"Saying" I Love You

"As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you."

John 15:9

    A few weeks ago, I found a quotation that told me that "I love you" doesn't always come in those words. It said, "There's a million different ways to say 'I love you' : 'put your seatbelt on,' 'watch your step,' 'get some rest.' You just have to listen." It really hit my heart hard because of how much I search for love. I never love with the expectation to be loved in return, but there is a desire and a need to be loved by at least one other person. Most times I am perfectly okay being the independent person I am, but there are times when I truly need to feel love. For example when I am upset about something or when I am having trouble loving myself. I never say anything because I expect someone, anyone, to pick up on my cues and love me. When I saw the quotation, I thought that suddenly I was looking for love in all the wrong places. Yesterday, I remembered the quotation and decided that I needed to write about it simply because I needed love.

     Yesterday, I was at a funeral for a dear friend of mine, Sister Barbara. My motto for the day: "Once a portress girl, always a portress girl. And we portress girls never leave each other." Sister Barbara was one of the many beautiful sisters who worked Portress with me. Often we would be on the same day and she would relieve me for lunch or I would relieve her for prayers. We became close over the two years she lived at the Motherhouse. After she moved to Camilla, I would visit her when I would do my rounds. She was a beautiful example of religious life. When I heard, abruptly during morning prayers, that she had passed away, I gave a very audible sound of shock. I couldn't believe it. But death comes when we least expect it and after I prayed about it, peace overcame my soul. 

     At the viewing before the funeral, I was standing with Sister Mary Angela, another dear friend of mine. We were talking about the realities of life and how as we get older we learn to be gentler and simpler, just as Sister Barbara was. During the entire conversation, Sister Mary Angela held my little hand in hers, I think more for her sake than for mine. After saying goodbye to Sister Barbara, I went to sit in Chapel for a while. I was praying that at some point some Sister that I knew would take the seat next to me so that when I would cry later, I wouldn't be too embarrassed. Right before Mass started, Sister Mary Angela slid in next to me. I smiled, thanking God for the gift of her presence in my life. At the end of Mass, as Sister sung the recessional hymn, "On Eagle's Wings" (you'd think that after the amount of funerals I have been to, I'd be numb to this song by now), I saw a tear slide down Sister Mary Angela's cheek. Of course, I had my own set of tears sliding down my face. That's when I slid my hand on top of hers and we held hands as we cried together, mourning the loss of our friend. 

      As the people followed the procession out the back door and to the cemetery, I snuck out the back because I had to get to class. Tears were still falling down my face when Sister Margaret turned to hug me. Sister Margaret is a very tall, beautiful woman of God, who could literally engulf me in her arms and smother me with love. She did just that. That's when I really let the tears fall down my face. She held me and rocked me gently back and forth telling me that Sister Barbara was now my personal saint in Heaven...and that it was okay to cry. 

      Later in the afternoon, after I had gone to class and slept off a bit of the emotional fatigue after, I was walking with two of my best friends to class when I saw Sister Agnes walking down  the hall. Sister Agnes gives some of the best hugs: she holds you so tight, there's no doubting she loves you. I walked right up to her with open arms and hugged her while telling her that she had no idea how much I needed a hug from her. Right after, Sister Jo came out of her office to jokingly say that there was too much hugging in the hallway. I laughed and said, "No such thing, Sister. Do you want a hug?" I may be the only person with the audacity to go up to nuns and hug them while yelling about how much I love them. They probably all want to hide their faces out of embarrassment. 

     I found myself laughing because I know love by touch. I hug and I hug a lot. On any given night at work in the Motherhouse, I can give anywhere from five to forty-eight hugs. When I need a cry, I need a hug. But actually, I need someone to physically hold me in a hug until I am done crying. When I'm upset, I need someone to hold my hand in a gentle way. When I need love, I search for it in hugs, hand holding and forehead kisses. I am a child in that sense that needs to know the physical love. My family is not really this way though. So maybe I search for hugs and hand holding because my family was more of a I'll tell you I love you, not show you. And that's okay. 

     This morning at Mass, I was overcome with tears while the Sisters sang "My Soul Doth Glory." I tried to hide the fact that I was crying, but Sister Cathy realized it. After Mass, she said, "God will reach down and hold your hand many times today." She didn't hug me as the tears were streaming down my face or even reach out to hold my hand. Maybe I needed a snuggle hug like Sister Margaret gave me yesterday, but Sister Cathy gave me the words. There was no doubt in my mind, however, that she cared because her words told me that she cared and I needed comfort. 

      That's when I began to reflect on the quotation I had found a few weeks ago about love showing up in different places. In all the instances I have just described there was a different action happening, but there was a common theme: love. Regardless of whether it was a hug, a hand holding or comforting words, I was being shown love and care. None of the people with whom I was sharing the gift of love said the words "I love you," not even myself. Yet, we knew there was an exchange of love and care. That's when I suddenly thought of Jesus in the Bible. Did He ever say "I love you?"

     Well, I googled it. Jesus never actually says the phrase, "I love you," in the Bible. He says variations of it like, "As I have loved you..." or "I will love you" but never that phrase. However, we know that Jesus loves us, right? God is love and where God is, there is love. God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. Jesus, out of love for us, bowed His head and died. It's clear in the Scriptures that Jesus loves us, but He shows us through His actions, through His words, through His touch. We never read about Jesus telling anyone outrightly that He loves them. But, every time I partake in an exchange of love with someone, I know that Jesus is there, and that Jesus loves me just the same. 

      I went back to the quotation again. We are shown love in so many ways, we are even told in so many different ways, but if it's not the way we expect or the way we desire, we do not believe we are loved. I can't tell you how many times I have questioned where I stand in relation to someone. Often I feel like I love others way more than they love me, which I am totally okay with. We should not love so as to be loved in return, but rather we love because we love. The love in return comes from the other person doing the same: loving just because they love. Love is a finicky emotion and people often misconstrue things that do not mean love as love and love as something other than love. But the truth of the matter is, love comes in all shapes and sizes. It can come in phrases like, "take care of yourself," "eat a good breakfast," "give yourself some time," "thank you," etc. It can come in actions like the holding of a door, a gentle pat on the back as a teacher over looks a students' work, a smile, or even silence. 

      Our society and culture today gives a distorted of what love is, especially among friends. Each of us have a view of what love should be. I always thought that love should be hugs, kisses, snuggles and hand-holding, like the actions of a grandmother to her dear grandchild (my Mommom still does this...). I always felt that I could express love best through extending a gentle hand to a suffering friend or giving a hug to someone. But as I grow older and wiser I realize that not everyone likes to get or give hugs, not everyone likes to hold hands when they are upset. I also realized that another's love for me can come in the comforting words they say or the silence (peace) they give my heart as I cry. Love, like in the Scriptures, is more often shown in actions or in different words, and we often miss these signs of love. We are not open to other expressions of love and because of this, we fail to see and believe that we are actually loved. 

      I can say this for sure, it is hard, sometimes for me to believe that I am loved. That is a recognition of my failed humanity. I know that I am not alone in this feeling. But perhaps it is more because I have a belief that love is hugs and holding hands when it could easily come in the form of words or silence. I know that Jesus loves me but He never once said, "I love you" in Scripture. So, why then, do I doubt others' love for me? It's a reflection that I often have and felt the need to share today. I truly believe that so many people in the world doubt that even their very best friend could love them because the best friend does not love in a way the other needs or desires. I often doubt others' love for me but I am partly at fault. I cannot expect everyone to love in the way I see love. Instead, I need to be more open to the ways others show love perhaps through words or silences. 

     Of course, all of this being said, when we actually hear the words, "I love you" in that exact phrase, it should send shivers down our spines and warm our hearts, because those three words are the hardest to say and the ones that mean the most. I know I will always be one who, when I need a cry, will seek out a hug, but I must, too, understand that the hug may not come because the comforting and reassuring words will come instead. I cannot fail to see that not only am I actually loved but also that I am worth being loved. We must never fail to believe that and trust me, if you think it's hard, take it from the girl who wakes up every morning and looks herself in the mirror to tell herself that she is loved. She may not know who loves her, but she tells herself that she is loved by someone in this world as a gentle reminder that she is worth being loved. Jesus would agree with me when I say, you and I are worth being loved. We must open our hearts to feel the love in any way, shape or form it may come in. You are worthy of love. 

Silly Putty Heart

"Sometimes I think the heart is like silly putty: 

flexible, lovable, impressionable, and able to wrap itself around anyone and anything.

The heart can be stretched so greatly, which is great.

But then, like silly putty, if stretched in two opposite directions too much, 

it might snap."

- A Becca Original

     Yesterday, I was feeling incredibly stretched. Maybe I have written about stretching in the past, maybe not. But stretching is a good thing. Think of dancers who not only stretch before they practice or perform, but also after. It adds incredible flexibility to the body. Think of pizza makers who need to stretch the dough so as to make the best pizza. Think of even rubber bands that need to stretch to keep things together. Stretching, one can see, is clearly something that is good. However, dancers will tell you that sometimes stretching pulls a muscle, pizza makers will tell you that sometimes the dough stretches too far and a hole emerges and sometimes the rubber band snaps. Stretching the human heart can be somewhat similar. 

     Today I write about how much my heart loves and with loving much also comes susceptibility to much hurt. I always knew that I was one to love much; I was born compassionate toward others. However, I didn't know that loving much had great consequences like immense hurt. The good news about this is that God loves you through the hurt; He stretches you. I didn't like stretching at first, much like the young dancer. I just wanted to dance; I just wanted to love. Many around me spoke to me about stretching, telling me it was a good thing. It was a lesson I needed to learn: in order to dance the best, I first needed to stretch. And so, God gave me many opportunities to stretch so that I could learn to love even more greatly. 

     While I learned that stretching was such a good and healthy thing for me and even began speaking about the stretching one endures in order to gain strength, myself. However, there was something rarely anyone spoke about and it was the very fact that stretching hurts sometimes. I never really focused on the pulled muscles, holes in the dough or snapped rubber bands. Why? Well that was negative and why focus on that? But the truth is, I was avoiding the truth. I kept telling myself that stretching is good, stretching will make me better, stretching will help me love. But there was always this little voice saying, "Well then why does it hurt so much?"

      Many of you know that the way I deal with conflicts of the heart is by seeking the advice of others. In recent months I have found myself many times in multiple offices around campus seeking the advice of my older, wiser, sisters. Of course, these are the Sisters who know quite a lot about me, some who have been with me from day one on campus. The future is both terrifying and exciting which led me quite a few times even this week to Sisters' offices and I think it can go without saying, but there were tears, too. In talking with Sister Cathy about the future, mi futura she called it, she reminded me of stretching. She reminded me that I will always have options and God will lead me to the right one. She encouraged me to keep going and keep on keeping on. I left her office feeling at peace, even though I had not truly made a decision about a topic. Just simply talking about my future with her allowed peace of mind for me for the time being. But of course, I'm a great thinker and with great thinking comes great worrying. Slowly, the worry slipped back in. I sought solace a harsh reality aspect from Sister Elaine and of course, I poured my heart out in the portress office to Sister Lorraine because I asked her to pray for me. All three times I was on the verge of tears...because I was being stretched and it hurt. 

     Yesterday, after I spoke with Sister Elaine, I went back to my room for a little bit truly felt in my heart the pain of being stretched. Because I am a writer, I needed to write a metaphor of how I was feeling. I'm not a dancer (anymore...once in my heyday of five years old, I did ballet) and so I couldn't equate my heart to the actual stretching the dancer does and I am most definitely not a pizza maker. And while I've definitely had a number of rubber bands snap on me, that just didn't seem quite like the right metaphor. Thats when I remembered one of my favorite toys as a kid: Silly Putty. 

     I'm sure many of you remember Silly Putty. It's flexible, lovable, impressionable and able to wrap itself around anything. It looks like a wad of pink gum. I remember twisting and turning it, massaging it in my hands. I remember pressing it upon the newspaper and seeing the cartoons reversed and stretched on the Silly Putty. It was ruined after that but that never bothered me. It also got ruined when you lost the red egg shell container it came in. Of course, often  I would get in trouble for wrapping my silly putty around things that I shouldn't have been like pens or the table or things in the kitchen. But it was so cool and awesome and I just couldn't put it down. One time I even remember "losing" my silly putty and then my Aunt Karen giving me a new red egg with the silly putty in it. My Dad got a little upset because seemingly I had wrapped it around too many things and I didn't actually lose it. But the part I remembered the most about Silly Putty was that if you stretched it too far in two different directions it got limp in the middle or eventually snapped. Silly Putty, I realized, was the perfect metaphor for my heart. 

     First of all, my heart is definitely flexible and able to wrap around anything and anyone. It has been stretched so much in the past that I have become able to love even more greatly and love many. My heart is flexible in the sense that I can truly find a way to love anyone. When it comes to being lovable, I've been told by a few that my heart is just as lovable if not more so. I'm not quite sure what it is about my heart, but people love it. My very human heart is also very impressionable.This one comes from my High School Greek Teacher, Senor (he also teaches Spanish....). He told me that when he was a kid, Silly Putty was ruined after only one cartoon/newspaper trick. That being said, once an impression has been made on the heart, perhaps it may be ruined. For example when someone makes such a beautiful impression on you and you learn to love that person, but suddenly that person does something that hurts greatly. The impression may not have false, but the reality of recognizing that another is only being human hurts. Perhaps, the heart then is ruined? The heart can no longer trust? That's a deep concept of equating the heart to Silly Putty in that sense. Of course, we must also think of the red egg shell casing. While it is good to open up the egg shell, because how else would we get to the Silly Putty to play with it? If one loses the red container, the heart can longer be protected against all the icky gunk that might get mixed it. Definitely, the Silly Putty was ruined after that. The heart, perhaps, just as so. At this point, I was really thinking about how perfectly this metaphor was working for me. But it wasn't until I remembered the part about my Dad getting upset at my aunt for giving me new silly putty that it truly hit the spot. 

       My heart has been through the battlefield and lost it's protective container a long time ago. During Lent we pray "God give me a new heart." Did anyone ever question this? Like why on earth would we want a new heart after our old one has already been stretched, has already been hurt so anymore hurt wouldn't matter, and has already, without a doubt, been impressed upon. Doesn't it seem a little ironic? Well, we ask for new hearts for the same reason that I asked for new Silly Putty. My Silly Putty, aside from being "lost" was also ruined. I wanted a new clean slate with a new container. But just as my Dad got upset at the new Silly Putty, knowing that I would only wrap it around everything under the sun, copy newspapers and probably lose the container, I found myself upset at God for a few minutes for giving me a new heart that would only be hurt and soon ruined again. But God reminded me that He was molding my heart and He would not let it get ruined. 

       So then I asked Him why on earth, then, was He stretching me so far in two different directions? In being honest, this past week, I was feeling so stretched by two different things that I loved so much. I could feel one pulling me in one direction while another was pulling me in the opposite direction. There was no malice or even negative aspect of either sides stretching me. In fact, both are beautiful ways to celebrate my gifts and talents. But oh my goodness, was I being stretched. And so, in being honest with God, I told Him how I felt that it He stretched my heart anymore I was fearing that I was snap and my heart would break. I was already feeling like weak Silly Putty because I have been harboring a hurt inside for a while, one that I haven't spoken about or really even debriefed. I questioned God and was upset at this new heart that was still so brand new and impressionable and flexible. 

      I posted my metaphor on Facebook and within minutes many of my dear friends of God were telling me that while the heart is like Silly Putty, the heart is stronger. Some told me that yes, the heart may break, but God is the glue that puts the pieces back together. Some even said that my heart, the Silly Putty is molded by the Maker, my God and He knows what my heart is capable above. Why else would He wrap my heart around people and places that I love so tightly. I was reminded once again that stretching is a good thing and it's only because of the hurt that I have yet to deal with, that I am afraid of breaking. I was reminded that I need to be stretched in both ways equally so as to be able to love constantly and consistently both things which are stretching me. I was reminded that being stretched well help me love beyond the harbored hurt. 

     And so, I can to the conclusion that while my heart is like Silly Putty and I may fear it might snap, God won't let it snap. He is the molder and the maker of all good things, especially my heart. While I'm still at a period of hurting from stretching (you know how those days are...after working out, you're sore for a few days), I know this is for the best. 

Do THIS In Memory of Me

"And when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, 

'This is My body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of Me.'"

- 1 Corinthians 11:24

Jesus and John, the Beloved Disciple at the Last Supper

    Last week in my Sacraments class, we began our discussion on the Sacrament of Eucharist. May 6th, 2000 at St. Thomas Aquinas Parish in Croydon, PA at 11:00 AM on a Saturday, I made my First Communion. I was wearing a beautiful white dress that I had worn a few months prior at my Uncle Charles and Aunt Maryanne's Wedding as their flower girl. I had annoying, lace, ankle socks and an obnoxious headband from which extended my veil. I couldn't wait to get the outfit off and run around in the mud with my cousins at my family party later that afternoon. However, at the moment right before Communion, I suddenly got the jitters; I was so nervous. This was the moment that would change my life forever. As I received the Eucharist on my tongue for the very first time, I instantly felt like Jesus, Himself, was hugging me so tightly to Himself that I became one with Him. Littler did I know that my Theology was kind of right. At Eucharist, Jesus' body becomes one with our body and soul. The image of hugging Jesus at Communion has always stayed with me.

     In class, we watched a video on Eucharist with a song playing in the background. Despite being such a musical learner, I have no idea what the song was or what it was about. I was captured by the video of a few actors acting as Jesus and the Apostles at the Last Supper. I was so struck by the continuous action between Jesus and John, the beloved disciple. During the video, John had his head resting on the shoulder of Jesus while Jesus went about the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup. John never once lifted his head off Jesus' shoulder. I was so moved by it and then suddenly, I started laughing. 

     The weekend before, while in Minnesota, I confessed my need for napping to Sister Angela. I say to people that I am a serious napper. No one actually believes me until they see what happens when Becca doesn't get her nap. Sister Angela thought I was just kidding, but as we were sitting in the MSP airport waiting for the plane back to Chicago, I was sitting in the chair when suddenly my head dropped. Her gentle nunny hand picked up my chin and pushed my head gently to her shoulder. I snuggled there, sleeping, until they called for us to board the plane. Ironically enough, I fell asleep on the plane and the same thing happened. 

      As I watched the video in class, I couldn't help but remember the gentle simplicity of being able to sleep on another's shoulder. Even deeper than that is when one can cry on another's shoulder. Something I also spontaneously did to Sister Angela when we had to say goodbye. Poor girl. Just as Sister Angela did for me, Jesus did for John. He comforted him in the eventual separation of life and death. He comforted his tears when Jesus said his last words. It was beautiful. But what struck me the most, after all of this was the words "Do this in memory of me?" What exactly did Jesus mean? What is the "this" to which he is referring? Suddenly, my mind was spinning. I just needed to put it in words!

     First, Jesus is allowing beloved John to snuggle up to Him at a time when Jesus is already suffering His eventual arrest and death. Jesus, while feeling so sad within His own heart, is not only breaking the bread for those around Him but also letting John use His shoulder for comfort. John most likely was feeling pain and sadness, too, and so Jesus allowed John to seek comfort during His own suffering. He sacrificed His own feelings so that John could be comforted.
     Even deeper than that is what Jesus was doing at the Last Supper. He was giving up Himself for the sake of others' salvation. "Do THIS is memory of me," He says. Do THIS...the THIS meaning the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup. However, in John 6, Jesus says this, "I am the BREAD of HEAVEN." He is demonstrating the breaking of the bread, the breaking of Himself and the sharing of His blood in the cup. "Do THIS," He says. On the surface He means, do this, do this breaking of the bread, in memory of me. We celebrate the Last Supper every time we celebrate the Eucharist. Deep right? Well, it goes even deeper.
     The THIS Jesus is doing is the THIS of the breaking of His body, His offering up of Himself. He asks each of us to do the THIS He does; to offer ourselves for the greater good of the Kingdom of God. He may not be asking us to be martyrs for the faith as He was, but He is asking us to sacrifice for others that which we hold most dear. Every time we hear these words, we are called by JESUS HIMSELF to do the THIS He did, in memory of Him. We are called to sacrifice for others, to give to others as He gave to the apostles, as He gave to John. True sacrifice is giving all out of love. Jesus gave up His own emotional state to comfort John and the apostles both at the Last Supper and in the Garden. Jesus gave up His own body to be broken just like the bread at the Last Supper, on Good Friday. Jesus gave up His life for us. That is the THIS in "do THIS in memory of me."
      How perfect that I came to this realization of the THIS I need to do during Lent, a time of true sacrifice of self for others. Once again, I've fallen in love with the Eucharist and all it means for me. I am continuously developing a deeper devotion to the Blessed Sacrament, a devotion that has been with me all my life (Thanks, Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament). I am always growing more and more in love with the REAL PRESENCE of Jesus in the Eucharist and all His beautiful words to me through the Mass and through Scripture. Now, every time I hear these words: "Do THIS in memory of me," I will remember truly what Jesus is asking of me. I must be the crying shoulder, I must be the comfort in the suffering, I must give of myself. Of course, I must also be grateful to those who have comforted me, who have given of themselves to help me, and who have given me a shoulder upon which I can rest and cry. There are many Jesus' to my John in the sense of literary metaphors.

Sister Selfie and Her Companions: National Catholic Sisters Week

"Real Woman, Real Stories"

"What is so significant in my life that I would be willing to give my life for it?"

- Sister Julie Vieira, IHM

Photo taken by: Rebecca Zenefski

      It was another scathingly brilliant idea my AE had, to send me and Sister Angela to Minnesota for conference on something about nuns. As usual, I agreed not knowing much about the program. Minnesota sounded cool, I guess and nuns were involved so, really there was no denying the opportunity. Weeks later, I found myself, once again on an airplane headed to Chicago for the night to meet up with "my sister" and eventually go to Minnesota the next morning. Before I knew it, we were landing in a foreign state (and country...the midwest is a foreign country). 

     As we gathered at the hotel for the sisters, there was a select few group of students and sisters already arriving. The program didn't actually start until 5:00 PM and we had landed a little before 11:00 AM. Needless to say, we had a few hours to kill. However, the Sisters were encouraged to travel via shuttle to St. Catherine's University with the students. So, on the shuttle we went and soon the students were shown our rooms in the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet's previous Provincial House. If someone asked me to describe my room, I would say, it was a typical nun room. A room big enough for a twin sized bed, a sink, a dresser and a chair. There was a closet, too. Prime living, people. But honestly, all the necessities and all I've ever truly desired. 

     The afternoon was filled with activities like LUNCH, discovering Zentangles (an artistic approach to meditation) and tours of the university and the provincial house. Before we knew it, however, it was time for the festivities to begin. Sr. Angela and I headed over with the group, arm in arm, to the reception. We made new friends and chatted about where we were from, which communities we represented and so on and so forth. Soon, we were ushered into the beautiful ballroom for Dinner and the big welcome speech given by the university's president, Sister Andrea Lee, IHM. Of course, the table talk consisted of getting to know you small talk and lots of giggles between me and my sister. You see, we had a lot to laugh about with all our inside jokes. 

    After dinner, we moved into one of the most beautiful prayer services I have ever experienced. In this building, they have a three floor atrium and so, we split into three groups and surrounded the atrium on each floor. We sang, we gathered, we prayed with the Gospel of John. In the middle of the prayer service, Sister Andrea spoke about how Jesus was calling each of us present in some way, shape or form that weekend. She read out loud a list of all the names of those present and asked that each person respond with "present" so as to acknowledge being present for Jesus. I was happy to hear more than one Rebecca present for Jesus. The solemn environment of the prayer service was so astounding. I will never forgot the emotion that ran through my soul in those moments. 

     Following the prayer service there was an option for a late night even called "Veiled Threats." This session circled around the negative connotation surrounding the habit and the religious vocation. However, the talk began with acknowledging how so many women religious have been left out of history books. Women, especially women religious, are often given the back burner when it comes to acknowledging them with any accomplishments. Women religious have played such a HUGE part in American history establishing the first hospitals, first schools, first etc. The speaker then transitioned into talking about sisters in popular culture. The stories and the images shared in popular culture about Sisters, Nuns and Women Religious are so often false, degrading, and negative. This truly evoked great conversation among the Sisters and the Students. 

      The next morning there were multiple sessions focusing on sharing the stories of women religious. We were encouraged to use social media networking to share sister stories and asked to help with the video archive project which would help get the sisters stories into a huge online video archive for all to access. I found it so interesting that among the young people present, less than a third were active on three or more social media sites. Of course, I found myself bursting with ideas on how to share Sisters' Stories as we sat through the sessions. As a true student, I was taking eager notes. I couldn't wait to get started. 

      While I did love the morning sessions, I think my favorite part of the weekend aside from the liturgies, was the Sister Story Presentation where four Sisters presented a tidbit of their discernment or religious journey. I found myself feeling like a kindred spirit with the sisters. One Sister spoke about her missionary work in South America. Well, it's no wonder that story hit close to home as I have become so passionate about working in South America. I have always wanted to Hispanic Ministry, but in my journey to S.A., the passion grew even deeper. Another Sister spoke about how, even before she really started discerning, she felt a kindred spirit with the Sisters. My favorite part of her story was when she told us how she was sitting in the community room with a few of the sisters when she got the call that she had been accepted into the community. She was there with her sisters and she said, "I had already felt for so long that I was a part of their sisterhood." Finally, another sister (the cutest by far) told the story of how she didn't break up with her boyfriend until the night before she entered the community. My hear actually broke during this story. OH how close to home this one hit. I spoke to her afterward and told her honestly, how close that was to a part of my own story of discernment. However, I told her, I didn't wait too long before I was honest. Their stories were so rich and so deep and so honest. I truly felt in my heart their spirit as my spirit and their love for Jesus as my love for Jesus. Then I remembered, we all kind of fell in love with the same Guy.

     After the Sister Stories, we prepared for Mass. I kept telling Sister Angela that I needed a nap. Anyone who knows me knows that naps are, aside from Mass, the most vital part of my day. If I don't get a nap, I sure do get cranky. But I was on my best behavior and instead just closed my eyes in Chapel for a little bit. Mass was filled with beautiful liturgical dancing, beautiful music (nothing quite beats the sound of nuns singing) and a beautiful homily celebrating women religious. I've always been one fore using "hand motions" during Mass, especially during the Our Father. When I opened my hands to pray the Our Father, I closed my eyes and didn't expect anyone to take a hold of either hand. However, Sister Angela placed her hand in mine and gave a gentle squeeze. She doesn't know this, but she will after she reads this, but that moment moved me to tears. It was an expression of trust, of love and of friendship. She had one hand, Jesus had the other. 

     In the nunly tradition we did a lot of prayer, but also a lot of eating. So, of course, after Mass we had a very fancy sit down dinner. It was after this dinner that I introduced myself, like the brave soul I am, to the president of the university. I told her I was a college product of her cousins, the Immaculata IHMs and that my Sister Cathy said hi. Of course she was happy to greet me. I stole a quick look at her feet just to see if she was actually wearing shoes this time. Earlier in the weekend, I burst out laughing when I noticed her walking around barefoot. I had found a kindred spirit just by noticing her lack of shoe wear. Anyway, I moved to the legendary Sister Amata who was also very gracious. I passed on the IHM hellos to the other IHMs. Of course, I did have to do a little explaining to Sister Angela about how they were both IHM communities but they were different, too. Good thing Sister Cathy has trained me well in community history! 

      We had another late night event and this time it was about Sisters in Film, in particular, "Radical Grace." The few clips of this movie that we watched definitely evoked much conversation and it was during this that I found another kindred spirit (I'm assuming you're thinking...wow this girl has a lot of them...I'll get to that), Sister Mary Kay, who ironically is from Philly. Needless to say when she told me she was from Philly, I actually screamed in excitement and wrapped my arms around her. PHILLY SOLIDARITY, people, it's important, especially since everyone and their sister (see what I did there?!) was from the Midwest. Sister shared a lot about how she advocates for Immigration Reform in accordance with the church and the USCCB. I looked at her and said, "Me, too." Kindred Spirits for sure.

       The next morning, after losing an hour of sleep, we gathered once again for breakfast and then the morning prayer liturgy. At every one of our liturgies, we were encouraged to share signs of peace. In the words of Molly Hazelton, "share peace in the manner most comfortable for you." Good thing everyone liked hugs; I gave so much nun hugs this weekend and I regret nothing. Our final session was about taking what we learned and planning to implement it in our universities and communities. It seemed to me that all the other tables of sisters were very practical whereas we were very visionary. We spoke about needing courage and willingness to share stories. We spoke about learning about one another, learning charisms, learning communities, learning about ourselves. At one point, I was the only student at my table of nunnies. Wow, I was lucky. I shared with them the following:

       The weekend was so incredibly fruitful for me. Not only did I get to hear so many stories, something that as an English major, I absolutely love, but I also got to connect with so many beautiful witnesses of the faith. I expressed how awesome it was for me, as a young person, to hear about their charisms and watch them grow in their personal charisms as they shared them with one another. They each realized that there is so much they all have in common despite their diversity....something I had seen from the very beginning. It was so beautiful for me to be able to witness that...so very beautiful and so very awesome. I was able to find a kindred spirit in so many of the sisters who I met because there are so many similarities of all of us together. It was easy to see a part of me in their stories of discernment, especially the stories of my own sister, Sister Angela. 

       As the weekend came to a close, I counted the amount of Sister Selfies that were taken at every event and with so many sisters. The number was astronomical. I laughed at them and began to feel a sadness. I had had such a beautiful, fruitful weekend which not only helped me in my own discernment of becoming a religious sister, but it also strengthened so many relationships and built new ones. I was amazed that even though I had known Sister Angela for two years, I didn't really know her story. I was amazed, too, at how close a person can feel to another after only a few days with her. I counted myself blessed to have such a special Sister with me, one who was willing to link arms with me, let me nap on her shoulder, and even share a book (we actually read the same book simultaneously in the airport...we're adorable). I shared so many laughs with her, so many laughs that yielded hurting stomach muscles and bright red faces. I shared so many spiritual moments with her in prayer, so many smiles, so many hugs and the list goes on and on. While I enjoyed every moment of the conference and tucked away all the knowledge I gained, the most important part of my weekend was sharing it with her. I don't think she knows how special she truly is to me. But I'll tell you this much, when it came time for us to part ways in the airport, she gave me a tight hug which squeezed s numerous amount of tears out of my eyes. Before I knew it, I was sobbing in the airport like an idiot. Yeah...I guess you could say that Sister Selfie and I bonded; she became not only "my nun" as we students began calling our sister companions, but she also became my sister...God works in so many mysterious ways. And here I am, crying again at the beauty of His goodness, as I write this. 

       National Catholic Sisters Week lasts until Saturday so you better hug as many nuns as you can. Take pictures with them (sister selfies preferred) and hashtag #thankanun. Thank as many women religious as you can because they have done so much for our world and deserve the gratitude. I know, for sure, that I'll be hugging lots and lots of nuns this week. I started today...and of course, got strange looks because THEY DIDN'T KNOW. So, I spread the word. National Catholic Sisters Week. Oh and next week, according to my good friend, Kristie, is subsequently deemed "National Future Catholic Sisters Week." Sure, Kristie, sure. Remember, thank a religious sister (thank a few...) and share their stories. 

 

To Lent or Not To Lent?

"Each soul, upon offering herself to the Lord,
must be prepared to accept both cross and suffering
out of Love for HIM."
- Blessed Frances Siedliska

Brought to you courtesy of Catholic Memes...

     The question was posed the morning of our service trip: who drinks coffee with breakfast? Father and Sister raised their hands. Then Sister elbowed me saying, "What? Is this practice for Lent?" I laughed, then rolled my eyes at her and shook my head. Honestly, I'm not really sure why I didn't raise my hand because everyone knows I was lying to myself if I thought I didn't drink coffee. Needless to say, I was glad people raised their hands for the coffee because I was in need of some hot elixir of life. As I sat at the breakfast table (after laying down the cereal boxes so I could see everyone) with the warm cup on my cheek (to warm myself up, of course), I began to think about what I was going to give up for Lent. I had a few days...that was Saturday morning.

      Now it's the day before the beginning of Lent. I've been seeing statuses about giving up this and giving up that for Lent. My soul started panicking. I HAVEN'T EVEN REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT IT YET. Now, if you know me and you know me well, you know two things about Lent for me: ONE, LENT is my MOST FAVORITE season of the Church and TWO, I always give great thought to my Lenten sacrifice. If you don't really know me, well then, now you know why I was panicking. So, in my panic, I searched the web. I found a great site which listed some great suggestions such as: cream and sugah in coffee, the Frozen soundtrack, and the radio. Then I found another one that suggested some more practical, serious things, like hot water, smartphone addictions, pillows and beds, and shoes. (I really liked the last one...). I thought, wow how nice. I even read a blog post urging young people to NOT give up social media for Lent so as to maintain their presence on the "battlefield." All really good food for thought. Then it hit me....I knew exactly what I was going to do for Lent.

       Did you think I was going to tell you? Remember that story in the Bible about the Pharisee who said, "THANK YOU GOD FOR NOT MAKING ME A SINNER LIKE THAT MAN?!" Well, brothers and sisters, humility is a gift! The truth is, I mulled over quite a few options. I thought about giving up hot water. I thought about giving up cream and sugar in my coffee. Someone suggested giving up ice cream...I can't eat ice cream; that's cheating. I thought about giving up the Frozen soundtrack but like, I really can't give up listening to and belting out "Let It Go." I thought about giving up shoes (the sisters reprimanding me for not wearing sensible shoes in the snow would really be a cross to bear...hmm...just kidding, nunnies!). I thought about giving up driving to work considering it's only right across the street (once again...the reprimanding). I thought about donating all the change in my car to Catholic Relief Services. Then I started thinking about things that would be really difficult to do, like give up the snooze button (my roommate would appreciate that one..). Imagine, not staying in bed for a half hour longer (would it be cheating if I just set my alarm for later). I also thought about giving up sarcasm and sassiness (how would Sister Cathy feel about that?!). At that rate, I should just take a vow of silence for Lent. I was really trying to weigh my options. 

       I decided on a few things for Lent. It's been a personal philosophy to give up one and do an extra. I have my "do an extra" but I'm keeping it a secret. We'll see if anyone can figure it out. I don't have a give up yet (I'm still thinking about the shoe thing...). Maybe I will go with my traditional, all drinks but water. I will definitely have my Lenten weight loss program then. I might actually, seriously give up using my phone during the day. But then I'd have no friends. Tomorrow, during Ash Wednesday Mass, I think God will give me what I've been waiting for: an idea of sacrifice. Until then, friends, I'll be praying! Oh and if you have any suggestions, I'd be more than willing to discern them! 

Service, The Only Great Thing

"No one can serve two masters.

He will either love one and hate the other,

or be devoted to one and despise the other.

You cannot serve both God and mammon."

 - Matthew 6:24

     On Friday night my Dad called me.The conversation went a little like this: Dad: "Where are you?" Me: "Oh you know, driving through Kensington." Dad: "WHY are you in Kensington? Who are you with?" Me: "My friends, Sister and Father. We're just living it up on Spring Break." Dad: "Okay, not but really, why are you in Kensington." Me: "Dad, I told you, Spring Break." Dad: "Whatever, just be safe." Me: "Love you, DAD!" While my daddio seemed a little annoyed that I neglected to tell him I was doing a Spring Break Service Trip...in Kensington, but he got over it. I think he's starting to realize a common theme: whenever I do something seemingly dangerous, I don't tell him so he doesn't worry so much before I leave. Sorry, daddio. 

     Anyway, as you could gather, to start Spring Break (which began on Friday), I climbed into the school van with seven other students, Father Chris and Sister Cathy and headed to Kensington. I've come to the realization that one either knows exactly what Kensington is or they have no idea. For example, when I handed in the van sheet at the safety desk, the safety officers said, "Oh...be careful." When Father asked one of the students if they knew where Kensington was, she said, "What even is Kensington?" I've heard the stories, that Kensington has always been the forbidden place, as in, don't go there, it's trouble. It's always been the place where the sun doesn't shine and the birds don't sing. But, as you might have gathered from my life, not much bothers me, not much scares me. Why should I fear where Jesus walks? 

      Our first time driving down Kensington Avenue, we missed the turn and found a grammar error. Because we were under the El, the GPS couldn't get a signal. However, we turned ourselves around and finally found the white door to the Blessed Sarnelli House. Ed opened the door for us and up some super steep, unfinished steps we climbed. We dropped our stuff and immediately turned on the heat. When I say it was as cold inside as it was outside, I am not kidding. We even went exploring to the bathrooms which...had frozen water in the toilets! We decided that all the girlies were going to share one room. Sister got the front end with the view of the el and Father got shipped upstairs. Then we hurried over to the other house (where it was warm) to set up for dinner. 

       The home was a basic three floor row home. On the second floor was the kitchen, chapel and store room (oh yeah...and a bathroom). On the ground floor was the dining room (and another bathroom). When the time came, the members of the Kensington community who needed a meal came through the front door, were served a plate of yummy food (cooked by Ed) and invited to sit down at the tables we had just set up. It was really crowded at the very beginning and so a lot of us wound up standing around, talking to a few of the visitors. However, eventually, a few people began to leave, headed some place or another and there was an empty chair at a table with three people. I asked if I could join the table. David, Donna and Allen all said yes. I found myself right at home.

       I used to feel extremely uncomfortable around the homeless. I had a perpetual feeling of guilt around them and I was never sure what to say or do. I also always wanted to cry. I would see these people on the streets while walking through Philly and I never had anything to give them, so I never made eye contact. I almost felt ashamed. I wanted to help but I was afraid I couldn't. Slowly, but surely, I begin, almost by forth, working with the homeless. It was part of our New Orleans trip, to work at the New Orleans Mission and serve dinner. After a few times, I realized, there's nothing less humane about these people. Friday night, I pulled up a chair, sat relaxed and laughed so hard with my three newest friends. Honestly, the stories we were telling were fantastic. I felt happy and at home. Not a place of home but a homey state of mind. 

       I decided to stay in my chair at the table in the corner by the front door. A few more times, I made a few more friends. Paul, who's cat obsession is almost as great as mine, and John, who is close to my age. A few other friends walked by, said hello, and kept walking, but these are the people I will remember forever. They were such beautiful people. 

       After serving dinner and cleaning up when all our friends left, we ourselves had dinner. It was a simple but good meal of noodles, veggies and turkey. The same dinner we had just served to the community. Mind-boggling, really, and eye-opening. We cleaned up after and didn't have too much to do, but we discovered that the reason our toilets had frozen water in them was due to our pipes freezing. That means, in our house, we didn't have any running water. Not bad right? Well, that means, no toilets, no hand washing, no teeth brushing, no water drinking, no face-washing, no nothing that involved water. Of course, we did have two bathrooms in the community house we could use, but that involved going outside in the cold and running next door. We decided to make two bathroom runs: one right before bed and one first thing in the morning. I've never appreciated water more. 

       We spent part of the night reflecting and then, just by casual conversation, I was asked to share my journey of discernment. I love all the girls I went to Kensington with and I honestly don't know what I will do when I don't get to see their lovely faces every day next year. They are always so honest with me and I love it. One of the girlies, Krystal, asked me about the nunny thing. She doesn't know how blessed I felt when she asked me to share my story. I needed that glimpse of hope and she gave it to me. 

        The next day was spent doing all kinds of clean up work around the house. We also took a tour of the Kensington area. The very long story short is that now in our beautiful group of volunteers, we had an electrician, shot put throwers, and dust nunnies. Our day of clean up involved some pretty crazy things but we had fun none the less. The thing about service is that no matter what, one's heart always seems to be opened in some capacity and there is a joy that slips in. There is always a way to make doing service enjoyable, whether it's making art out of broken items found on the site, being assaulted by nuns throwing things, relocating bricks, drilling holes in walls, or dusting so much dust we find dust nunnies. We had a great time in Kensington and I'm sad we couldn't stay another day. 

        This morning, I packed up the car and finally departed the noble hill for one last spring break. I cried a little because everytime I leave IU, I realize that one day I will leave and never come back as a student. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY NUNNIES THAT MEANS I HAVE TO LEAVE BEHIND?! Sobbing! Anyway, I met my family at the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament Motherhouse for Feast Day Mass (Katharine Drexel's Feast Day is March 3). All the precious nunnies both SBS and IHM welcomed me home to Bucks County. Needless to say, I was a happy NIT. As Mass begin, I realized I recognized the Franciscan Priest who was saying Mass. Turns out, he's from Kensington and works at St. Francis Inn. And that my friends, is how God brings my life full circle. God came in like a lion this beginning of March just as He knew I needed. Father's homily was about young people living the vocation of service to others. That's how I felt in Kensington; this is my vocation, to serve the Christ in others. Father also mentioned that Service is the only thing Jesus calls great in the bible. Hm..sounds legit. Jesus was a man of service, wasn't he? I sat listening to the entire homily thinking, wow, how beautiful a confirmation that I am exactly who Jesus wants me to be.

        I reflected a little later and realized how happy, truly happy, I was. I felt free. I felt such pure joy. And I felt like myself, who I truly am, including all sassiness. I had to laugh because people claim that they love who I am but so few have seen me in my real element. Sometimes it's a part of me that most people, even my closest friends, don't understand. I am guarded at times, but when I'm doing service work, I'm free. I FEEL LIKE I COULD SPREAD MY WINGS AND FLY! And when I let people see the real, true me, I feel even freer. I'm silly, I'm full of laughter and I love making other people happy. When people I love see that, I feel as if suddenly I've opened a whole new book in my life. And all that's written on those pages is this: Service, the greatest thing in the world. I agree with Jesus.