High Reared Upon Thy Noble Hill

"Everytime you smile at someone, 

it is an action of love, 

a gift to that person, 

a beautiful thing."

- Mother Teresa

     There are days when I absolutely dread going to Immaculata, like on days when I have a final, or when I have to give a huge presentation. But even on those days, walking across back campus can always remind my face to smile. Maybe someone said hello, someone gave me a hug, or I just happened to look up at the dome but regardless, even on those days I dread the most, IU always reminds me why I choose it: it's all around absolute beauty. Yesterday, however, wasn't a day that I was dreading traveling to IU. In fact, I was more than excited to be going home to the dome, even if only it was for a visit. It always seems on days like that, when I am more than excited to be going home to the dome, I drive faster there and slower on my drive back to Croydon.

     Right after Mass at my parish, I jumped in the car to begin the journey back to the Noble Hill of IU. I found myself belting out country music songs at the top of my lungs with the windows down all the way to school. You could easily say I was in my happy place. This was especially true when my favorite station started playing some Zac Brown Band. As I cruised down the turnpike visions of my friends and cookouts danced in my head. Of course, I couldn't wait to visit some of my favorite Sisters. 

    I parked my car and immediately went to check in with Sister Cathy...but she was a nun missing in action. So I left her a package and went on my way to the Motherhouse. I left some presents in various mailboxes and had such beautiful conversations with my Sisters there. We talked about everything from Peru to coming back to school. Without a doubt, they always know how to put a smile on my face. I may dread going to work for the amount of homework I have to get done, but without a doubt, they always make it worth it for me. Whether they come just to chat or they come in for business, when I am beyond that desk at work, I'm smiling because they make it worth it for me. If I ever need a pick me up, I go to visit the nuns and the Motherhouse Sisters definitely set the beautiful precedent to a wonderful day yesterday for me. I spent a little over an hour there in the office conversing and hugging and catching up with "My Girls." I wouldn't have had it any other way. 

    After my adventures there, I headed back over to school for our NSO BBQ. It was so great to see a good amount of my friends just to eat, kick back and chat. We laughed, joked around and had the good eats but before we knew it, we were breaking up the party. Some were starting vacations, others had long drives home and still others had good plans for the weekend. As for me, I still had a lot of visiting to do. 

     When we finished our get together, I found myself walking down the familiar road to another familiar place: Camilla Hall. I had a mission and that was to sneak in some brownies and cookies to Sister Marie. Of course, Lord knows she probably shouldn't eat them, but she was going to. I knew that if she was at home, she would eat the brownies I made for the Sisters in her house anyway. And so, I successfully snuck in her treats and found myself chatting away with this dearheart for almost two hours. Sister Marie had been such a mentor to my little sister, Lizzie, during her first year at her new school. I definitely accredit this woman with all of Lizzie's success in adjusting to St. Charles and I don't think she will ever know how grateful I am to her. Whenever I would see her at school, she would always be so excited and welcoming to see me. I couldn't help but feel right at home with her. And now that she has moved, I can't hide my excitement that I might get to see her a little more than usual.

     While we were talking, so much of my personal philosophy was reiterated. Camilla is a place I love so much, perhaps as much as I love the Motherhouse, but maybe a little more. Whenever I step foot in the front door, I am greeted with a smile and there are just so many Sisters there who have hugs ready. The Sisters there definitely remind me why I want to do what I want to do, that is, what God is calling me to do. In these Sisters, especially in Sister Marie, I see a life so ecstatic even now after they have served in so many various ways. They are still smiling, they are still completely in love with God and they are, beyond all other things, one hundred percent human. I simply love them all so much and I cannot wait to be one hundred percent a part of their joy. 

    I could hardly believe I spent almost two hours just talking with Sister Marie. We brought up so many topics and it was so easy to talk with her.Of course, toward the end of our conversation, I found myself almost in tears as we talked about the dignity of human life. So often, when we think of Pro-Life issues within our church, immediately our minds go toward the dignity of the unborn child. Believe me, I am such an advocate for the sanctity of that life, I also truly believe that our elderly are forgotten. As I told Sister Marie, I feel that our elderly, especially our older Sisters, are forgotten by the outside world, especially if they can no longer communicate as well as they used to or are bedridden. Yet for me, those are the Sisters I feel so connected with; I have a soft spot in my heart for them. I love stopping in their rooms, just to say a prayer or two for them or with them, or just to sit and hold their hands. That, for me, is life-giving. They have given so much, and through them, I am encouraged to plow through, to persist this religious life. They give me hope. As I was speaking this to Sister Marie, I found my eyes welling with tears because of the truth. I promised her I would visit often once I got back to school and we could engage in many more heart to hearts. Oh what a joy it is to have such a friend in a Camilla Sister. 

     After my visit to Camilla, I headed on through the grotto as I anticipated the arrival of my long lost Peruvian Sister, Lauren. We hadn't seen each other since the day we arrived back in the States from our lovely excursion to South America and it was long past time to catch up. We headed down the Noble Hill to a little place called Mi Pais which specializes in South American dishes. Of course, we sat down and immediately wanted empanadas. We sat in our little booth, surrounded by Peruvian artifacts and art, for almost two hours (two is the magic number today) and enjoyed all the food we ate. Oh wow was it perfect. We looked through the pictures, we reminisced and laughed so hard. We proposed a trip back next Summer and you can bet your bottom dollar, it will happen. 

    We had one final stop while at the Noble Hill and that was to beckon Sister Cathy down from her room for a visit. The dear lady obliged and we continued our stories of Peru. But oh, is there so much more to tel her. But we showed her the pictures and laughed even more as we shared our adventure with her. Laughing with Sister Cathy could easily be one of my most favorite things to do in all the world. I find myself, each time, wanting to stay and laugh or share some more. She has, in the past three years, become more than a mentor to me. It seems so ironic to me that we live life so fully without knowing which people will touch our lives and then when a person, like Sister Cathy, touches our life in such a way, we wonder how we ever lived so fully without them. That's how I feel with Sister Cathy; how could I have ever lived life without her. And yet, I know God truly had a plan when He blessed me with her. 

     Our hug goodbye was bittersweet and I found myself wishing I told her one thing or another about Peru or about life in general. I am so used to seeing her every day during school that during the summer time, I find myself often wishing I could run across Back Campus to her office to share whatever it is I need to. Sometimes I feel like she is my open diary, but alas, God always has a plan and we are always exactly where we need to be at every moment in time. Oh gosh, I miss her already. She sent us off on our way after inspecting our nun cars and before I knew it, I was on my way back home. However, in the rear view mirror was the most beautiful sunset I had seen in awhile. As if I couldn't tell at any moment during my day, my adventure at the Noble Hill was certainly a blessed one. 

    I can honestly say that on any given day at the Noble Hill, one of the greatest reminders of why I choose that place for school, is because of the Sisters. Without them, Immaculata would just be any other school for me. But with them, they make it perfect. They keep me on track, they keep me smiling, they keep me in prayer and they give me the encouragement to keep on keeping on. Even on the roughest days, when I think that I could easily just give up on this discernment, they are right there beyond me, especially my dear Sister Cathy, subtly reminding me that there is more to this life than that which meets the eye. There is more to this religious life that outweighs any heartache or trouble within. Yes, that's the truth. Because without their very human example, I would probably have thrown in the towel. Yes, I think I am beginning to know the reason behind why God wanted me at Immaculata. It is here that I have met some of the strongest people I know and I am so blessed. Oh yes, so blessed being high upon this noble hill. 

     

It All Comes Down to the Hart of the Matter

"I have struggled with this call to vocation all my life.

I can understand why people have doubts, because who understands God?

I don't."

- Mother Dolores Hart

    We've all seen those famous movie stars become nuns: Whoopi Goldberg as Sister Mary Clarence in Sister Act, Rosalind Russell as Mother Superior in The Trouble With Angels, Audrey Hepburn as Sister Luke in The Nun's Story and of course, my favorite, Julie Andrews as Maria in the Sound of Music. Famous women in Hollywood taking on roles of Sisters and Nuns for Hollywood purposes. While no one can really be sure why, Sisters and Nuns tend to show up in random comedy movies and documentaries. I could think of a number of reasons why Hollywood chooses to produce movies and films about Sisters and Nuns but quite honestly I think the real reason is this: Unless you are a Sister, the movie viewer, no matter how Catholic he or she is, has no idea what being a religious really is like. I can admit myself, that as much as I know about the Sisters and their lifestyle, there is no knowing for sure what the religious life is all about until one finally joins a community. And so, because we as lay people have no idea, we try to portray what we think or how we assume convent or monastery life is lived. Sometimes it is a close depiction, other times it's pretty far off. Regardless, perhaps writing screenplays about Sisters and Nuns and other religious is Hollywood's attempt to give knowledge of the unknown. Last night, I had the most awesome opportunity to listen to and meet Mother Dolores Hart. Unlike Whoopie, Rosalind, Audrey and Julie, Mother Dolores, after acting as St. Clare (a religious nun) in a film, actually took a further step and entered a community of Benedictines in Connecticut. She took her role as a nun to a whole new level.

    We were supposed to meet at Our Mother of Consolation Parish in Chestnut Hill. I had no idea where that was or how I was going to get there. I didn't know the area well, and was surprised when my GPS told me to take the turnpike instead of 95. Although, after traveling back and forth to Philly every day this week on 95, I was grateful for the change in commute. My GPS sweetly mentioned : destination on right. I was having trouble believe it, but lo and behold, as I turned the corner, there in the distance was a group of lovely ladies dressed in blue. I laughed to myself: I know I'm in the right place when I see the nuns. I parked my car, met Sister Kim in the parking lot and then walked in. All hopes of remaining unnoticed were shattered when immediately we were greeted with "Sister, your Sisters are up front." That was no understatement...there they were in the front rows. 

     The next few moments were spent catching up with each other as it had been such a long time since I had seen the Motherhouse Sisters. We laughed and shared stories, until someone mentioned that Mother Dolores was not on IHM time. What exactly is IHM time, because as far as I knew, according to my internal IHM clock, Mother Dolores was right on time. Before I could comprehend what was happening before me, this little, tiny, maybe five foot tall nun dressed in a black and white habit made her way across the altar. How precious! was all I could say. She looked straight out of a fairy tale!

     The first thing she mentioned was that she had been wondering what to actually speak about that night. How she started telling us though really spoke to my heart, especially with what happened right after. She said, "Most of you are probably wondering why. Why did I, a famous Hollywood actress, decide to give up everything for the cloister life? Why would I become a nun?" She left a few moments for the audience to think, to wonder, to imagine. For the most part, it was quiet. However, as I was sitting with a fairly large group of lovely IHM ladies in blue, I heard a mumble amongst them that said, Oh I know why. It's the same reason for all of us. I'm not quite sure who said it, but I had to laugh. Suddenly I realized, I knew, too. No, none of us sitting there were once famous, we didn't have Hollywood at our every beck and call, but the Sisters among us gave up so much for this life and I am finding myself doing the same as I prepare for the big step that will happen sooner or later. While we might not have the same exact story as Mother Dolores, we all knew why she was sitting there before us, not as a movie star, but as a religious nun. The rest of the audience might not have known, but we, we knew. 

      As I was sitting there, listening to Mother Dolores speak, I couldn't help but wish my friends were there with me. I had invited them but it was too late notice for them. I was bummed because I knew they would love her story as much as I did. I texted them when I got home telling them how much I had wished they had been there and in googling some more of Mother's story, I found out she was speaking at another close-by Parish. So, I called the girlies up and the next night I found myself and three of my good friends sitting in a pew listening to Mother Dolores, me for the second time and them for the first.

     She didn't start her talk out the same way, but she did reiterate what she had began to say the night before. This time, instead of stating that most people wonder why on earth she would do such a thing, she asked if everyone knew what it felt like to be in love. We were surrounded by married couples and religious sisters and priests and some young people, too. More or less, except for those youngins, nodded, spoke amongst themselves and agreed with Mother. She then said that for her, when she went to Regina Laudis Monastery, she felt the same fire of love for this lifestyle just as she would if she had fallen in love with a man. Many people were in awe but just as the night before, the sisters were all shaking their heads, nodding in agreement; they knew, they knew exactly the fire she was speaking about. 

     I smiled as my friends engulfed this notion. For me, ever since I really started openly discerning, I have tried subtly to show people how awesome and normal sisters are compared to regular everyday people. Whether I had invited them to a pick-up softball game, to the movies, or just to dinner, my friends slowly got to understand that these sisters I was so fascinated with were just regular people with an extraordinary calling. I had invited my friends last night to see Mother Dolores not only because I knew they would enjoy the spirituality aspect, but also because I wanted them to hear and understand another Sister's story. I believe that our stories are so important, and even Mother Dolores spoke about that. She said that our roots define us, that we should be proud of where we come from, because it is that that God starts planting the seeds for our future. I had invited my friends so that they, too, could understand what it was about this fire that ignites the soul and invites it to live for Jesus and only for Him. 

    As her talk went on, I found myself reflecting on my own firey soul. This week I have been blessed to teach pre-8th graders with some of my IHM Sisters down at St. Joe's Prep. One of the things we really focused on in all our classes was the importance of St. Ignatius' words "Go forth and set the world on fire." How awesome that Mother spoke about the fire. We cannot set the world on fire, if we ourselves are not on fire with the love of God. So often, that's how I feel I truly live out my vocation, that is, my mission in life to love. I see myself as a literal fire. At some moments in my life, I am simply a small fire, setting aflame the kindling in the fire pit. But at other times, I am a loud, roaring fire setting aflame logs and many other things. I recalled the first time I started recognizing the fire in my soul, the fire that whispered with ever crackle, "love Me, devote your life to Me, give Me your life." I found myself knowing exactly what Mother was speaking about. I knew why she had entered the religious life, because I, too, am doing the same for the same reason: we had each fallen in love with something so different, so out of this world, that there is nothing else we can do except accept His proposal.

     After the talk, I introduced myself to some IHM Sisters that were casually idling by Mother Dolores. I told them that I attend their University and felt that I should say hello, introduce myself, get know where they were from and who they were. While this conversation was taking place, some of my Nazareth Sisters came behind me to give me kisses on the cheek before they headed out the door. Quickly I introduced the Sisters to each other explaining how I seemingly know all the nuns everywhere. We all laughed and then quickly got on our ways. 

     As I drove home, my three good friends in tow, we chatted about Mother and all she had to say. We were stopped at one of the many, many, many street lights on Street Road, when Sara who was riding shotgun happened to notice nuns in the car next to us. She screamed, "NUNS! Our NUNS!" Frantically, the girls all started waving and shouting but the Sisters, all four of them, kept their eyes ahead. I explained the whole custody of the eyes ordeal to the girlies and we had a good laugh. I knew, however, we were headed in the same direction and would probably be trailing each other all the way up the street. So, the girlies kept up their devotion to getting the sisters' attention. Finally, they did. Of course, I said to them after the fact that we were noticed, "Oh great, now they will totally be judging my driving." I was right, the sisters had followed us all the way home. At one point, Sister who was driving the car, pulled into the lane next to me. All of the sisters now were so excited to see us and were waving just as frantically as we were. Suddenly, Sister started inching forward. Sara then jokingly said, "I think she just challenged you to a drag race." We laughed, of course, because our drag race consisted of us doing 35 mph down the side streets of Philadelphia, trying NOT to get in an accident.

     And so, our nights listening to and meeting Mother Dolores Hart were eventful (as anything is in my life) and truly, she brought me back into my own reflective spirit. What I said in the beginning, is true. Mother Dolores spoke at length about the mystery of falling in love with Jesus and the religious life. While many of the lay people in the audiences merely shook their heads respectively, the sisters in the audiences knew exactly what she was talking about. Today, we find so often we try and try and try to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes men and women enter this religious life, but unless one has truly experienced it him or herself, you don't know, you simply can't. But Mother put it so kindly, just as how many of us wonder how on earth you fell in love with your husband or wife, many question the religious. But just as you did marry that questionable husband or wife, we entered religious life. There is just something about it that captures our souls forever and we fall in love. And so, truly what Mother taught us all or reiterated in us, is that finding your vocation, finding out your true calling, all comes down to the Hart of the matter. 

There's Always The Kitchen Sink

"The ocean is a baffling element.

I can walk safely on it's shores, caressed by the sands

and yet, if I were to throw my cares to the sea, 

the waves bring them right back again."

Ignore the fact that I look twelve in this picture...
Cape May Lighthouse 2013

     Contrary to former belief, my littlest sister, Lizzie, is not always a saint. Sometimes she can drive me crazy, sometimes she can get on my last nerve, and sometimes she can be the sweetest, cutest, nine-year old I know. What I love (and at the same time dislike) is that she shows her emotions to the full. If she's mad, she stomps her feet all throughout the house while the rest of us are yelling "control your temper, young lady." If she's happy, she'll giggle and laugh and tell the same story over and over and over again. If she's sad, she cries. And not just little tears either, buckets and buckets of sobs. If she's hungry (which is definitely an emotion in my family), she will conjure up the most creative, interesting meal possible with the widest array of items in our kitchen. Of course, this means climbing over and in things which usually results in a huge mess. While her foot stomping, bucket sobbing, and kitchen mess making antics might actually drive one crazy (and most often it does), I can't help but look at her and say, "Wow, I wish I was that comfortable in my own skin to fully express myself."

     The other day, my family and I decided to take a drive down to Cape May. Of course, if you don't have EZ Pass, driving across the bridge, down the Atlantic City Expressway and then down the Garden State can be quite the piggy bank breaker. So, I decided to take the fam down a different route. Of course, I wasn't driving, I was just casually reading my novel in the front seat. You see, my Dad has an incredible sense of direction. So, I guess I kind of assumed that once we got over the bridge, he would know exactly where we were and how we were going to get to Cape May. Well he didn't and a normal 1.5-2 hour drive turned into a 3 hour drive. 

     My sisters were snuggled together in the back seat for most of the ride. We had left at 8:30 which was entirely too early for any normal school kid. When we finally hit the 2.5 hour mark on our trip, suddenly the back seat was full of "Are we there yet?" I couldn't help but laugh, because deep down inside all I wanted was to get out and get on the beach. ASAP. But as we pulled into Cape May County, the skies opened up and it started raining. And when it rains down the shore, it rains cats and dogs. Luckily for me, I had pulled my hair back into two french braids. A rainy day for a curly top is horrible. Talk about looking like you got electrocuted. Anyway, so we parked the car at the lighthouse, I put on my EIC hat (EIC, folks, is the school I lived at in Peru Escolar Inmaculado Corazon) and donned my pink and yellow windbreaker/raincoat. Of course, this than made me appear as a twelve year old instead of a twenty-one year old. We climbed the 199 steps in the lighthouse and the moment Lizzie saw the beach (she hadn't realized we were right there....), she got so excited that she would NOT stop badgering us until she was in the ocean.

     Well, like I said, it was raining, cats and dogs, and wasn't exactly what one would call beach weather. It wasn't even 80 degrees out. (SIDENOTE: When we were younger, we weren't allowed in the pool unless it was 80 degrees. You can only imagine the tactics we had for getting the thermometer up to 80 degrees.) We all had our bathing suits on but really it was too muggy for us even to want to go in the water. Well, all of us except Lizzie. We left the lighthouse and pulled into Sunset Beach, the very tip of New Jersey. We were standing on the rocky beach in the rain and before we knew it, there was Liz, throwing her clothes on the rocks (to get soaked) and in the water. DO NOT we all screamed. But it was too late, she was already thigh high in the water. 

     We probably would have stayed a little longer if the winds hadn't picked up and our stomachs weren't growling. So, we had a misadventure at Wawa before driving through Wildwood to get pictures by the Wildwood sign and then onto Stone Harbor. By the time we got to Stone Harbor, the rains had stopped and it looked like the sun might actually try to come out. As we walked along the beach, the temperature warmed but I had distracted Lizzie by finding lots of seashells, crabs and even a dead jellyfish. Still, it was too foggy to go in the water, even if it was warming up. 

     Lizzie had gotten herself so perked up about going in the water that ever since Cape May, she kept asking when she could go swimming. None of us had the heart to tell her that we probably would not be going swimming that day. We got back in the car and that's when the tears starting pouring. And they weren't silent tears, they came with the sound of a little girl's broken heart. She cried and sobbed and sometimes screamed the whole way out of stone harbor and over the bridge. That's when I had an idea...the Zoo.

     The Cape May County Zoo is literally ten minutes out of Stone Harbor and I thought it would be a fantastic way to get her sidetracked. It seemed to work; she was zooming around to see every animal, sometimes almost knocking us out of the way. I thought to myself, how clever, she'll never remember. That was until we got to the last exhibit in the zoo. It was there that she said: Daddy, now, can we go in the ocean?! She had wanted to get through all the animals just so she could speed up her time on the beach. Clever little girl, veeeeeeery clever. 

     Well, like all of us, she is also a Daddy's little girl and as much as we might drive Daddy crazy, we all know we have Daddy wrapped around our fingers. It's good way, of course; we're definitely not spoiled. But out of his love and affection, we jumped in the car once again and drive through the next few ocean view towns until we finally landed ourselves in Strathmere. Strathmere is a little town I had never actually heard of before but immediately I fell in love with it. We parked the car and unloaded the trunk. Lizzie was already well on her way to the ocean before we even set the blanket down. I wanted so badly to get in the water, but it was way too cold. So, I settled myself down by where the water meets the shore and watched as the baby clams rolled in and out of the sand. 

     About a half hour later, I found myself staring at the water from the comfort of my own blanket. The beach was pretty empty as it was almost 5 in the afternoon and so it was quiet and peaceful. Even though I was with my family, I easily made personal space for myself. I still had my EIC hat on and immediately all the memories of my beach adventures came flooding back. Everything from the one time I fell in a giant sand hole while down the shore with my boyfriend's family, to the time Sister Virginia taught me how to pray from the Life Guard stand in Ocean City to just recently when I was down in Stone Harbor for my birthday and Sister Elaine took me to watch the sunset on the bay. All these beautiful memories came back to me and with the waves went right back out. As I sat and reflected, tears filled up in the my eyes. The ocean is more than a memory to me; it's a part of me. The sands, the shells, the rocks, the fish, the very water itself is all a part of me. When I am near the ocean, I feel complete and when I am far away, something is missing terribly. 

     I tell the story of my little sister, not so as to embarrass her but rather because if I didn't have as much control over my emotions, I would probably throw a fit every time I needed the ocean. She put into visual format what I was feeling when we were driving away from the beach each time. The ocean is such a part of me as it brings so much peace to my mind. It says to me, as big as your troubles or confusions are, I am bigger. The ocean is my God. God is my ocean. I can easily swim in the ocean of God's peace. Just as the ocean is bigger than all my worries and thoughts, God is bigger. My little sister put into view what my heart has been going through in the past few weeks. Happiness and yet pain, joy and sorrow, being pulled in every direction. I just needed to ocean to be able to focus again. As I sat on the beach, on my red blanket, staring off into the ocean, I had a desire for someone to be there with me. I wanted so badly to be able to share that moment with someone who understood all the trials AND jubilations that religious life offers. I thought how beautiful it would be if suddenly anyone of my Sisters were to just walk out on the beach and meet me there, to tell me it will actually be all okay and while the troubles do come, the jubilations are bigger, like the ocean is bigger, like my God is bigger. But alas, I was alone....well, not really. No, in fact, I was far from alone. I had my God, I had my family and I had the memories of some many times in the past. I was far, far, far from feeling alone. 

     As we left the ocean, Lizzie smiled on satisfactorily. She had finally gotten what she had been longing for for a very long time. I looked on through my side view windows at the ocean shrinking behind me and thought two things. First, that I had a feeling I might find myself at the waters edge many times this up coming school year. And two, oh how I would love to live by the ocean. That anywhere I live, I sure hope there is some type of water nearby. But since, in the convent, one doesn't always get what she wants, I guess, if I'm ever in dire need of a body of water, there's always the kitchen sink. 

Dashboard Jesus At The Wheel

"I feel bad when I see a priest or a nun with the latest car.

This cannot be! Maybe you need one to move around for work

but get one that is more humble."

- Pope Francis 

    As some of you may know, I just recently inherited my own set of wheels. Shout out to my awesome Mommom and Poppop for that one! I've had my license for four years this August but until this Summer, I had been riding around in style in the red mom van. I was infamous for the mom van, especially on road trips with my friends. I mean who else could drive all her friends around in one car?! And so, while the surprise of inheriting a car was fantastic, moving from the mom van was bittersweet. I've officially had this "new" car for just about a month now and slowly but surely I am making it mine. One of the first things I did, however, was stick my Dashboard Jesus right smack in the middle of the dash. 

    About two weeks ago, as you might recall, I was helping out at CREW 2013. It is seriously something I look so forward to every year and I couldn't wait for it to begin. Of course, I think I learned more about cars in the few days of CREW than I had in any Driver's Ed class or behind the wheel. You see, the week was car-themed. So, we reflected on the idea of the Rear-View Mirror, the brakes and even AAA. I don't believe in coincidences, I believe in God-Winks and so, it didn't come as any surprise that I had literally, two weeks prior, inherited a new set of wheels. And boy, have they really been coming in handy. 

   Post and Pre CREW, I had the awesome experience of driving a bunch of my Sisters here and there. Maybe it was an ice cream date or a lunch date or even a chauffeur to home. Regardless, suddenly, it seems, my Big Sisters finally trust me behind the wheel. Regardless, the wheel has been in my hands recently and that's really no big deal. Before, I would say it would make me super nervous to drive the Sisters, but now, no problem. Especially with the help of Dashboard Jesus. He not only is there to watch over me, but He is a great conversationalist. One sister got in the car and immediately started laughing. This later resulted in her reenacting Dashboard Jesus to the CREW girls. Another Sister got in the car and immediately started dancing. Jesus was dancing, she said, and that was a huge reflection for her during retreat. Of course, another Sister, being the realist that she is, asked what He was doing with His hands. His hands are open, pointing toward Heaven reminding me that I am always being looked upon from Heaven. 

    Okay so maybe Dashboard Jesus is a little ridiculous, but at least when I look out in a parking lot, my very common Ford Taurus sticks out. Of course, many of my friends have already joked that the Ford Taurus, while very appropriate as my sign is a Taurus, looks very much like a nun car. And even more so because it has Dashboard Jesus. But this statement got me thinking: what exactly constitutes something as a nun car? When I got back in the car this morning after Mass, I found I had left the radio on (a bad habit I will probably never be able to knock...at least it's not the lights). On the radio was the typical 92.5 xtu Philadelphia Country Radio Station. One little known fact about me is that I love country music, more than any other genre probably. This may be because country songs have so much meaning, depth and devotion to emotion in them. But it is most likely because I have always been a country girl at heart. 

     So this country girl at heart saddled up, turned the dial down a little and put the car in drive. As I was driving through Bristol, the morning show talk hosts were discussing what type of car Jesus would drive. I never actually thought about this notion, despite the fact that if Jesus was walking the earth now, He would most definitely need a car. Instantly my creative mind went crazy. If Jesus drove a car...hmmm....my go to car for humble people, the rusty, red, old pick-up truck. It's simple, it's real, it's afforable, it's got good gas mileage and it putters around so everyone knows it's coming. I imagined Jesus with a cowboy hat, tapping the wheel with one hand and the other hand out the window. Of course, Jesus wouldn't be smoking, but He'd be eying up the crops, wondering who was going to help Him harvest. Jesus was a harvester, so in my mind, a farmer in some sense and He had to have a farming truck to get around. Plus, it's the type of car I have always dreamed about. 

     However, if we were being reasonable, Jesus wouldn't be driving a truck. You see, there's only room for two more people in a pick-up truck, unless you filled the bed up. So, if we were really thinking about this, Jesus would most likely drive a fifteen passenger work van like we do when we're in New Orleans. Why? Well, He did have twelve apostles after all and we can't forget about the ladies in His life: Mary Magdalene and his mother, who definitely rode shotgun. So, He would most definitely need those fifteen seats. I imagine He'd use this work van whenever He was out with His disciples. But when He needed to retreat to the mountain or something, He'd take His rusty, red, old pick-up truck with His dashboard filled with bobble heads of those He loves: a dashboard Becca and a dashboard Maria and a dashboard Frankie and a dashboard everyone. 

    While I was imagining all of this, I sort of tuned out to the real message behind the discussion. But after I finished laughing at myself, I realized the Talk Show hosts were discussing Pope Francis' call for humility in even the cars we drive. Jesus wouldn't drive a Cadillac so why do so many priests and sisters drive fancy cars? Wow, what a good perspective, Francis. I was reminded once again why I love our new Pope so much. Not only is he right on the money for humility, poverty and simplicity, but he also has everyone talking about him: Catholics, Protestants, non-denominationalists, everyone. And everyone loves him. I definitely had a smile from ear to ear while listening.

      The conversation ended when someone mentioned that Pope Francis himself drives a simple Ford Focus. Say what?! A Ford? A Ford Focus? Well, I don't drive a Ford Focus, but I think a Ford Taurus is close enough. If the pope can drive a simple car, so can I. Now, I wonder if he has a dashboard Jesus. If not, I might totally mail him one. Kudos, Frannie, Kudos. And keep on living the Gospel!

A Case of the Croydon Crazies

"I live in my own little world, 

but that's okay, they know me here."

- Lauren Myracle

     I can walk around my little town and wave to every person on their front porch or their front lawn and they might not know my name, but they know my face. I have to leave my town to visit any store larger than the corner store or CVS and you know you can't go shopping there. We have three stoplights, yep, just three and a ton of disobeyed stop signs. I could walk to church, but most morning I prefer to drive (especially with this rain) just to feel the wind in my hair. I may have been blessed enough to travel to many foreign countries, learn many new languages, and meet tons of new people, but nothing beats coming home to this small town. Nope, nothing at all. Because this is where I come from, this is the place that built me, this is home. 

    Good old Croydon. You know, we used to have a busted up sign at the end of Cedar Avenue that said, "Welcome to Croydon." For a while it didn't exist but it came back full force. We were known for a few things back in the day. One of them being: Croydon, the location of the most dangerous intersection along Route 13. Another was being known for the city with the most bars on route 13. Finally, one of my personal favorites is being known as the armpit of Bucks County. Now, I'm sure it used to be what the other cool cat cities in Bucks County used to call us because they wanted to belittle us, but let's be honest, I know it's because they were just jealous (and still are). After 21 years of living here, I can say not much has changed. There's still a good amount of bars here, that intersection, while it has had a bit of reconstruction, is still dangerous and people still refer to us as the armpit of Bucks County, but only in retelling tales of their childhood. To be honest, I'm glad Croydon hasn't changed much.

     For a long time, I was so used to people having no idea where Croydon was, or that it even existed. Whenever people would ask where I was from, I was say: Croydon, right outside of Philadelphia. Then I went to Immaculata. The year before I was born, so 22 years ago, the IHMs left our little church and school. However, it still remains a fresh memory in some sisters' minds. Before I could even get out the "right outside of Philadelphia" part, the sisters would be telling me all about how there used to be an IHM Mission there or about how many years sister spent there. This happened in Peru with one dear sister. She immediately told me that she was from my neighbor city, Bensalem. She began telling me story after story about the Crazy Kids from Croydon. I could only laugh....one more thing we were known for. 

     I remember afternoons sitting on Mr. Frat's front lawn only a few years back and listening to stories about how everyone from neighboring cities knew not to miss with the kids from Croydon. I've heard the stories of fights that didn't happen because a Croydon kid stepped in and no one wanted a piece of that. The Sisters who had been stationed at STA back in the day told me that they loved the Croydon kids (and I mean really, who wouldn't) but that they were tough kids. If I hadn't heard Mr. Frat's stories, I never would have believed it. But I guess that's because our toughness came out in a different way when I was a kid. 

     I once had a conversation with one of the sisters at school about where I was from. I had gotten some bad news that particular day and I handled it the only way I knew how, by toughing it up. Of course, I'm a sensitive gal and so toughing it up meant not talking about it. She was worried about me and so she sat me down in her office to chat. I barely said anything for a while, so she did a lot of the talking. But then finally it all came out. Suddenly, in the middle of my story, she asked me where I was from. When I said Croydon, said sighed and said, "Well now it all makes sense." I had appeared as a mystery to many people on campus, especially the sisters. I was a happy go lucky girl who had a Philadelphian accent with a touch of Southern twang (and when I get really mad (which is rare) or really hype about something, you can count on it coming out full force). I smiled at everyone, waved and said hello. I was gentle, but I was also tough. I didn't let things bother me, I shrugged it off. I often spoke my mind in classes and was open about my beliefs. I wore my heart on my sleeve and yet, it was protected by an electric force. None of this about me makes sense unless you know where I am from: Croydon.

     Someone called me the sweetest no nonsense girl she had ever met. What more do you want from me? I'm from Croydon. We do things small here but we do them right. We don't play games, we keep it real. In church on Sunday morning, there's no such thing as quiet. No, from the next block over you can hear the laughter of the brother knights of Columbus or the joyous shouts from all the kids. We don't do the handshake thing here, either, we hug and kiss and say I love you. We are so interconnected that outside people often mistake all the little ones for my little sisters and brothers or all the knights or ladies from the Ladies Auxiliary as my parents. As you've read before, no one really sits with only their immediate family here in church, no we sit with everyone. We love each other, we look out for each other, we have each others' backs. My city, my church, my Croydon family has made me this sweet girl who loves Jesus and America, too.

     We are all products of where we live and who raised us. The saying it takes a village to raise a child certainly applies to me and any Croydon kid. We may have been called the armpit of Bucks County and maybe we don't always have the best of reputations, but I grew up to love this place because it made me who I am. I'm the sweetest no nonsense girl you could ever meet. I love you upon first meeting you, I will love you til the end. But remember, no nonsense. I do have a little tough girl in me somewhere. Sister told me not to be ashamed of where I was from...I never was. She said, whatever you do, don't knock where you're from because that's what made you the great person you are today. I could never knock Croydon because I love this hidden gem of a small town we have going on here. I love that right between Bucks County Ritz and Philly City Streets lies this little gem called Croydon, where everyone knows your name. Truth is, I can't thank God enough for the small town and the people in it, I call family. You done a good job raising me, folks! Maybe I'm just feeling the pride on this good ol' Fourth of July or maybe I just have a perpetual case of the Croydon Crazies. 

Are We Really Human?

"To hurt is as human as it is to breathe."

- J.K. Rowling

"We're all human aren't we? Every human life is worth the same

and worth saving."

- J.K. Rowling

   I absolutely love when my pastor and I are on the same wavelength. What I mean is that I love those days when I am sitting in the pew at Mass, reflecting on the Scriptures and suddenly, when Father starts the Homily it's the same exact thing I was thinking. It takes all of my self-control to resist running up to the altar and high-fiving him. Today, was one of those days.

   When I got asked if I would read at Mass today, I was overjoyed. I read often at school and I had been missing it. However one thing I was not looking forward to was reading the extremely long readings from Genesis. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing the stories of our very beginnings and I think the history behind the whole church is fantastic. The stories of Abram and Sarai cut to the core of my very being. But, I truly feel for the lectors during these days of long church history. However, I got really lucky today as it is the Feast of the Apostle, Thomas. You know, the doubting one. He's the one everyone always gives grief to. Like, Thomas, we didn't need to see JC and we knew it was him. Like Blessed are we (more so than you) 'cus we already knew. Hey Thomas, you just had to stick your hand in His side, didn't you? Just believe already. WOAH! Guys! Please! Give the guy a break!

    It's so true, there is something to be said for those who can truly believe without having to see. But just how as often we say to the child who says her homework is done, "I won't believe it til I see it," we so often say it to God. God says to us, "Good things are on their way," and we only respond, "Well I won't believe it til I see it." The truth is, I like Thomas. I like him a lot. And here's why:

    Thomas wasn't afraid to speak up and say, "I don't believe it til I see it." He wasn't scared to state his doubt. He wasn't afraid to be human. So often we are encouraged to believe without seeing. So often, we are called on to put our faith in something invisible. But rarely are we encouraged to embrace our humanness. Believing without seeing is a practice most can never master. Yes, we may be able to believe in angels and saints. Yes, we may believe in God. But for one to fully believe that God has got this all, that He knows exactly where you are going, without having any signs visible to you, is true mastery. My point is this: yes, we should practice believing without seeing for truly blessed are they who can do so. However, it takes a long time to get to the mastery of such fait. Mastery that even Thomas didn't have.

      What Thomas does for us as fellow followers of Christ is that he allows us to embrace humanness. What does it truly mean to be human? It's a topic I have discussed greatly with so many recently. So often I find that we hide our emotions, our sensitivity, our love, our upsettedness from others. But why? Our emotions are part of what makes us human? Thomas embraced the emotions of fear and doubt. How often do we go through life saying we shouldn't be afraid, or we shouldn't have gotten angry, or we shouldn't have let something get to us the way it did? The truth is, those emotions are what make us human. If we didn't cry, if we didn't get angry, if we didn't fear, we wouldn't be human. Even Jesus cried at the death of Lazarus, he cursed the fig tree out of anger, he questioned what God wanted of Him in the garden the night before His death. He cried, He got angry, He was scared. It's all part of being human. And so, what we really should do instead of disown these beautiful, human emotions we experience, is to change they way we react when we experience them. My fellow humans, embrace those emotions because even Jesus Himself felt them. 

      Another aspect Thomas teaches us about being human is this: the affect physical touch has on a person. I come from an upbringing that involves hugs and kisses galore. You don't walk into the house without a hug or a kiss and you definitely don't leave without either. This has followed me into school thus I often greet my friends with hugs (no kisses...that's just weird) and when I leave them, there's always a hug. Even when I first meet someone, I don't shake their hand, I give them a hug. This may be one of the many reasons I fit in so well in Peru. Anyway...even Jesus knew the importance of human touch. He often didn't heal or perform miracles without first touching the person. Thomas had to touch Jesus to know it was Him. It is natural for humans to desire the touch of another whether it be in the form of a hug or a hand holding. Imagine what would have happened if Thomas didn't touch Jesus or Jesus didn't touch all those whom He did. So many things would be different. The same can be said for us now. When we don't hug or touch even in the smallest way like during the sign of peace, something is missing, an empty hole cannot be filled. We often wonder why we cannot connect with each other and perhaps this is one reason.

     Finally, one very human aspect Thomas teaches us is that as humans we desire to be in relationship with other humans. Shocker. One of the sisters told me yesterday that she has never heard me say that I am not close with someone. It happened because we were out to eat and one of my very close mentors and friends, Wendy, came over to say hello because she just happened to be at the same place.  When she left our table I began to tell Sister Virginia how much Wendy had changed my life. I told her how close we were and how much I still to this day look up to her. When I had finished, Sister Virginia said, "You're close with a lot of people." At first I thought she was going to tell me that perhaps I was too close with too many people, but she told me that it was my mission. And it's true. Ever since I was little I desired to be in deep relation with others. Now that I am older, I know what this means. There's a desire in me to connect with each person I meet. I want to know who they are, why they are, where they are. I want to know them and I want to have relationships with them. That is a very human desire.  When we cannot connect with a person, whether it is someone we have known for a very long time or someone we have just met something goes awry in the system. We instantly feel like something is missing because we cannot connect. Through his desire for connection with Jesus, Thomas needed to not only touch, but speak and see Jesus. And often Jesus felt this same desire for connection. Remember the woman at the well who He simply spoke to? Or the woman who touched His cloak? He demanded to see her to find out who she was so He could know her. 

     There are many reasons to like Thomas. One because my heart always went out to the belittled, but mostly because he truly does show us a very human side to being an apostle of Jesus. The truth is, yes we are called on to truly believe without having to see. But the reality of this human life is that it is difficult to do that. It is so difficult to believe 100% without seeing 0%. It is so human of us to doubt, to doubt anything, to doubt everything. Even I myself doubt. And before I met Thomas, I always felt that I was wrong in doubting. But Thomas and I are good friends now because he has taught me not to discredit my doubting because truly this makes me very, very human. 

Our Lady of the Most Holy Mattress

"Those who dream by day are cognizant of 

many things which escape those who only dream by night."

- Edgar Allan Poe

   Up until Friday night I have spent almost six weeks away from my bed in my bedroom in good ol' Croydon. One might think that any amount of time away from one's bed is a recipe for sleepless nights, but I have been blessed with the ability to sleep anywhere. I can sleep on the plane, in the car, on the train. I can sleep by the pool (sometimes in the pool ON A FLOATATION DEVICE), in the park, on Back Campus, in the grass, on the sand, on a bench, on a picnic blanket. I can sleep at my desk, sitting straight up in a chair, at a table, in a pew, in the middle of a book, in the middle of a movie. I can sleep almost anywhere and be rock solid asleep. In almost any place, the moment I lay my head on a pillow or something to "pillow" my head, I can fall asleep. Ironically enough it is when I am at home that I cannot fall asleep with ease. However, many times people have asked me if I have a hard time falling asleep when I tell them my sleeping habits. 

    It was the first day of CREW, well my first night actually. While CREW had started two days prior, I was the late bloomer coming Tuesday due to my Orientation Leader obligations. The girls had shifted down the hall to their bedrooms while the Sisters had stayed put in our makeshift community room. We had taken up residence in one of the residence halls at Holy Family University and let me tell you what an adjustment that was for me, an IU girl through and through so used to the IU living styles. On the second floor, we were all split up into quads and were using the lounge on the floor as our community room. I think this was an adjustment for everyone, especially the sisters. Anyway, as we sat in our makeshift community room, the Sisters were slicing and dicing some strawberries for the following morning's breakfast! I sat down across from my AE and asked her what I could do to help. Perhaps she saw the tiredness in my eyes, but if I know my AE, I know that she simply knew I was tired from ten days at IU working with Orientation. So, before I could even grab a knife to start helping her, she told me to march on down the hallway and into my bed. I couldn't disobey, or even put up a fight. My own fatigue dragged me down the hall.

     After quite a few days of intense service work, prayer and reflection, with so many beautiful sisters and young women, I couldn't help but feel the exhaustion. In fact, after my food shopping excursion with Sister Ang, I found myself almost ready to fall over in the Hospital Convent Kitchen. That's when Sister Ang sat down and then told me to do the same. She whispered to me the perks of being an older woman: you can sit down whenever you want and no one will judge you. At 21 years old, I had to laugh. That was the second time that week someone told me, in a very nice way, "You're not young anymore." I guess it IS all downhill from here, haha. But no, really...I am still young, and my heart and soul definitely think so. But I can honestly say I learned a very valuable lesson over the course of the past six weeks. 

     Like I said, I spent six weeks away from my bed in my home in good ol' Croydon. On Friday night, as soon as I came home, I sat on my bed, closed my eyes and didn't open them until the next morning. I had no intention of falling asleep with the light on, in the same outfit I had worn all day, or with my belongings still in my car, but the exhaustion hit me like a 500 lb. truck. I'm glad I had the intelligence to bring in my Teddy Bear when I walked through the front door, otherwise that first sleep in my own bed would have been a nightmarish one, haha! I slept a full ten hours that night, and after Mass at St. K's, Sister Mary Joan was soon setting me up with a strong cup of coffee (she's a smart lady). That Saturday, I had done something I have never done in my whole life: prayed all day to Our Lady of the Most Holy Mattress.

     We had joked the night before, my AE and I, at our CREW picnic about the Novena to Our Lady of the Most Holy Mattress. Every so often, my Sisters come up with some crazy prayers and devotions. For example, "Mother Cabrini move/park this machiney." This was another one. There really is no Lady of the Most Holy Mattress, but the truth is, there probably should me. All of us, from sisters, to student leaders to retreatants had been exhausted by Friday night. And it was definitely time to start the novena...of sleep. 

    In talking to my dear Sister Bernice yesterday, I realized the valuable lesson I needed to learn. I can't say it's because I am not young anymore, but rather perhaps, because I am still young. Babies need to take naps every day...and so do I. But I sometimes joke my need for a nap is me taking a role in the life of an Abuelita (a grandma). So is my desire for so much sleep because I am still young or because I am not young anymore? Regardless, the desire and NEED for sleep is essential. I think sometimes I forget that aspect of being human. I have come to peace in knowing that I am only human and I cannot do everything I am asked. I have learned that sometimes I need to say no (and I am practicing.) But what I haven't learned really is the importance of sleep. Only a few years ago, I would be able to stay up late and get up early. While I still do that now in college, I almost always take a daily nap. I used to be ashamed of this need for a nap but now I am at peace. Sleep is an essential thing that I need to function. I love coffee but sometimes it just doesn't do the trick. I learned over the past six weeks that if I myself am not rested, someone will suffer whether it's those I am working with, those I am working for or myself. I can try to be invincible, but I know I cannot be. So, while I will most likely still stay up until odd hours of the night and still get up at the crack of dawn, I will make sure to always, always, always say my prayers to Our Lady of the Most Holy Mattress. That is, I will always find time for a little cat nap. I have a feeling this might soon become my new favorite devotion.