Today I Will: Teach Something!

"Learn something."

- The Blindside

      All my life, all I've ever wanted to do was teach. I would set up all my stuffed animals and teach them whatever I knew at four years old. When I started kindergarten, I would attempt to teach my one year old sister the alphabet and everything I was learning in school from letter sounds to Jesus. As I got older, I was the homework helper. I always learned best in school by teaching other students or working together in pairs. For as long as I could remember, I've wanted to teach and ever so quickly it's becoming a reality. 

     For the past three years, I have spent every single Thursday observing in various schools in various districts with various age groups and grades in various subject matters. I have always loved kids and being in any classroom always excited me. I just wanted to teach them all about the world. Every little school I was in, I was reminded of all the times I spent in my grade school volunteering as a "Lunch Sister" or classroom aide. I loved having the little ones run up to me just to say hi or show me their artwork. But I was dying to get into a high school classroom. And eventually, I got there. I observed students falling asleep in English class. The more I saw, the more I wanted to teach.

     I had been so blessed with so many wonderful teachers in my life and I wanted to pass on the heritage. I had teachers who instilled in me a love for English and Theology (and History and even, Science). I had teachers who made me excited to learn, who made me never want to leave class, who spoke to my heart about life. I wanted to do that. I wanted my students to feel the same as I did in my own classes. 

    I had a taste of that in Peru. I would jump all around the classroom, illustrating their Edgar Allan Poe short stories on the wipe off board and tell them how exciting it was to study the creepiness of the Tell-Tale Heart or the Black Cat. After school, they would gather all around me, fascinated by my accent, by my skin, by my hair but by the end of three and a half weeks, they were gathered around me asking for advice for class, for projects and for friendships. Somewhere along the line, I had made a difference. Somewhere, I had shown my students that they could ask me anything, and I would do my best to answer them. Somewhere along the line, I felt that I was achieving my dream. 

     Flash forward to this past Monday when my dream began to come even closer to coming true. I stepped foot in room 208 and suddenly, I was no longer Becca; I was Miss Gutherman. I was no longer a student at Immaculata but a Student Teacher. Suddenly, I gained over a hundred new cherubs and angels and princesses. Suddenly, I was happier than I had ever been. 

     I had asked for prayers for my first day of Student Teaching on facebook and got well over 100 likes and many more prayers I am sure. I had began my day with Mass at the Motherhouse (6:30 AM...oi) and received many hugs and kisses of good luck from my dear Sisters. Every day since, I've been reporting for duty for Mass and I have been accepted as a regular. Every morning they send me on my way to school like a million moms sending their only daughter to school. And later, when I'm at work, they ask me how my day went. It reminds me of how the mom in the movie Blindside sends her children off to school every day by saying : "Learn Something." However, instead of my Sisters telling me to learn, they tell me to Teach Something. And every day, I walk up to the our classroom thinking about what I will teach my students. 

     Already this week I have introduced Anglo-Saxon Riddles, wrote some myself and had my students, two days later, recite them in front of the class. I couldn't help but smile. We also worked on a research project in the computer lab. The English nerd in me is so excited every day walking into the classroom. Who knows what my co-op teacher is going to through in front of me? Never mind that, all teaching is thinking on your feet. It's been a few days, and this morning I was greeted in the parking lot by two of my students. They smiled, asked about my night and told me they couldn't wait to hand in their riddles. WHAT?! They were excited already?! I felt like dancing. If they were this excited about riddle writing, the rest of the Semester is going to be so easy.

     I love my students. It's been five days and already they so easily bring a smile to my face and laughter to my heart. I'm already planning to attend their sports games/matches and concerts. They usually come into the classroom with smiles so big and they are always full of conversation. Sometimes, I can't help but laugh at them. As many teenage girls are, they can be dramatic, but it doesn't make me love them less. I can't wait until I am their full teacher for a good four - six weeks. Right now, I am just doing various lessons with them. But that's okay. Everyday, I wake up at the crack of dawn excited to teach. 

     Student Teaching, one week in, has already been a beautiful taste of reality that I can't wait to fully grasp. Sometimes I want to throw my hands up in the air and proclaim how much I love teaching. And the more excited I get about teaching, the more respect I seem to get for my profession by those not in the education field. It amazes me how much of a difference a teacher can make. I can honestly say, that while I may have a million other things to do like my own homework, play practice and sleeping, I love teaching more than anything. I get up everyday at 5am for my girls. I drive straight into the sunshine everyday for these students of mine that I already love so much. I will stay up as long as it takes to conjure a lesson that will not only speak to their minds but to their hearts. Everyday, I wake up with this reminder that I have one job to do: teach something, anything, to your students, with love. 

The Most Beautiful Sister

"The most beautiful people we have known are those

who have known defeat, known struggling, known suffering,

known loss and have found their way out of the depths. 

These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding

of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep-loving concern.

Beautiful people do not just happen."

- Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

    "Oh Becky," she exclaimed in her perfect New Englander accent as she threw her hands in the air before wrapping them around me. She guided me and my Daddy into the huge parlor of the convent. I crawled up next to her on the big, fluffy chair and listened as she talked to my father. Every so often, she would interject something about me and my ears would perk up, but while she was talking to my Dad, I would be fascinated by her outfit, her necklace, her ring and her veil. At some point she would get up, take me by the hand and lead me to the grand piano in the corner. She would play a song and sing, as I simply listened. Sometimes I would play and sing, too, but I loved to listen to her sing. 

    Every Christmas Eve after Mass, she would bustle over to my family, give us each a hug and then take me by the hand to the community room down the hall from the Main Chapel. There she would show me off in my pretty little dresses as if I was one of her own. She would eventually hand me a cookie and some hot chocolate, then talk with my parents. Cookies were her favorite. You know, the ones that came in the blue tin only at Christmas time; the butter cookies in different shapes with the sugar crystals on the top. So even when it wasn't Christmas, she would always take me into the kitchen for a cookie or two. One for each hand, she would say, and one for later. She was perfect in my eyes and I'm sure, in the eyes of every single child she ever loved. She was the most beautiful nun. 

     She was the first Sister to ever have affected my life; the first Sister I ever knew. It was by her example that I had an idea of what a Sister should look like and act like. Any Sister should be tiny and huggable. She should give great hugs and always have cookies for me. She should know how to play piano and sing. She should have soft hands that could always hold tight to mine. She should always wear her veil long enough to reach the midpoint of her back. She should be able to quietly tiptoe down creaking hallways. She should do all of this to be the perfect nun...because in my little eyes and my naive heart, she was perfect and the most beautiful Sister I had ever met. 

     I wanted so badly to tell her about my decision to begin discerning religious life. It had been a while since I had seen her last, and I knew that time was slipping between my fingers. I went to visit her with the purpose of telling her my new life path, but left thinking a whole new thing. I wasn't expecting to see my perfectly beautiful sister dying in her bed. She was no longer the Sister I knew her to be and I knew right away it wouldn't be long before she was called home to God. The next day, she passed away. The image of her lying in her bed, all curled up really tiny, made me think. She wasn't any less beautiful than she had been in my memories of her from my childhood, but she wasn't the same person. In fact, I think seeing her so close to death actually made her even more beautiful. You could tell by her eyes that she knew she was close to Heaven and she was ready to meet her Beloved face to face. Yes, in fact, she was more beautiful then than anyone I had ever seen. 

     My dear Sister Thomasita was the first Sister I had ever met and really gotten to know as a kid. There are times when I wish she was still around so that she could counsel me on my life, but I know that she continues to walk with me every day, sending me more and more beautiful Sisters in my life. When I was younger, I had this idea of the most beautiful Sister. Since her death, that has changed so greatly. I know so many most beautiful Sisters.

     Sometimes the most beautiful Sister walks with me to class or from class to my dorm. Sometimes she hugs me when I have had a rough day and need a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes she sits at my lunch table among my friends and carries on a crazy conversation. Sometimes she stops just to talk to me in the middle of campus and tell me she's praying for me. Sometimes she plays the piano for me when I sing and continues to train me for the day when I'm a professional church singer. Sometimes she leaves little packages at or notes under my door. Sometimes she mails me letters in the middle of the school year just because. Sometimes she calls me sunflower and sunshine because I make her smile. Sometimes she calls upon me to make crazy adventures. Sometimes she stops in the office at work just the chat or check up on me. Sometimes she links my arm as she walks down the hallway because she doesn't like her walker anymore. Sometimes she asks me if I know what I am doing with my life. Sometimes she drills me on the stage and tells me I can do better than what I am giving her. Sometimes she sends me emails on days when I need them the most. Sometimes she cries with me and for me. Sometimes she smiles with me as we share life stories. Sometimes we go for car rides that are filled with heart to heart conversations. Sometimes we pray together for those who need it. 

      The most beautiful Sister has blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes, gray eyes. She has pearly white hair, salt and pepper hair, black hair, blonde hair, brown hair, curly hair, straight hair, short hair, long hair. She has glasses for reading, glasses for driving, purple glasses, silver glasses, wire glasses, bifocals or no glasses at all. She is tall, she is short, she is medium height. She has soft, gentle hands from a life of praying and touching souls. She has rough, calloused hands from years of hard work and rebuilding lives. She wears a veil that meets the midpoint of her back, she wears a long veil, she wears a short veil, sometimes it's white, sometimes it's blue, sometimes it's black, sometimes she wears no veil at all. She wears a blue dress, a black dress, a white dress, a dress of many colors. She sings, she doesn't. She plays piano, she plays guitar, she plays violin, she doesn't play anything at all. She smiles, she always smiles, she always smiles and laughs with me. And sometimes she cries. 

     The most beautiful Sister may not hold my hand, or hug me, or walk with me, but she has touched my heart and soul in more ways than any person ever could. The most beautiful Sister is always there to listen to my heart and give solace or advice. She is always a phone call or walk away. She is always there for me in prayer. The most beautiful Sister walks across my campus daily, she walks down the hallways of my work, she walks down the halls of my high school. The most beautiful Sister is three, four, seven hours away from me. The most beautiful Sister is right next door (you should meet her...). The most beautiful Sister shares my story. 

     The truth is, the most beautiful Sister isn't just one person, isn't even a small group of people. The most beautiful Sister is every Sister I know. She is beautiful in her own way, shape and form. Her story is beautiful, her life is beautiful, her witness  is beautiful! SHE IS BEAUTIFUL. There isn't a day that goes by without a conversation with at least one Sister. Every day I come in contact with these beautiful women of God, my heart beams with happiness at the blessing of having them in my life. She is beautiful, they are beautiful. I guess it's something Jesus does to them, but He always seems to be married to the most beautiful Sister. Oh I am so blessed. 

I Am Here - National Suicide Awareness Week

"Even though I walk through the valley

of the shadow and of death, 

I shall not be afraid.

For You

are

always

with me."

- Psalm 23

     This morning, I was sitting in Chapel right before Mass looking at all the beautiful women who surrounded me. Thoughts filled my heart and mind about how each and every single one of them is beautiful in their own way. I began thinking of how when I was little I had this image of the "perfect nun" in my mind. Every time I was see this "perfect nun," my heart would fill with joy. As I grew older, my world opened up to the fact that each and every single Sister, whether I saw her praying in Chapel, talking with students or simply reading a book, was beautiful. This morning, I began to formulate a beautiful blog about beautiful Sisters. But then God put something else on my heart. 

     Mental Illness is something that affects almost 27% of our US population ages 18 and above (NIH Statistic). That's about 1 out of every 4 people we know. Suicide is the tenth leading cause of death across the board and the third leading cause of death among young Americans (15-24) (AAS Statistic). One time, in college, I did a family health history project for my family. The idea behind it was to prove the statistics in the book that explained what our risks were. Many mentioned in the text were obesity, heart failure, cancer, etc. When I did my extended family health history, I was more at risk for mental illness that any of the other leading risks. Friends, this hits close to home for me. 

     Almost three and a half years ago, I lost one of my childhood friends. I remember the day clear as if it was yesterday. I was walking to my afternoon poetry class with S. Marcille when I got a phone call from my mom. My mom never calls me unless something is wrong, she usually just texts me. So, right away I knew something wasn't right. I answered the phone only to hear her sobbing on the other end. After a few minutes, she finally told me the news. After telling her I loved her, I hung up and forced myself to go to class. I sat for an hour and a half numb. Just numb. I wanted to cry but it hadn't fully hit me yet that I was never going to see my friend again. After class, Sister pulled me aside to check up on me. At that point, I was a baby Freshmen and still pretty intimidated by this beautifully intelligent woman. I was sure that she was pulling me aside to talk about the horrible paper I had handed in the week before or something, but that was far from her mind. Because I hadn't come to terms with the news yet, I simply told her I had gotten bad news from home. She requested I stop in the office the next day and when I did, that's when I finally broke down and sobbed hysterically.

     Like I said, losing her happened almost three and a half years ago. However this wasn't my first interaction with mental illness and it certainly wasn't my last. I have been surrounded by it all my life whether with my family, friends or students. I have never been a stranger to mental illness and yet, this is something I have always kept inside. I have been told that often I love too many people too much. I never believed there was such a thing. But that being said, so many I love have experienced mental illness in so many different capacities. And you know what really stinks? Being the one person who doesn't know what it's like to have the mind of a person affected by bipolar disorder, depression or anxiety. But the beauty of that, is that I still understand. 

     Mental Illness is something I have learned to literally despise. I hate seeing what it does to people, to those I love. I hate seeing the destruction it does not only to those people but to the people who love them. I hate it. I've seen the pain on people's faces, the pain they don't even realize they are experiencing. I've seen heartache, the heartache that people don't know they don't deserve. I've seen so much of it and trust me when I say, I have done my fair share of staying up all night worrying about those I love whether near or far. But worry doesn't do nearly as much as loving.

    There's not a single thing I could do for those people that I love who suffer from mental illness medically. I am no trained doctor, I am no trained psychologist; I never will be. I am no trained guidance counselor, I am no trained therapist; I have not those skills. But there is one thing I can do: love them through the hurt. As the created of God, we are made to love and be loved. Many of those suffering from mental illness don't know what it means to be loved, because often they don't have the capacity to believe they could be loved. But I can love. I can love them through the hurt and the pain. I can pray out of my undying love for them. I can remind them, no matter how many times I say it and it is not believed, that I love them so much. 

     When I think of Mental Illness, I see a monster that just destroys so much. But I also see a love, a love that has already conquered all and will continue to do so; Jesus's love. While I know I can truly and honestly do nothing but listen and love and be there as a friend for those suffering from Mental Illness, Jesus...Jesus can love so much more. We all have a responsibility when it comes to Mental Illness. We are not responsible for being a therapist or doctor or psychologist, but rather we are responsible for encouraging those we love to get the help they need. We have a responsibility to love those who are hurting. We are responsible for trusting in Jesus' everlasting and ever-conquering love. 

     As I write this, the mental list I have of those I know who have and who still do suffer from Mental Illness gets longer and longer. As I write this, the list of people I love gets longer and longer. I have been blessed in escaping the great hereditary risk of Mental Illness in my family and I thank God everyday for that blessing because of the effects I have seen. And I thank God, truly, for the blessing of being able to love each and every single one of those I know affected by Mental Illness. For truly, I know that, without His love, I couldn't love. He is always loving, loving through, with and past the pain. He is always here. 

If you or anyone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts,

 please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at

1-800-273-TALK

You Are My Sunshine

"What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity. 

These are but trifles, to be sure; but scattered along life's pathway, 

the good they do is inconceivable."

- Joseph Addison

     Let's state the facts: I am in college. I want to be a Sister. I have friends. During my first few weeks at IU, I was introduced by my friends from home as "Becca, the girl who wants to be a nun." While I was proud of my discernment at home, I hated being known as the girl who wanted to be a Sister at college. Why? Well, because at home, my friends had gotten to know me before I told them I was discerning. At college, my "new friends" hadn't had the chance to get to know just Becca. I wasn't outcast, but my friends now, admit to being scared of my judgment or my "holiness." It drove me nuts actually, that people felt they couldn't be themselves around me. But sooner or later, they came around. Now, my once leery friends accept and somewhat love the fact that I want to be a Sister. And I can't thank them enough for it. 

    The other day in one of my classes, one friend mentioned my wanting to be a Sister just casually, as it so often happens because no one is ashamed or scared of it anymore. In fact, it comes up somehow in almost every conversation. Whether we're in the caf, in class or just walking across campus, somehow it comes up. My friends know and accept that Mass is a priority every day for me. They accept that when I see the Sisters, I will usually run over to say hi, gives hugs and chat briefly. Often, they have been dragged into those quick chats. My friends often remind me of my future and more so, we joke about what life will be when I'm a Sister and they're all married to each other. I truly am so blessed to have such great friends and I thank God for them every day.

     When my friends joke about me being a Sister, it's usually about how I fulfil the stereotypes so perfectly, or how I'm being nunly. Of course, sometimes the joking is set aside and they ask serious questions about entrance, length of formation, name changes, sponsors, ministries, etc. which I answer as accurately as I can. Sometimes, very rarely, someone will ask me my story which I tell them willingly. They know I pray, because one time they asked if I pray all day. But I'm not quite sure they know what I pray about or pray for. In fact, I'm pretty sure they don't. And so, this one is for them. For my friends who know I pray but don't know what about. I pray for you.

     Often, I find myself with my friends, just listening or watching them interact. I love sitting in the cafeteria watching my friends laugh hysterically around the dinner table. I love when I see my friends who date hold hands and kiss each others' cheeks. I love when I can hear my friends laughing and talking down the hallway, because in all honesty, where else is it possible to live down the hall from all my best friends? I love hearing about all their successes, all their triumphs. I love going to all their sports games, their performances, their speeches. I love watching them be happy. If I could sit back and simply watch all those that I love just be happy, I would be happy for the rest of my life. Watching them interact with each other and laugh and smile just truly makes my heart smile. 

    I don't think my friends know how much I love them and how often I pray for their happiness. I don't think they understand how much their happiness, their smiles, their laughter makes me happy. But honestly, that's okay. I say it often that all I want is for all my friends to be happy doing whatever they desire with whomever they desire. This is the year, my Senior year, for me to truly watch all my friends' dreams come true. I get to see them accomplish beyond all their struggles. I get to see them finally achieve what they have been working for. Sometimes I look at my friends and wonder how God has blessed me so much. 

     In truth, whenever I see those I love, whether it's my family, my little sisters, my "big Sisters," or my Parish family, happy, I am happy. But rarely do I blog directly to my friends. They are people I want in my life for the rest of my life, I want them at my vow ceremonies, I want to see their marriages, to see their kids, to see them grow up happily and become those crazy old couples I am obsessed with. I want them to know that no matter where I am, I will always be praying for them, because their happiness means so much to me. And all of this I discovered through a packed car of all my friends just laughing on our way to "The Bucks" (more commonly known as Starbucks). I simply listened as they sang at the tops of their lungs, laughed hysterically and chatted. 

     And so, friends, this one is for you. You have supported me in ways one could never even fathom. You've accepted me and you've helped me accept me. I love you all and truly, I want you all to know that every single day of my life, since I've met you, I've prayed for your happiness, that you'll all find the perfect spouse, raise the family of your dreams, achieve the jobs you've always wanted, but most all that you maintain the happiness and carefree laughter I see and hear everyday. Sometimes, I feel like your mom when I say these things. But in all honesty, I'm your Sister and you are my sunshine; my golden sunshine. 

Every Day Is Labor Day

"Work without love is slavery."

- Mother Teresa

     Did you know that the original date for the Labor Day holiday was February 21? Thank God, it's still not, because how else would we know when Summer was over? Did you know that only one state originally observed it? Way to go, Oregon! Did you know that the mandatory country wide observation of Labor day came as a result of multiple worker deaths during the Pullman Strike? In all honesty, how many Americans know what the real meaning is behind this day is. Typically we celebrate this day of labor with picnics, barbeques, swimming parties, and sales off every piece of white clothing in every store. And how funny it is that we celebrate Labor Day with a day free of labor...well, some of us. 

    My Labor day began just as any other day: with Mass. What was different, however, was the fact that I got to sleep in an extra hour and my sister, Mary, was with me. Of course, after Mass was a day out with my Sister shopping and then a picnic at Mommom and Poppop's house. However, the day wasn't a day free of labor for me. We baked over six dozen cookies AND I had Fortress Portress duty at the Motherhouse. But honestly, how could I complain? The first day back at Fortress Portress was a day I had been looking forward to since I arrived back in the States after Peru. 

     The first night back on Portress was anything but uneventful. Of course, we have three new lovebugs on deck for the year and training was night. Tonight was the perfect night for it, too. The Sisters were having a picnic dinner and everyone's spirits were high. Sisters were in and out of the Portress office and our laughter could be heard down the hallway and well into the kitchen. Our new Portress Girlies were already loving life. By six o'clock, training was over and the eery silence began to take over the Motherhouse. I settled well into my English readings. 

     Suddenly I was knocked out of literary imagination by the obnoxious fire alarm. Instantly panic overcame me and right away, I was on the phone calling my saving grace for the night, Sister Maureen. Within minutes, it was fine. I gave up trying to concentrate for the last half hour and began to laugh at the irony of the situation: here I was, sitting at the desk, working, on Labor Day, on my first day back and of course, it wasn't an easy night. The phone may have only rang once, but of course, the fire alarm had to just go off randomly. Yet, I was so happy. I was so happy to be back at the Motherhouse.

      This morning, Father's homily was so spot on. His message came back to my heart as I reflected on my joy. He spoke about how for the Sisters, every day is a Labor Day for them as they live and work in the same place. As I listened this morning, I was instantly stuck on the fact that "Labor Day is every day." I vaguely recalled from when I was younger how my dad used to say that every day was a Labor Day for him, so why should we take a day off. It was pretty legitimate, I thought. But it never really gave me anything to think about until today. Everyday is a Labor day for those who work, that's true and I guess we all deserve a day off. But in all honesty, my Sisters never take a day off, my parents never take a day off, and in hindsight, I can honestly say, I never take a day off.

      But it's not a day off from actual work, because those they take, we all take them. We all have a day off of work from the work force. But what is our real work? For my parents, a day off from parenting is non-existent and any parent can vouch for that. Even when the children are all grown up, parents will always worry about them. I know, even when I am at school, my mom and dad always want to know when I am safely home in my dorm room. For my Sisters, they are constantly loving (and dealing with me...). Every day, regardless of whether or not they are teaching, nursing, working, they are loving and being a Sister. Every day, they find themselves praying, going to Mass, being a Sister. Never take a day off. Of course, many can testify to the idea that I never take a day off. Some have told me, it's not good to never take a break, to never take a day for just relaxation. But in all truth, there is a force that drives my labor. It is love. 

     I heard once that labor, when done with love, is no longer labor. I don't see my days as laborious (although often I may use that word after sitting in class for an entire day) but rather fruitful. I may be exhausted at the end of every day, but when I am, I know my day was well spent doing the Will of God. My labor is not work, but love. If I think about what my mission is, I know that God has asked me to bring happiness and love to every life I come in contact with. So whether I am building houses in NOLA, feeding the homeless in Camden, teaching my students in Peru, answering the phone at the Motherhouse, or simply being a student, sister, friend, I am "laboring"; I am loving. 

     And so, in essence, I worked today. I spent my Labor Day, a day designated for a day off, picnicking, and ending Summer, working at the Motherhouse. But there, work does not exist. Yes, I might be doing a job, but really I am smiling, loving and learning from my Sisters about how to "labor with love" every day. I am a laborer in the vineyard for Jesus and God, and being a laborer means never taking a day off from loving and smiling and being the hands and feet of God. And honestly, I can't complain; working happily every day for God is actually a pretty big deal.