you could go months without seeing them or talking with them and you pick right up where you left off. The last time I had seen Sister Virginia, we were sitting in a corner booth in a restaurant in the middle of August. Cheerleaders, as you know, are there to cheer on their players when they play well AND when their morale is down. She is my cheerleader through and through. This particular time, I was at the verge of tears in that corner booth. I told her how scared I was, how doubtful, how unsure I was about what God wanted me to do with me life. She took my hands and said, "No matter what, I'll always been your number one cheerleader. Whether that means letting you go or welcoming you home, I'll be here for you. Don't ever forget that." And I carried what she said with me through the year. Despite never being able to connect over the phone or email, I knew she was praying for me. And I knew that I had to try all I could to see her before I went back to school. So, we once again found ourselves at a corner booth (this time at the high top tables...oh boy.) and sharing our thoughts. 

      I never gave a second thought to the fact that there I was, sitting in Santucci's with a Sister. We were enjoying pizza and water on a Lenten Friday at a high top table. This time, instead of tears of desperation, I was crying tears of joy and laughter. I was laughing so hard that literal tears were streaming down my face. I was telling her tale after tale of all my adventures. Finally, I told her that God has given me such peace, that I am happy, that I know where God wants me. Once again, just like last time, she took my hands and thanked God with me. There was no question about praying in public, we simply just did it. For me, this was normal, something that brought joy to my heart and truly gave me a vision of future me. Arm in arm we left, laughing and giggling like the two sisters we are. 

      Within minutes of departing from my dear-hearted, Sister, I was headed down the road to pick up my partner in crime, Sister Mary Anthony so we could join my family ice skating. When we arrived on the ice, arm in arm (it's a running theme...) my sisters, my dad and my sister's friends skated over to us absolutely overjoyed. I said to the girls, "I hope you don't mind that I brought my friend with me...do you?" We all laughed. My family, by now is so used to hanging out with the sisters at family functions. There is a beautiful mutual love that makes me feel like I am home. We skated for a straight two hours and I couldn't help but laugh as the Older Staff Member kept following us around the rink. At first, I didn't think anything of it. But then I thought, oh maybe Sister's veil or skirt is a rink violation, because she wore her habit, you know. Later though, we realized that he was merely intrigued that Sister was out Ice Skating. Of course, a few other random rink kids were also very intrigued. My family and I merely skated. 

      While Sister and I were skating around, I thanked her for being a visible sign for me. I told her that long ago, when I first felt called to this vocation, I had planned on wearing my habit everywhere. It came about when my extended family asked me if I would wear my habit when I was at home at family parties. Without hesitation, I told them that of course I would! Of course, all my uncles asked about the kids who would probably get my habit dirty and various other scenarios since my cousins love me to death and I always wind up dirtier than they do. What's a habit without a little wear and tear? There's nothing a little Tide can't fix! The habit, for me, symbolizes deep simplicity. There are no frills and thrills about a habit. There's no tight waist line or low scoop neck; there's nothing fashionable about it. Yet, I love it. And just like my dear Sr. Mary Anthony, I would wear my habit in the snow, on the ice, on the service sight, basically anywhere. 

      One thing I really didn't realize until now is that her being a visible witness to religious life last night really helped break down some stereotypes. Does anyone know a nun who goes ice skating? Now you do! When my sisters agree to going out with me, whether it's out for Chinese, out for Pizza, out to the Zoo or Ice Skating, they give me hope. They, without knowing it, are helping me help them break down these stereotypes of religious life. My Sisters are real people just like me and you. They are made out of the same flesh and blood (to quote Sister David...) as you and I. These Sisters do so much just as normal people and you can all count on the fact that I will follow their footsteps. Life is a constant adventure and journey of questions and answers, and I hope that because I'll go anywhere, as long as I'm with Him, my friends, family and so many others can begin to have a clearer view of this beautiful, religious life. Amen? Amen!