Being Bread, Blessed and Broken

"Bread, blessed and broken for us all.

Symbol of Your love from the grain so tall.

Bread of life You give to us, 

Bread of life for all."

- Michael Lynch

    It's been a very LONG time since I've blogged but let me catch you up why before I get into this post. Once I arrived safely home from Peru (I still miss it every day...more and more as each day passes...), I was well on my way back to IU for ten days for Orientation Training and then four intense days of New Student Orientation. I left our second session of Orientation a few hours early (after having a sweet and much needed chat with Sister Cathy) and headed for CREW (Community Rocks Everyone's World). I went from one community of sisters to another and back again. I went from convent living to residence hall living to convent living in a residence hall setting. In the process of those two weeks I did a plethora of things such as: meet tons of new people, fall in love (again and again), work my behind off in sweltering hot conditions, reflect and lose a lot of sleep. I wouldn't trade these past few weeks for anything in the world because I am a true believer in the fact that I am always exactly in the location that God needs me in. That is, I know that wherever I am, with whomever I am, I am always where God intended. However, that wasn't all. As you can well imagine, I did an awful lot of thinking. Doing a lot of traveling alone (eg driving in my car) gives me a lot of time to think and reflect on my life, where I have been and where I am going. 

     It started when I left my residence hall early Saturday morning to drive home to Mount Nazareth for Mass and then to help my dear CSFN Sisters set up and prep for CREW 2013. It typically takes me about 45 minutes to an hour to get from Croydon to IU and vice versa. It was smooth sailing down the turnpike that early in the morning and I couldn't help but praise the Lord all the way there. I was going to see my dear Sister Bernice one more time before she headed back home to CT AND celebrate Mass with my sisters. Most of my thinking on the way home was about the previous week I had had at school during training and then during the first Orientation Session. I had met many new students, bonded with my already very close friends and shared a bit of my Peru experience with them. 

     After Mass, breakfast and set up, I was soon on my way back to IU. Since I was already in the city, I decided to head home by a different way. However, since I was away for a month, I had forgotten about the miserable construction and traffic route 95 provides at any time during any day. The normal one hour ride took me two and let me tell you, I was not a happy camper. I finally made it back to school and jumped right back into Orientation mood only to jump right out again on Tuesday as I started CREW. 

     I arrived at CREW just in time for supper and left shortly after to attend a viewing for a dear and very loved Parish family member. It was so difficult to hold back my tears as I said goodbye to one of my number one cheerleaders here on earth. She was always uplifting me and doing her best to keep me in prayer and thought. The line was longer than imaginable and even there I did some of my best reflection and prayer. Standing among my Parish family there was tons to think about and think did I do. 

     I can honestly say that in the past two weeks I have experienced a lot along the emotional and spiritual roller coasters. I was struggling to truly find words to speak about or even write about but I couldn't. No, not until Wednesday evening when we were sitting as a CREW and CSFN Family during Sister Romuald's funeral. The dear woman, one who I have blogged about once before, was in her nineties and had lived a most beautiful life. The chapel was filled and so, we girlies had to bring with us into chapel chairs from the dining room. I sat by myself in the back as a mother looking upon her CREW children and as a little sister looking with awe upon her older sisters and wisdom figures. For the first time in a very long time, I realized, I was able to belt out the hymns during Mass and sing in harmony with many other beautiful voices. I realized this as Sister Josepha played "Bread, Blessed and Broken" on the organ and my heart began to leap for joy in this realization. The next morning all my thoughts from the past two weeks hit me...

      Bread, Blessed and Broken. This song, for any Catholic, is an obvious one; it's all about Jesus. It's about Jesus becoming the Eucharist, the bread and the wine we drink. It's a song begging Jesus to come into our hearts and minds to ease the pains and to make us whole again. It's about proclaiming one's love for Jesus from the very beginning of life to the very end. I found the song so fitting for the funeral of Sister Romuald and then the next day, found it so fitting for my life. You see, I took that song for a very deep reflection. In fact, I was almost scrambling around for a pen in the middle of Mass. But I knew no one would have one so I tried really hard to remember...and to sit still. We are called, as Christians, Christ to others. That is, just as Christ took on flesh to save us, we are to put on Christ and be Him for the world. Jesus, at every Mass transforms from bread to Eucharist, blessed and broken. And so, if we were to become Christ, we are to become Bread, Blessed and Broken. 

    In my life, I can honestly, I have been through many trials and tribulations. Because I have been bread for others in my personal putting on of Christ, I have been so blessed. But, like many, I had forgotten that being bread for others also entailed me as broken. Often when I am aching and I feel like my heart is breaking, I question God. I ask Him why on earth things hurt so much. Why do things such as leaving someone you love or having someone you love leave you, hurt so much. Well, it's a three fold reflection here. 

    I have learned easily to love much and love many (all). I can easily love those around me and those who seem so far away (my dear ones in NOLA, Jamaica and now, Peru). You saw me write in the course of the past two weeks, I have fallen in love. Yes, I have. Not for the first time and not for the last time. I met new people and learned to love them quickly upon first meeting them and without judgement. But I also spent a lot of time with my very close friends, both guys and gals, with whom, I felt a much deeper connection by the end of the week. Bread, as you know, especially if you eat it, fills one up. It reduces hunger quickly and often, is a staple at many meals. Being bread calls for me to love and fulfill the need for love in others. Falling in love was easy, I had that part of being bread down pat. Although, and I'm not quite sure if Jesus (or actual bread) experienced this, but sometimes I can fall in love too far. While this happens on rare occasion, I can sometimes find myself falling a little further in love with one of my very close guy friends. That may or may not have happened this week. Regardless, it usually nevers goes much beyond me thinking how great of a husband that young man may be. I often can't help falling in love with everyone. 

    The blessed part also comes very easy to me. You see, I have learned (not perfected) to see God in maybe of my day to day life situations, even in the unfortunate ones. Just like Laura Story says, "Maybe Your blessings come through raindrops." I know that I am so blessed. At the end of every day, I thank God for all the blessings with which He provided me. At my waking each day, I find myself thanking God that I awoke that morning. Sometimes, if I am experiencing a case of the Debbie Downers, I will answer your "How are yah?" with an, "I'm alright, I'm alive." I know that whatever God sends me during any day is what I need. I may not know it at the time, but I know that I can trust Him. Perhaps this might be the easiest part of being bread. 

    The hardest part is this: the suffering. Of the many things I have experienced in the past two weeks in the transferring of two of my closest sisters. And when I mean closest, I mean, I can already feel the distance between us. I have experienced this time and time and time again and I know it is a part of religious life regardless of the community. I thought that I had come to peace with the fact that moving is a part of life. I told myself, if I am not okay with it now when others are transferring, how am I ever going to be able to handle it myself when it comes time for me to leave a place I have so long called home? And so, I thanked God for the blessings of Facebook, Email, Telephone and Skype. Even though the sisters who have moved far away have been so close, I took it all to prayer and came to the peace. However, this time around it seemed to hurt a little bit more. Why? Well I'm not too sure. But perhaps  it is because it feels like the wounds have been reopened. I know there is always a means to communicate, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt to feel the distance. And yes, I know the pain is all part of being human, so I embrace it. But it still stinks....alot. 

     The truth is this: I have realized that the brokenness of being bread comes first. Whether it is to my sisters, my family, my friends or those I am just meeting for the very first time, I must give them a piece of myself. I am the loaf and in loving them, I must break off a piece for each person I come in contact with. I, without realizing, had already been broken so many times. But, I never really thought about it in this way. It is allowed to hurt, because Jesus hurt. Jesus was just as human as you and me and He hurt, too. He was broken in so many ways, when He lost Lazarus, when He was beaten on the road to Calvary, when He felt betrayed. He was broken to give of Himself. We are broken not in the literal sense but rather figuratively. We are broken to give ourselves to one another and we are broken because we are human. And with the brokenness of giving a piece of ourselves to every person we meet, we are blessed tenfold in return. 

      After reflecting on this, after falling a little too far in love again, after experiencing the pain of losing those I love both from this earth and in the transferring, after experience intense graces and prayer in the past two weeks, I can honestly say I know now what it means when God calls us on to be Bread for the World. We are called to be Bread, Blessed and Broken and by george, I think, that with the help of many, I can do it. 

What Color Is Red?

"I can't remember my exact reactions. I know they were varied - 

a mixture of surprise, disappointment, awe over horror, 

but also contentment - resignation and even joy."

- Sister Mary Avellino, IHM

     "What color is red?" or in Spanish, "Que color es rojo?" was a phrase that essentially summed up our trip to Peru. Whether we were red with embarrassment, red with laughter, or red with sunburn, our white, American faces were almost always red and Sister Marie never let us forget. She would always ask sarcastically, "What color is red?" and we would all laugh. Even driving to the airport on Thursday night we were still repeating the phrase over and over with every new adventure in the car. However, the final time we asked the question, it was serious. What color is red? We all said together and I answered, "Red is the color of our eyes and cheeks after we have been crying so hard and so long." And that was the truth. 

     After finally checking in for our flight and checking our bag, we joined the sisters for some last Quatro Day (that is, 4D ice cream...the best) in the airport before heading into security. Eight of us sat around one tiny, little, round table and laughed our last laughs together and took our last pictures. My heart was melancholy and yet, rejoicing in the goodness of God. Finally, it was time to go through security ... and time to say our final goodbyes to the sisters at the gate. One by one we each hugged each other and my eyes, the eyes that never, ever cry in public, began to water. There was no escaping it, no avoiding it, not forgetting to cry. No, with each hug, my face got wetter and wetter. And there was no embarrassment. I just cried, because it was like a band-aid: my heart had been operated on, fixed and made for the better. The sisters put band-aid on to help it heal and now, I was able to go home with a brand new and transformed heart. But, I couldn't leave the band-aid on. So, as my big Sisters, the ripped it off and smiled and as they saw how my heart had grown. Gee wiz. Thanks, that hurt. But I knew, I had been changed for the better. And the saying goodbye was just the ripping off of a bandaid. It stung for a while, but now, I can smile and say, I'm glad they changed me.

    Our last week in Peru was a hard one. I realized this while on the bus Monday morning: Grief is so hard when you have to live for the moment even though it is inevitable that something painful will happen soon. For me it was the hardship of having to walk into my classrooms with a HUGE smile on my face despite the fact that I knew in a few days I would be leaving and my heart was already so sad. But, I have had practice hiding my feelings, so for two days, I went in and out of the classrooms smiling and loving each moment. At night, or on the bus when I was able to really think and reflect, I would feel the inevitable pain of knowing I had to leave soon. I am, as I view myself, a person who lives in the moment and so, with each and every moment I was given, I lived it up. 

     During the last two days, all of our students were gradually saying goodbye. Out of the four of us, I was the only one in the secondary grades, that is high school level, as per my major! While it was hard for the others to leave, I am sure, their students were not as upset as mine...so it seemed. For little kids, they are sad for the moment, and then they keep going on with life. While yes they miss those they have met, their comprehension of what would be happening in a few days was little. For my students, they knew what was happening and their hearts were pained by the experience. Each grade had planned some sort of goodbye for me, whether it was a giant card, a song, a speech or a party, each said goodbye in their own way...making it easier and harder for all of us. They had given me the opportunity to have closure and yet, made those last moments more unforgettable than all the rest. 

     Each of the little speeches told me how important I had become in their lives. Some had even gone as far as to say that I was not just a mentor or a teacher for them but a friend. I was almost in tears every time. Some were even wise enough to say that goodbyes hurt more when you do not know when the next time is that you will see each other and isn't that the truth. When it was finally my turn to thank them, from the bottom of my heart I told them that there was no way I could eve forget those days I spent at CSA in Callou. I told them how much they had changed my life by their simply living each day to the full with me both in the classroom and out. I told them how blessed I was to have had the experience of having students and friends. But the most important thing I told them, for me and for them, was that they had become more than students and more than friends; they had become my little sisters.

     Thursday, the day we were leaving, was of course, the hardest. It was the feast of San Antonio, the patron of their school. So, of course, they had an assembly, and a special day. The day before they had adoration all day which I was so blessed to spend some time at. The assembly was fantastic but what was even better was the free time (or not so free time....pretty sure my girls were all skipping class) we had afterward to simply say our goodbyes. While I absolutely loved every moment in the classroom, I loved being able to just hang out with the chicas. We took tons of pictures, had lots of laughs and told even more stories. In fact, we even found a name for ourselves: the Quiet Llama Chicas. Yeah, we are that cute. We spent time just sitting on the floor of the classroom, eating causa and loving life. I wouldn't have spent my last moments with them any other way. Saying goodbye was so hard. 

      We found ourselves back at EIC soon enough and eating on last lunch with the sisters in our house. After lunch, the girls went upstairs to finish packing, but I had some other things to do first. First of all, I had to meet Cesar, the infamous fourth grader at the school and second, I had to go visit Sister Eileen. On my first day in EIC I found myself in her office, so it was only right to go there on my last day. I had wanted to simply give her the "nun mail" from CSA and have a little chat, but God had something else in store. Yes, in fact, He blessed me with one of the most beautiful conversations I have ever had. Sister Eileen, I then understood, had read me like an open book. Amid our tears, she told me how grateful she was for our being there in their convent, the new life we brought to them and all about the ups and downs of religious life. I never cry openly in front of people unless I have known them for a very extensive amount of time, yet there I was bawling my eyes out with this woman of God who so honestly loves Jesus and the work He has asked of her. I was in awe of her, from the very moment I met her (she drove a mean stick shift), at that moment and even now as I think about it. It was certainly a moment in my life I could never, ever forget. And if she ever gets around to reading this, I hope she knows how much I appreciate the color red in our eyes and on our cheeks! 

     I did meet Cesar after that and then quickly headed off to finish some last minute things, like packing and writing. Before we knew it, we were all smushed in a car, just the way we arrived, headed to the airport where we then checked in and had our ice cream and tears. As I sat on the airplane, I looked out my window honestly and cried. I cried because I knew in my heart I had been so blessed. I had been blessed with so many angels and like my girls had said so truthfully, the hardest part about all of these goodbyes was not knowing when I will ever see them again. Leaving everyone was so hard, but I know that because I knew them, I had been changed for good. I can't thank God enough and I can't wait to go back again! Here's to the tears and the laughter that will once again ensue when American me steps foot on Peruvian soil! 

The Desire of Nothingness - A Reflection on Deserts and Barranca

"The closer one becomes to approaching God, 

the simpler she becomes."

- St. Teresa of Avila

   Up until Thursday I have only had two experiences where I was traveling in a car, packed in with a plethora of other bags and odds and ends: one, everytime I move in and out of school; two, the car ride from the airport in Jamaica to Spur Tree with bags and people. Thursday, I, along with the three other girls and two sisters, piled into a car made for eight. Let me tell you, the mom van is made for eight. I have a hard time believing that at any point in time this car could actually fit eight people. Regardless, with four girls and two sisters, that was only six people. So, why was it packed? You see, our school in Miraflores, EIC, supports the Fe Y Alegría school in Barranca with their Tombola for the Kermesse. You know, that carnival type thing I described a few blog posts prior. This meant that we were taking a few of the things with us beings that Barranca is a 3.5 hour car ride away. So this girl, who loves to snuggle, got to snuggle with multiple 5kg bags of rice the whole way. Needless to say, this provoked many thoughts in my heart, mind and soul.

   First, you must know that Barranca, while being 3.5 hours away, is also one of the poorest missions of the IHM Sisters here in Perú. There is a public school there called Fe Y Alegría which is directed by three beautiful IHM Sisters. We began our journey at 6:30 in the morning, which does not really seem like such a feat anymore beings we have to catch the bus to Callou every morning at 6:50. We all piled in the car with myself in the back seat snuggling the rice and the three girls in the middle. Many of you know how much I love books and language, so of course, I brought two books with me to read to and fro in the car. As we were driving through Lima, I settled into my book and propped my leg up on some rice. This could not be that bad, I convinced myself. And in actuality, it was nothing. No problema, hermana! 

    After about an hour, we finally exited the city of Lima and were headed toward Barranca via the Panamerica Highway. At first, I was thinking to myself, that it was just like driving on the PA Turnpike to Uncle Tommys house. However, while that does seem to be an extremely extensive drive, the turnpike is surrouned by lush, green, trees and bushes. This road...hello nothingness. I was reading one minute, and the next minute, I happened to look out the window to realize the nothingness. Beautiful Nothingness. 

    We were surrounded by the desert. Having just finished The Alchemist again for the fifth time, I immediately felt like I had been thrown into the story. In this story, there is a shepherd boy searching for his treasure. He travels far and wide all through various different climates and countries, but the majority of the book takes place in the desert. While I have always loved the book (I mean, I have read it five times and still, everytime I find something new and fantastic in it), it did not truly hit my heart until that drive through the desert. You see, for those who have not read it, the shepherd boy realizes that he always had his treasure and it was always simply present. Suddenly, I realized, like he had realized, my truest desire in the world. 

    Perhaps I have written about it before, perhaps not. In my heart, there has always been this desire for nothing. Now some of you might say, why would an English major state it that way as opposed to I have never desired anything? Well, you see, the two statements are extremely different. I have never NEVER desired anything; every human heart desires something. My heart has always desired nothing, or rather, nothingness. It is not a poverty, but rather an extreme richness. But how can one desire nothing? 

    Think about the desert. If you have never seen one (and I had never seen one until just this past week), google an image. Look at the wide horizon of NOTHING. There is only sand. Every so often, one will come across an oasis, but more than not, there is nothing but sand, sand, sand and some sun. As we were driving through the desert, I watched the minutes of nothingness pass by my window. Deep down inside, I found this desire for that nothingness. The desert is full of the bare minimum. I stared out the window and imagined myself simply standing in the middle of the desert: just me and absolute nothing else but sand. There were no houses, no animals, no cars, no walkways. NOTHING. The desire grew and grew with each passing moment, that is, this desire I have always had. 

    I fell asleep to a dream-like image of me with nothing but the clothes on my back and a backpack filled with necessities. So often, I want to throw my hands up in the air and let go of every single thing that posesses me including things, places and people. I imagined just letting go of everything I have ever owned, or what had ever had hold over me. I wanted nothing to hold me down so that I could fully do Gods work, what He wants of me. If I am posessed by places or people, I can never do His work completely. For example, if I had a fear of leaving my beloved home of Croydon, I would never had made it to Jamaica, Peru or even Immaculata. And imagine all the people I never would have met. But for a greater example, if I could never leave my family, while I love them so dearly, I could never enter a religious community. They say, what you give up, you are given tenfold in return. And is that not the truth. Every single time I give up what I am so blessed to have in my comfortable home, like family, I am given tenfold in return. Every where I go, I gain new family members, new sisters, new brothers, new mothers, new fathers. Of course, for my family reading this, NO ONE CAN EVER REPLACE YOU. But, if I could never let go, I would never be as blessed as I am. 

    I have always felt this desire to let go of everything, to let my heart be posessed by this nothingness like the desert. Because if I have nothingness, then I can only be filled with more. Imagine like this: you have a glass of water, half full. You do not want to drink it for fear that you will never have anything to drink again. A waiter comes around with a silver pitched and asks if you want more to drink, but he can only fill your cup if it is empty first. Not wanting to drink the water, for fear that there is nothing in the pitcher, you deny the waiters offer and continue to sit, with your half full glass of water. A few moments later, you realize that the waiter has been filling others glasses with the most delicious of wines. Even if the waiter had been able to fill your cup with the water in it, the water would have diluted the wine and decreased its value. Because you were fearful to let go of the water, you missed out on the blessing of the best wine. Your heart is like that. Jesus only wants to fill us with good things, but if we cannot first empty our hearts and possess nothingness, we cannot be filled. Jesus will fill our hearts despite the things we hold onto, but those things dilute the blessings. This is how I have always felt. I want my heart to be an empty glass so Jesus can fill me with good things. Nothingness, like the desert.

    I awoke from my "sleep" the moment we hit the dirt road that lead us to Barranca. In fact, I flew off the seat. Where on earth are we? my human senses asked. And then I saw the houses, the motortaxis, the school and fell in love. THIS IS WHAT MY HEART HAS ALWAYS DESIRED. The nothingness of the poor, because as much as they do not have, they are filled with happiness that the rich cannot possess. We were so blessed to walk around the school and meet the children of Fe Y Alegría. I was even able to do basic math with the first graders (thank God I know my numbers in Spanish). Hugs and kisses were given all over the place and the children, despite not knowing a word of English understood. The sisters, by their very example, increased my desire to love and serve the poor, with my heart of nothingness. In fact, within a half hour, I had already told Sister Teresa Catherine, I was staying. She, of course, said that I had probably said that everywhere I have gone in Perú. But no, I told her, this is it. This place, this beautiful place, is the very desire of my soul. I stood on the patio, watching the children, being a recipient of so much love, and just knew in my heart, that the desert had spoken to my soul so truthfully. I have a heart MADE for nothingness. I have a heart made for nothingness so that I can love each and every soul, whether rich or poor, with the fullest of capacities. Yes, I know I am made for this. 

Who Am I? - A Reflection on the Visitation

"How does this happen to me,

 that the Mother of my Lord should come to visit me?"

- Luke 1: 39-56

    I found myself, yet again, sitting in the Chapel here in EIC, Peru. A few sisters were out and about visiting Montenegro for the 25th Anniversary of the school and so, the entire right side was empty except for me. Like usual, I was a few minutes early to Chapel when suddenly Sister Antonieta came over to me and asked me to move my seat closer to the altar. The Sisters here pray the Office inside of Mass and so, that meant I would be carrying the right side for prayers with Father. This would have been no problem, except for one thing: I cannot read Spanish for the life of me. And just when I thought I was on the right page, I wasnt. That was when Sister came over again to tell me it was the Feast of the Visitation! HOW PERFECT! I thought. Actually, it might have been PERFECTO! You see, my spanglish is getting better and better day by day!

    As I sat listening to the readings, I did not need to know Spanish in order to understand. These readings were some I had long ago memorized because of their beauty. I listened and reflected as Father proclaimed Elizabeths surprise at the arrival of her cousin Mary, pregnant with Jesus, the Lord. I heard in my heart: WHO AM I THAT THE MOTHER OF MY SAVIOR SHOULD COME TO ME? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? It just echoed over and over and over in my heart until finally it hit me: Elizabeth was the COUSIN of Mary, so, of course, they would have a visit. But yet, she was humbled. Now, I was not hearing Elizabeth proclaim WHO AM I but rather my own heart. WHO AM I, meager Becca Gutherman, that the MOTHER OF MY JESUS should protect, should visit me, should open her heart to me, should guide me, should be there as my own mother? Seriously, WHO AM I? Like so many times, I felt humbling tears in my eyes as I realized this experience Elizabeth had set for us so many years ago. Elizabeth was SHOCKED and HUMBLED at the sight of Mary that even the infant in her womb (John) leapt for joy. I, myself, should be leaping with joy at the very notion and idea that MARY is with me ALWAYS! And yet, how many times I have taken this for granted. I do not leap for joy, but rather merely acknowledge my Mother. But that is not all!

     After Elizabeth proclaims the greatness of the visitation, Mary continues the conversation with her now famous Magnificat. This has been my favorite "Mary Prayer" for as long as I can remember. "My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God, my Savoir," she proclaims. "He has looked with favor on His lowly servant." Yes, because it is my favorite, I can, like so many other Catholic prayers, recite the Magnificat. But that would mean nothing if I did not feel anything when I prayed it. Every time I experience such a beautiful work of God in my life, I feel like Mary in this moment. My soul literally feels as if it will take off and fly because it is so joyful, so rejoicing, so grateful to God. Every. Single. Time. I feel as if God has looked with favor on His lowly servant. Because, truly WHO AM I that God should bless me so greatly. I am a sinner, I have my faults, I make mistakes and yet, still, God continues to bless me over and over and over again. Not a single one of us is worthy of the goodness God bestows on us, myself very much included. I know I do not deserve the great blessings God has given me, especially my time here in Perú. My mind cannot fathom this greatness and continuously, I feel as if I should fall on my knees to praise God unceasingly. But then I remember, that when I wake up each morning and say to God, today my life is Yours, I can praise God through my actions. Yet, as much as I do through my actions, God blesses me even more. WHO AM I that God should bless this lowly servant? My soul will continue to proclaim and praise God for all of this. 

      All my time here in Peru, I have been asking: WHO AM I? WHO AM I that God should bless me with such beautiful experiences with the sisters, the people, the students, the love? WHO AM I that I should go to bed each night content with the day, content in the stomach, content in the mind, content in the heart? WHO AM I that I should walk around with a smile each day? WHO AM I to be moved to tears at the sound of little children blessing the Blessed Virgin Mary? WHO AM I that I should receive much hugs and love from "my CSA girls"? WHO AM I that I should receive such guidance and prayers from my sisters here in Perú? WHO AM I that I should be so blessed? WHO AM I that the Mother of my Savior should not only visit me but be with me each and every step of my journey through life? WHO AM I that my heart be blessed with the very presence of Jesus? WHO AM I but a lowly servant of the Lord? 

      In the past few days, the presence of devotion to Mary has been overwhelming through various May Processions and feast days. Music has always been my highest form of prayer and so when I was so blessed with a song sheet during the CSA Primary May Procession, my heart was overwhelmed. Listening to the many little voices of the children singing and singing praise to Mary rejuvenated my devotion and my questioning of WHO AM I? One song in particular: Junto A Ti Maria, sums it all up for me. While it is a Spanish hymn, in English it sings: make us humble and simple like you. Mother, mother, mother, mother. WHO AM I but a lowly servant of the Lord?