Be YOU

"To be yourself in a world that is

constantly trying to make you someone else

is the greatest accomplishment."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

    "Let's do this again," she said to me as we pulled into the infamous circle of Nazareth Academy, "it's been too long." When we got upstairs, she turned to me, hugged me and said, "We haven't had this long or deep of a conversation since...Kairos." Of course, this made me laugh because as much as I didn't want to think it was true, it probably was. Sister Teresa and I go way back, almost eight years now that I think about it, which is a pretty long time. Once upon a time she had me in awe as she told the story of her relationship with God based on the Scripture verse engraved on her ring (Song of Songs 2:16). She helped me through my "I hate math" mid-life crisis. But most importantly, she was my Kairos group leader my Senior year of high school. While the many mini moments I had with Sister Teresa through high school were true blessings, the weekend of Kairos told me that she was someone I had to keep in my life for a very long time. 

      I have always had the tendency of waking up early. Even now, when I'm not in school and have no place to be (usually) before  8:50 (because Mass is at 9:00, I am up long before the alarm goes off. My alarm is set for 7:30 in the Summer and I'm always up right before 6:00. My internal clock never takes a vacation. Of course, even when I don't have an alarm clock, this happens. On the Saturday of Kairos, I was up long before our wake-up call which was at, well, I don't know what time. I crept out of my room with my journal and went to watch the sunrise from the back porch. I remember writing about the beauty of the sun and how at peace I felt. In the quiet of the morning, Sister Teresa came bustling through the front door of our house, waved, headed to her room and then re-routed to come talk to me. I was sitting on the couch right in front of the window and she knelt down in front of me and took my hands in hers. She looked me straight in the eye and began to assure me that no matter what she would always care about me. 

      You see, the week before I was scheduled to go on Kairos, I had made it known to the school community and the Sisters that I would be going to Immaculata University for college. I was accepted with scholarship and I was planning to be a Theology major. I was excited but I wasn't excited to tell the Sisters. You know, the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth have a college in the backyard of my high school which also happened to have a Theology major. But, I didn't choose that college. I didn't even apply. I applied to a university sponsored by a different community of Sisters and I was sure I was never going to hear the end of it. 

      During that conversation that Sister Teresa and I had that morning she not only told me that she was never going to stop caring about me, but that she was proud of me. She was proud of me for breaking a mold that might have been seemingly set for me. I was branching out and that was healthy and good. She told me that regardless of whether I went to Immaculata or Holy Family she would always be my Sister and stand behind me 100%. I cried. It was the first time I had ever cried in front of someone else. I cried so much and I never forgot that conversation. 

     In the past four years, I've had many visits with Sister Teresa but never ones that last more than an hour and most definitely not ones that last the whole day. However, today we had a great visit. I found myself at the great Naz Acad at ten am and I didn't leave until about 2:30 in the afternoon. Somewhere in between sharing stories and pictures, we ate lunch. I told her all about graduation and my recent journey to Peru. I told her about job searching and other things. We even talked about extremely nunny things like her recent addiction to EWTN and the NCSW conference I went to in March (and all the topics that came along with that). But we also talked about the future...the religious life future. 

     The thing that I love about Sister Teresa the most is that she is a woman is not afraid to say what she thinks. She is blatantly honest and I admire that about her. As we were sitting in her office she said, "It doesn't matter if I'm sitting at your vows in the Nazareth Provincialate or the IHM Motherhouse or even at your wedding, I'm still going to love you as my little sister. And we, both communities, need to be mature enough to support you in whatever you choose." I laughed at the wedding part, but she assured me that regardless of wherever I end up, she'd be there. But that wasn't all that really touched my heart today with her. 

      She later went on to tell me that I cannot make my decision of a community based on whether or not I would be disappointing one community or the other. Many Sisters have told me this in recent weeks; that my decisions have to made me for me not for others. But Sister Teresa went a little deeper than anyone else had. She reminded me of something I always quote, "Be who you are and be that well." She told me that God made me to be me, not to be the person others expect me to be. At the end of life God is not going to judge me on how well I lived up to others' expectations. He is going to judge me on how well I lived the life HE asked me to serve. I cannot enter a community based on the expectations of the Sisters. I need to enter the community that God has chosen for me. 

      I have heard in many conversations that "If they love you, they will understand your decision and they will support you regardless." While that sentence is comforting to some, there is so much questionable about it. There is no question about the fact that one day I will enter one community and not the other. Let's talk about the middle part of the seemingly comforting sentence, "...they will understand your decision..." Chances are, if this is said about the community that I do not enter, they may not understand my decision to enter the other community.  There are some good chances that even the community I do enter might not understand all that went into my finally making the decision. There is an even greater chance that I, myself, might not wholly understand my decision. However, I know that at the moment of entrance, I will be at peace because that is where God wants me. The understanding may not come for months or even years. 

     The next part of the sentence, "...they will support you regardless." Well yes, one would hope. But what if entering one community means losing friends in the other community? That has always been a fear of mine and I believe it is a valid fear. It is statistically proven that when someone enters into a serious, romantic relationship, he or she loses about two friends in the process, if only because time no longer allows. There is no question that the communication will be harder, but because I love so much, I fear the loss of friendships. 

     Of course, the first part of the sentence, "If they love you..." Well, if maybe the community that I do not enter doesn't quite yet understand my decision to enter the other community or necessarily support me all the way because of emotions getting in the way, well, did they ever love me in the first place? Because if they did love me, they would understand right away. They would support me. But the truth is, religious women are just as human as you and I and the understanding and support might not be there  right away. But that doesn't mean they didn't care about or love me. However, the words play tricks on the mind. 

      Sister Teresa reminded me today that I need to not think about the people when discerning and choosing the community that's a good fit for me. It's not that one community isn't good and the other is, but it will mean that one community's charism and ministry fits me better than the other. I cannot allow personal relationships to get in the way of my decision-making. I cannot say to myself, "This Sister might be disappointed if..." because at that moment that Sister is expecting me to be someone other than the ME God is asking me to be. I need to remember to be true to the ME God wants and not the someone else others may be expecting me to be. But also, I need to remember humility because I have a fear that people might be disappointed if I didn't choose their side but really who I am to think that the one little person I am might cause an entire community years of misery because I did not join them. Oh yes, this is a reality check for me. This is a humility check. Who am I? 

     Sister Teresa's message to me today isn't just one for a young woman discerning between two communities but it is for all of us. So often we get caught up in living up to the expectations of others'. Perhaps we are afraid to disappoint our families, our parents, our children, our friends, our workplaces, etc. However, we must remember that these people are holding us to expectations that may not be in conjunction with the expectations God has for us. We need to live to be the US God wants us to be not the people others are expecting us to be. We need to be the best us in accordance to what God desires. We need to be who we are according to who God made us to be. We need to remember that at the end of life God will not ask us about how many times we lived up to others' expectations; He will ask us how we measured up to what He desired. Of course, we also need to remember that if we happen to be disappointing to someone, it won't be the end of the world, we are not the only person who exists in the that person's life; our inability to live up to their expectations will not be the end of the world. So, be YOU. Be the YOU God wants not the person others are expecting. YOU must be YOU. 

Daddy's Little Princess

"It was my father who taught me to value myself.
He told me that I was uncommonly beautiful
and that I was the most precious thing
in his life."
- Dawn French

    I remember as a little girl, getting dressed up on Sunday mornings before church and going into my parents' bedroom to model my Sunday best. "Daddy, am I pretty?" I'd ask and he would respond by saying, "Yes, you're beautiful." Daddy never failed to remind me that I was beautiful. 

     I often tell the story of how many times Daddy made me go back upstairs and change my outfit. As a little girl, it was probably because my t-shirt didn't match my pants. But as I got in my middle school years, it was because that tank top wasn't appropriate for the school dance. I would argue that all the other girls could wear the famous spaghetti straps of the nineties, so why couldn't I. The infamous, "because I said so, " would be said and I'd march up the stairs to change into a t-shirt. In High School, it might have been because my shorts or dresses were too short or tight. One time I made the snarky remark that I'd just dress like a nun and he'd be happy. Of course, his remark back was to say, well yeah. By my Junior year of High School, however, I was learning to be grateful for those times that Daddio made me march up the stairs and "put more clothes on." All those times I thought Dad was against me (and the latest fads), He was actually for me. He was reminding me, without saying it, of what true beauty is. True beauty was not showing skin and curves. Beauty was my brain. Beauty was my gift of words. Beauty was my personality. Beauty was my kindness, my smile, my love. Beauty was not showing off my body. Beauty was loving others and loving myself. Wait...beauty was? No. Beauty still is.

     This past weekend we celebrated Father's Day. I've often questioned why we call it Father's day....why so formal? I, just like many people, have never really called my Father, Father. I've called him Dad, Daddy and Daddio. So why not Dad's Day? And also, where did the title Dad even come from? It obviously denotes a closer relationship between child and father, which is pretty cool. At Mass on Sunday, I was contemplating all these things when we started to sing Abba, Father. That's when I remembered one of my grade school teachers telling me that Abba actually meant Daddy and not Father. This means, if we called God, Abba and not Father, we are actually acknowledging a closer relationship with Him. But is this really true? How many do not have a healthy, close relationship with God? Why are we stuck in a generation that continuously calls God, Father, when we could be calling Him, Daddy? 

     My family often jokes that my own Daddio set the bar so high that the only man who could ever go above and beyond that bar is Jesus, which is why I have to marry Him. Of course, I know some very wholesome young men in my life and I know for sure, that they will "grow up" to be wonderful Dads like my own Daddy. My Dad not only set the bar high, however, he allowed me to know, see, and understand God. I hope all those young men in my life do the same for their daughters and their sons. 

     Dads are meant to be the earthly example of God the Father. My Dad has taught me not only about my beauty and personal value as a young woman, but he has done so much. My Dad has given me an appreciation for nature. He has shown me the happiness that can come from simply sitting near the water, may it be ocean, river or lake. He has shown me the beauty of the sunsets and sunrises. He has shown me the respect and love I deserve. He has shown me that everything around me is a gift. He has shown me the value of true, lifelong friendship (because all my crazy "uncles" are my dad's best friends from when he was a wee little tot). He has shown me the dazzlement that can come from simplicity. He has shown me that all the good things in life come without a price tag. It's the truth. By my Dad being such a good Dad, he has shown me God. It kind of goes like this:

      God made all of the wondrous nature around us, for us. It was as if He wanted to give us a beautiful gift and He made the trees, the water, the land for  us to be happy. God made us as His children to be loved, adored and respected by everyone. He also made us to love, adore and respect our fellow brothers and sisters. Because He made is and we deserve it. God made us for friendship with others and with his Son...for life. God has given us so much so as to dazzle us with the beauty that surrounds us. God has given me a love so deep that shows me that I'm beautiful. My Daddio has helped me realize all of this about God. However, this is not the same for many people. 

     I have developed a theory that the reason we do not call God, Dad, is that many in today's society do not have the same relationship I have with my Daddy. On Father's day, social media explodes with devotions to Dads around the world, but I wonder how many young women have been told, from a very young age, that they were beautiful? Many in today's society do not know the feeling of having a Dad, a Daddy or a Daddio. Many do not even know the feeling of having a Father. Of course, many psychologists have said that women who do not have a good relationship with their Fathers wind up in bad relationships with men because they do not know what to look for. Dads must set the bar high. (I'll get back to this). However, I think there is something else going on here. Rarely do we hear God referred to as Dad. It is hard to develop a relationship with He who we cannot see, yes? Yes. In today's day and age, our generations and the generations below us are suffering from a Fatherlessness that many before us do not know. If our generations cannot trust or confide in or even speak with the physical fathers in life, than how can we even imagine developing a relationship with God, the Father who we cannot see? That's the confusion today. My prayer is that all those wholesome young men in my life go on to be the Daddy's their children need so they can know God. 

      My Daddy has taught me, from a very young age, that I am a beautiful young princess. He has shown me my value and beauty as a young woman. He has shown me that God loves me, regardless of what I might do wrong. Because at the end of the day, if I made a mistake, my Daddy is still going to love me. Just like God. I've been blessed with such a great Dad. By his being such a strong man, he has shown me how to be a strong and faith-filled young woman. So, while I may not call God, Dad, Daddy, or even Daddio, (I think I can go for a Pops), I know that He is more than just a Father for me. God is my Abba and I can thank my Dad for helping me realize that. Of course, I think it's every little girl's dream to make her Daddy proud. So, one day I hope I can because I know I sure am proud to be his and His daughter. My final remark is this: My Daddy, while being a great one, has always been a Dad to so many of my friends. Sometimes, my friends even call my Daddy, Dad. You know what? That makes me happy, too. Because God just isn't my Pops, He's yours, too. 

Desert Silence

"Praying - a silence in which
another voice may speak."
- Mary Oliver, "Thirst"

     As soon as I saw the mountains in the backyard of Villa Maria, La Planicie, I knew immediately that I wanted to climb them. I saw them as I see the ocean, something in which I can be alone and at peace. Just as I so often find the grandeur of God in the ocean, I felt the immense glory of God calling me to the tops of those mountains. I didn't look at them as most hikers or backpackers would, as something to be conquered, but rather, I saw them as something that I knew would conquer me.

    Our first taste of the mountains was when Sister Annette took us on a tour of the "backyard." We didn't go very far, but despite the small distance into the mountains we went, it was breathtaking. We didn't go very high, but the group of us stood on a path that seemed carved out only by God. Sister was telling us about a time she had gone up the mountains and sat incredibly still while she was on retreat some time ago. After her story, she made us stand there in silence. It was deafening. There were no birds chirping, no sounds of cars or people, no breeze to rustle even the dirt paths. There was absolutely no noise. Then, of course, someone laughed because we are not a silent people. And no, I do not mean our particular group, I mean modern day people. 

     This morning, I was sitting in Mass at St. Charles in Bensalem with my little sister. It what used to be a "cry room" for mothers with babies on Sundays, has been transformed into a side Chapel. There is a glass wall and two glass doors separating the room from the big church. Because there isn't too much room in the side Chapel, many people, including my sister and I, sit in the church and listen to Mass. Lizzie and I sit close to the glass wall, however, just so she can see what is going on. Usually, there is a microphone for the priest and the reader to use so that the people in the Church can listen, but today there was no microphone. Suddenly, the people in the Church started to state the obvious: the microphones are not on, etc. They began to move and hustle around making it so that one could not hear at all. However, when all was quiet again, despite there not being any microphones, if one listened really intently, he or she could hear what was going on. I found myself listening, focusing on every word that was said, and quieting my own mind. I found myself being silent. After Mass, as I reflected on this phenomena, I thought, once again of the desert. 

      On one particular afternoon, two of my friends from our trip and myself decided to go climb the mountain. We didn't set out to climb to a specific height or go to a specific peak, we just wanted to go, and so we went to the first place Sister Annette took us. We climbed and climbed and climbed. I felt the top of that particular mountain calling me forth; I needed to go there. It was rough, my lungs ached, my feet hurt and I had no idea how I was going to get down. I was sweating and since most of the mountain is made of dirt, my skin was soon being caked in dirt. Yet, I knew I had to get there. I kept climbing until finally, I reached the top with Nicole. Then, immediately I felt tears build up in my eyes. 

      I looked around the top of the mountain for a section to sit down. Where I sat is where I took the above picture. Yes, I sat down on a rock that essentially allowed me to dangle my feet over a very steep edge. Then, I sat there. I closed my eyes and I let the silence flow over me. Again, there were no birds, no animals, no wind, nothing. We were so high up that you could see the city of La Molina but you couldn't hear a single sound. My thoughts were deafening. Being up there, I began to pray. I had almost every fear and ambition on my mind but suddenly, I was being quieted. All my thoughts began to cease and I felt the true presence of God with me. 

      Yesterday, I went to visit my dear (dare I say it?!) alma mater and my Sisters there. While most of the conversation was in good favor and lots of sharing of my recent adventure to Peru, there was some very serious conversation, too. I hadn't planned to see Sister Annette yesterday, but as I waited in the convent dining room for Sister Elaine, she popped out of the kitchen and asked me to stop over in her office when I got back. She wanted to see my pictures, of course. And so, after lunch with Sister Elaine, I walked over to her office and let her browse through my pictures. I could see how much each picture brought back to her mind the memories of not only our two weeks there, but also of all the years she was missioned there. And as I watched her, I felt so much emotion flow through my heart. Joy at the sight of all the smiles and almost tears at the sight of all the people I love so dearly there. After she finished with the pictures, she turned to me and we had a chat. 

      She told me that I was quieter than usual and it seemed that I was perplexed by something. While yes, there was a lot on my mind concerning big and little moments of future life, my quiet persona of the day was actually the real Becca, I told her. Many people do not see pensive, reflective, quiet Becca, but she's there deep inside. I've always been a "watcher," one who takes in everything and then later, I explode about it. I see things for what they are in their stillness and reality. She asked how I was and I responded by saying, "I just am." I was sitting in her office as I was sitting on the desert mountain, in silence with thoughts slowly going through my mind until there were none left. I admit that there was a point in our conversation where I felt tears build up in my throat, but really I was at peace with just "being." I had no where to go and all day to do it. 

     She reminded me yesterday that I need to continuously be open to the Spirit; I need to listen to Him. That traveled with me as I remembered the mountains and the silence I experienced there. This morning when I was trying really hard to focus on listening at Mass, I also remembered her words. You see, I cannot truly listen if there is noise. Just as I couldn't hear what was going at Mass while the people were making a fuss, I cannot hear God if my mind is flood with thoughts and actions. I cannot listen to God if I am constantly on the run. He calls me from the desert mountaintops to come and sit and just be with Him. He calls me into the desert, not only the real desert like in Peru, but the figurative desert. It is there where I may feel tired, achy and sweaty of all that life has given me. But if I allow myself the time to sit and be with Him, He will silence me and there I will hear His voice. Because just as in a conversation, when I am quiet, I allow the other person to speak. In the desert, God does all the speaking. But it comes in the form of silence. I simply have to listen to what the silence does to my soul. 

Enjoy a bit of silence today, on me. 

Drops of Water

"We know all too well that what we are doing is 

nothing more than a drop in the ocean. 

But if that drop were not there, 

the ocean would be missing something."

-Mother Teresa

The Pacific Ocean at La Punta, Peru

    Just yesterday my family opened our above ground pool to celebrate the beginning of Summer this week (my sisters will FINALLY be done school). I also just took a sip of refreshing ice cold water from my kitchen sink. Currently, it's pouring rain outside and people on social media are complaining about forgetting their umbrella. Later on, after dinner, my sisters and I will wash the dishes while subconsciously letting the water run. Of course, in my city alone, there will be lots and lots of water running when people take their showers after a long day, then another shower after their workout and a final shower right before bed because it's hot out. Ah, the luxury. 

    This morning, I came home from Mass to find that once again the faucet in my kitchen had been left running. Only ever so slightly, but still, it was running. After shutting off the faucet, I asked about who left the water running. Finally, someone said that the faucet was on for the cat. Apparently, cats like to play in the water. But I looked around and saw not a single cat in the vicinity of the kitchen. I also happened to look on the kitchen floor to see, not one, but four (one for each cat or dog) water bowls. I shook my head. Leave it to us, those living in such abundant luxury, to make sure each of our animals had a water bowl. There's a little bit of irony here. 

      Less than a week ago, I was getting my drinking water from a filtered water cooler in the kitchenette. It was room temperature but it was water. Everything we made with water, had to be done with the water in the cooler. So, if we wanted to wash our fruit off, we had to use the cooler. If we wanted to make coffee, we had to use the cooler. And if we wanted to make ice, we had to do it using the cooler water. Why? Well, Peru doesn't have the best water supply, even coming out of the sink. You know how people say, "don't drink the water?" Well, it's true in Peru. Everywhere we turned, the Sisters were making sure we were only drinking the filtered water. Quite a difference then what I have been experiencing at home these past few days. 

     On one of the days, we traveled to Montenegro. This place is my absolute favorite because here, life is simple and because it is simple, it is beautiful. The way there I was thinking if I would be able to live like most of the people in Montenegro. You see, from the school patio you can see mountains upon mountains with beautifully colored huts also known as family homes. Up the mountains run pairs of vibrant green steps. In these homes there is usually no electricity, in some homes, no ways to lock the doors, no way to heat the home or keep it cool, and no refrigeration. But above all, there is no running water. Sister explained it to us like this: some homes have hoses hooked up to their houses that are connected to the water basin on the mountain. Once a week, for five minutes, the water turns on and the family has to fill all the containers they can in those five minutes. Once the water shuts off, they have their water supply for the week. That's right, for the week. 

      After hearing this, I decided, okay, maybe I could do that. But then I thought, I, myself, one person, could do that. I wouldn't need that much water for the week. But what about the families who have seven kids and then maybe grandkids who live in their little homes, slightly larger than my bedroom? Could they do it? I guess they could because every day those families send their kids looking immaculate to school. Yet, they only have five minutes of running water every week. On top of not having 24/7 access to water, they also live in the desert. 

      Now, imagine, after having visited Montenegro a few times, both this trip and last year's trip, what I was thinking when we all came home to find that one of the eight bathrooms on the second floor of the convent had flooded. We had been out on the town all day and during the week we had had some issues with the toilets not flushing all the way or by running all night long. However, not one of us thought anything of the sounds of running water. That sound of running water turned into much more though. When we got home, the first thing I was headed to do was go use the bathroom. However, as I ran down the hallway, suddenly, I was standing in two inches of water. Try to picture the set up: a hallway set up a step, on the left two bathrooms, ahead another bathroom and to the right, a bathroom and a cleaning closet. All four of those bathrooms and the closet were sitting in two inches of water and by the time I happened upon the natural disaster, the water was spilling out over the step and into the hallway; like a mini waterfall. Yes, the sound of running water had turned into literal running water all over the place. Right away, I dashed down the stairs to get a nun, or two, or three and then went back upstairs. 

      As we all pulled together to clean up the small natural disaster, we joked about how we had the biblical flood in the biblical desert. We each found our spot doing something to help the cause, whether it was laying down newspaper (note to self: newspaper is an incredibly nunny and smart way to sop up water), mopping water from various rooms or collecting everything in trashbags and then getting rid of those trashbags. Our shoes were soaked and some of us even ventured further to just do the clean up in flip flops or barefeet. Don't worry, it was just clean water. And that's when it hit me. It was just clean, unused water that we could no longer use...gone. 

     Suddenly, I wondered how many "five minutes" we had just used up. I wondered how many baths or showers we had just lost. I wondered how many glasses of water we could have drank. I wondered a lot about the amount of water we had just accidentally wasted. Of course, there really wasn't anything we could have done with the water, to be honest, other than sop it up with newspapers and our socks. But it was an experience, for sure; a thought-provoking one at that. 

     Water has always been important to me. I have always loved being by the river or the ocean, so in that sense, water is just overpowering for me. However, water gained a bit more importance in my life post-Jamaica service trip. That was the first time I ever had the experience of not being able to drink the water. It was the first time I began to really appreciate my shower. Since then, showers last maybe ten minutes, but the good news is, they can be done in five. Of course, I also began to appreciate ice, cold water, with ice cubes. But there's never a moment where I don't let the ice cubes melt so I can drink that water, too. As for letting the water run while doing dishes, well, I try, I try really hard. 

      Water is something we so often take for granted. We can easily swim in our pools filled with water and if there's too much splashing, we can easily grab the hose and fill it back up. We can easily turn on the faucet for some nice, cold water and drink it, adding ice if we please. We can take showers as long as we want because we don't have five minutes a week to run water. We don't have to hold our water in various containers and pray we make it til the next five minutes. We can complain about not having umbrellas for the rainstorm and stepping in puddles. We can do a lot of things, because we are blessed with water. So, this summer, while we are out enjoying cooling off by a big bottle of water or a jump in the pool, let's remember that it's a privilege not a necessity that we have these things. And that there are plenty of people in this world who are thirsty and dirty tonight because running water is not even a concept for them to understand. Thank God for your blessings of running water and say a prayer for those who have no water. 

Aventura Peruana - Vivir La Vida

"Yours are the eyes through which to look 

out Christ's compassion on the world. 

Yours are the feet with which He is to go about doing good.

Yours are the hands with which He is to bless all now."

- St. Teresa of Avila

   Well here I am, a few days after my return back to the United States, and I still can't shake the brokenheartedness of having to leave behind so many people I love. For the past three days, I've woken up and expected to look out my window at the children of Villa Maria, La Planicie going to school. I wake up expecting that my being home in the US is actually a dream. Now don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my country of the red, white and blue, and I most certainly love my hometown of little old Croydon, but two weeks most certainly was not a long enough time in Peru. Heck, even a month last year wasn't enough. I'm not quite sure what it is about that country, but I have a love for it like no other. But I'm not going to complain about being in the wrong country anymore. Instead, I'll share with you, my experience. 

   For the past few months, the Sisters have been asking me if I was counting down. I said yes, but not to what they had been suggesting. Of course, being it my Senior year, they wanted to know if I was counting down to graduation. OF COURSE NOT, I would exclaim, because truly the very thought or suggestion of having to leave the noble hill was cause for a small, but rather intense emotional breakdown which included lots of sobs and snotty tissues. Okay, maybe not that drastic, but you get the point. However, I would continue, I am counting down to May 21. Many wondered why that date and not graduation, but, of course, they understood my desire for not wanting to leave the great EEEE-MOCK-UUUU-LAAAA-TAAA. So when I finally explained that May 21 would be the date of my departure to Peru, the understanding came with a sigh and a, "oh, of course, your home." How did they ever know?! 

    The day of graduation came and as you know, there was so much beauty from God in that weekend. However, as soon as the ceremony was over, I could not help but count down the days til we left for Peru. At that point it was three days. The excitement was building and so was the anxiety of packing. If it wasn't for Theresa texting me every half hour on Monday worrying about packing, I wouldn't have packed until Tuesday night. But thank God for friends. By Monday night, I was ready, emotionally, physically and mentally, to get on a plane and go home. But alas, God was working on my patience and so, I waited. 

     Wednesday morning, I headed to morning Mass at St. K's at 6:30. As I was kneeling there, praying my little heart out, as Sister "Mom" Regina would say, I happened to look up to see a familiar IHM veil. All throughout Mass, however, I could not for the life of me, figure out which nun was in front of me. So after Mass, I happened to bump into S. Anne Mark, IHM. I asked her if she knew the lady in blue and alas, she did not. So we did what any two curious characters would do and went to say hello. Suddenly, I knew exactly who she was: S. Agnes from none other than PERU. I asked her when she was going home and when she said, "in a few hours" I could hardly contain my excitement. How ironic that the two of us would be traveling to Peru on the same day?!

     Within the next few hours, I was dropping Lizzie off at school and getting my traveling blessing from Sisters Jeanne and Catherine Danielle. Before I knew it, we were at the airport, anxiously awaiting the arrival of all the members in our group before we headed off. After many hours of pre-travel pictures and finally traveling, we landed in Callou, Peru, at about 11:30 their time. The night drive from the airport to our home for the next two weeks seemed like a dream. I was having a hard time believing that I was back in the country I had fallen in love with exactly a year ago to date. Yet, there I was, staring out the window at some of the most beautiful sights in the world...well, at least, to me. The strong smell of diesel exhaust was welcoming and the "almost dying by car accident" heart palpitations were exactly what I had been missing for the past year. Oh those sights, sounds (insert Oxford comma here) and smells were a joyous serenade of "Welcome Home." That night, I fell asleep feeling like the happiest girl alive.

     The next day we had our full tour of Villa Maria, La Planicie. Of course, before that I went to Mass with the Sisters and half of the Confirmation class. After Mass, I not only bumped into my dear Sister Marie who was there for a visit but we also went to the May Procession for the escuelita school. If only I could put into words how stinkin' precious those little ones were with their flowers for Mary, their rosaries and their smiles of pure joy. During our day we met the faculty of VM and also got our "assignments" for the next few days. Originally we had all planned to be helping out in the escualita (literally "the little school" for the poorer children. Here the students receive breakfast and lunch as part of their school. Many are children of the people who work in the richer homes in the area as maids, cooks and landscaping aids.), however, four of us soon found out that we would be giving faith witness talks to the Confirmation class (Juniors in High School). 

    Speaking in front of a group of people, especially students, never ever once phased me. In fact, it has always been like second nature. I never get nervous to the same extent I do when I'm performing. Nope. Never. But as Sister Cathy says, it's okay to have butterflies, so long as they are all in the right row. And so, I couldn't have been happier than when I was standing in front of all those beautiful, young, impressionable faces as I shared my faith story. I decided to go along with how one must be a Best Friend with God (that's a WHOLE other blog post) and immediately, I saw how the students were amazed that one could actually be best friends, let alone friends, with God. Once again, I was confirmed in my vocation to be a teacher. All my life I have wanted to teach, to blow students' minds with the awesomeness of God. Giving my faith witness allowed me to do just that. 

    For the first day, we thought we would only be talking to the fourth year class. However, during our time, we wound up speaking to 16 classes of young women in both the Villa Maria school and Colegio San Antonio. Believe it or not, that's a lot of young women. And not only did Theresa and I speak to all those classes, but they also asked the two of us to speak about our relationship with Mary, BVM, at the Villa Maria May Procession. Every day, through our talks, through my own and the others', I was spiritually fulfilled. Sharing faith with each other is so incredibly important and I have always been so reaffirmed. Talk about real life missionary work.

     Faith sharing while probably took up the most time during our mission, was not the only thing we did while in Peru. One very special place we visited was Dr. Tony's. We went our first Saturday morning in Peru, before the big Kermesse (carnival-type celebration) at Villa Maria. After about an hour drive in the very small fifteen passenger van, we arrived at the home for children. This was not an orphanage, but rather a home for children who have had various surgeries. These children come from the poor mountain regions and Dr. Tony, a doctor from the United States, oversees their surgeries which include but are not limited to cleft palate, leg surgeries, cerebral palsy therapy and surgeries to help burn victims. Although the doctor was not in for the day, we saw the entire facility and were able to spend a few hours with the children. While I enjoyed being out on the patio watching the boys with crutches play soccer as if they had no disability, my favorite part was visiting the nursery. Some have said that I speak baby-I understand those who cannot speak better than those who can. One little girl in particular was suffering from cerebral palsy and could not really move her muscles. A few of the girls went over to her crib to say hello, but when they walked away, she started crying. So I went over and gently rubbed her little arms and legs. Immediately, she looked up at me with her beautiful, big, brown eyes and stopped crying. I spoke to her softly but as I was walking away, she began to cry again. So, I went back to rubbing her little arms and legs again for about ten minutes. She was so content, that when I left again, she was okay. 

     Another favorite moment was when I caught Sister Annette enjoying a few minutes with a little boy on the couch. He had pulled her packet of kleenex from her purse and then proceeded to pull them all out of the packet. I was laughing so hard that she invited me over to sit with him. She eventually got up, but left us with the tissues. I wasn't sure what to do with them, so we started counting. Then he ripped one in half and thought it was hilarious, so, of course, I did, too. Eventually, he got bored with me and ran off to play with his tissues alone. Looking back, however, I realize the simplicity of the moment - like a bored little kid in church, entertained by a pack of tissues. Who would have thought?

      Saturday and Sunday were filled with exciting Kermesses and Bingos at Villa Maria and Fe Y Alegria N 37, Montenegro. Both of these days, it seemed to be a nun convention. I was so eternally grateful for these days because not only was I able to see the other four Immaculata girls who had arrived a week prior at EIC, but also all my beautiful nun friends. I could not have cared less about what was going on around me because there were too many Sisters with whom I needed to catch up. And catch up I did, especially with my EIC girls. Of course, I also met a few new Sisters, like Sister Anne. My initiation into her friendship came in twofold. First, on Saturday, she told me that her relative sister, who had been a teacher in my high school, had told her all about her. I told her the reverse was the same. For three years we had known about each other, but we had finally just met. The second part of the initiation came when at the BINGO in Montenegro, she asked me to accompany her to the market down the street. You see, we were in need of some hotdog skewers. So, we left the confines of the school and began our journey to the open market on the streets of Montenegro. Honestly, I couldn't have been happier. Not only did we chat a bit, but I also got to experience real life in Montenegro; a life I've been wanting (since experiencing it last year) to experience much longer than a day or two. That moment will forever be etched in my mind as one of the most memorable of my trip this time around. 

        The following week was filled with many faith witness talks, a visit to my "old stomping grounds" at Colegio San Antonio (which meant a HUGE reunion with my students, mis hermanitas, from last year and LOTS OF TEARS at our bittersweet parting), and a journey to Our Lady of Joy and Francisco Coll in Ate Vitarte. Our Lady of Joy is a home for adults who have a physical disability. It is absolutely beautiful, with physical therapy options and get this, handicap accessible bathrooms and rooms. Trust me when I say that this is a rarity in Peru. This place not only allows these beautiful people a chance to live life to the fullest despite their physical disability, but it also allows them the means to eventually be independent, that is, not dependent on their families. Many of these people were forced to believe that their physical disability was a curse from God, but now, as some told us, they can see the beauty of it. Our time spent there was beautiful. 

     At Francisco Coll the first day, we met Maria who showed us what she wanted us to do for the next day. It involved lots of paint and a pretty big wall. The next day we found ourselves sizing up a wall for a mural. Within a matter of minutes, I was covered in paint (shocking, I know). My job for the rest of the day was the mix the paint as Benito showed me. Good thing I remembered all those things about the color wheel from Kindergarten. Shout out to Miss O'Neil for teaching me all she knew about colors. We covered the wall in an array of handprints as butterflies, flowers and even tree leaves. The best part about this day was watching both Sister Annette and Sister Mary literally get their hands dirty as we painted their hands so that they could put their handprints on the walls. The mural turned out wickedly beautiful. 

     Our next weekend was spent well...doing touristy type stuff like shopping, walking through LarcoMar for ice cream, going to Mass, visiting central Lima, etc. My favorite part of the weekend, well there's two: first, it was seeing three of my lovely ladies in blue in the market from a mile away and then running at them to give them hugs. I had thought the last time I was going to see them was the previous Monday. Well, God had something else in store. My second favorite moment: getting to go back to Santa Rosa, my favorite church spot in all of Lima (and I've been to quite a few). I love St. Rose's story, even if it contained a hermitage smaller than my playhouse Barbie house, or trying her hair to keep herself awake. She was a beautiful woman of God. 

      Our final two days in Peru were spent in my favorite places: Montenegro and EIC. Montenegro is my favorite school for one simple reason: the simple joy emulated by the children of all ages there. Of course, there was a perk that I got to see my temporary spiritual director, Sister Liz. After the children welcomed us to Peru, they had recess. While most of the girls challenged the high school boys to a basketball game, a few of us stayed on the patio to play with the little ones. I have never seen or heard such joy from having an impromptu photo shoot. You see, I wanted to snap a few photos of the children. This small desire turned into the little ones modeling and me calling them Senor and Senorita. I have so many pictures of the girls and boys' faces smiling and jumping and screaming and laughing. Who know how awesome the words "mirame" and "sonria" really were?! At one point, after getting a tour of the school and singing and praying with the fourth year students and Sister Cathy, we climbed the infamous green stairs to the top of one of the mountains in Montenegro. The sight was breathtaking. I truly cannot put it into words. And the chapel for the school literally brought tears to my eyes, because as Sister Annette said, "Just as the IHMs started in a little hut in Monroe, this chapel started as a hut in Montenegro. 

     Our final stop on the tour of Fe Y Alegria N 37, Montenegro, was the convent. I'm not sure what it was, maybe the sunflowers all over the room, maybe the little Chapel that had a window which looked directly out to the streets, or maybe the simple beauty of the building, but when I got to the rooftop, tears started streaming down my face. I wasn't sad, no, that wasn't quite it, but rather happy, so very, very, very happy. When she noticed, Sister Cathy kind of put her arm around me in an awkward side hug and said, "It's okay to cry, you know. It's okay to be a hot mess, here." I smiled and I knew she was right. Here was a place where I felt my heart yearning to stay...for a very long time. But as all good things do, our visit came to an abrupt end and I felt a piece of my heart break off to stay there "siempre."

     The next day, our last day in Peru, we found ourselves in Miraflores, my literal "old stomping ground." We paid a visit to Villa Maria lower and then, walked the way to EIC, which had been my home for a month last summer. I couldn't thank God for the opportunity to spend my last hours in Peru with the Sisters I had began to call family. I felt like a welcomed home little sis as I laughed and hugged and spoke with my dear Sisters. Once a month calls helped relieve the pain of being separated for a year but nothing could quite compare to literal hugs from them. Just like "old times" Sister Eileen was challenging me to grammar wars over flat adverbs and Sister Marie and I did a good amount of faith sharing in a matter of minutes. Of course, selfies with Sister "Mom" Regina were also in store as well as a full commentary on the dances and music the boys performed by Sister Antonieta. And, I finally got my hug from Sister Anjelica, my hashtag girl. I was so eternally grateful for those few hours with the girls and the rejoicing that came after I opened my present, revealing the sign from God I had been waiting for, for two weeks. When we had to pile into, for the last time, the van, I waved at my Sisters waving back at me and could not control the silent tears that fell down my face. I felt like a little kid being separated from her family. And again, a piece of my heart was left there, as well. 

      Before we knew it, we were back at La Pla to finish packing and cleaning up our spaces before dinner and then before heading out the airport to begin the journey home. There's so much more to this story of my Aventura Peruana take two like climbing the Andes Mountains, hearing stories of cougars, bobcats, scorpions and rice from Sister Annette, birthday celebrations and even a flood and an earthquake. But alas, I'm so emotionally spent by writing this blog post, that I simply cannot write anymore. I promise though, to myself especially, that I will write more about my Aventura Peruana because I need to. I need to write about what happened to my heart and soul while in Peru. I need to write about my experience, but until the next blogpost, I'll keep imagining myself walking down the streets of my favorite country. And of course, praying for all of the beautiful people I met along the way. Oh and I must not forget to thank all of you who traveled prayerfully with me during my journey. Keep those prayers coming, my friends, because I know it was through your intercessions that God was so incredibly good and revealing to me. VIVIR LA VIDA!