Sunflowers and Sisters

"Never say goodbye because
saying goodbye means going away
and going away means forgetting."
- J.M. Barrie

One of my favorite pictures with this lovely lady.
Circa. Summer 2011

      I was mid-conversation with a friend when the phone started beeping telling me there was another call waiting for me to answer. When I saw the name, I immediately cut my friend off and said, "I'll call you back. This is important." I could barely contain my excitement when I heard her voice on the other end. "Hi Sister..." Before I knew it, I was jumping in the car and racing to see her at the Mount. 

     It had been months since I'd seen her last. In fact, as part of our hellos, we were trying to figure out how long. "Well, you were in Chicago for vows," she said. But then I responded, "But I saw you for a few minutes when I stopped over in Chicago before going to Minnesota." We laughed and agreed. Yes, the last time we had seen each other was in passing for only a few minutes. It was enough for a hug before I was off and running to the next state. Yes, it had been months, yet, it seemed as if it was only yesterday we had had our last conversation. It was so easy to pick right back up where we left off the months before. 

     Usually, I write an exact recent moment in my life but today, I'm going to write a piece of my past and a piece of my discernment story. After our brief hour together yesterday, I decided that I would (sleep in and) join Sister for Mass before she headed back "home." She mentioned that she would be leaving right after Mass and I told her that spending time with her in Mass was just as good if not better than talking for an hour. She agreed and so, this morning, I found myself in an all too familiar setting. Together we prayed and celebrated Mass; it was beautiful. As I was leaving, she mentioned that we've been close for a very long time. That's when I said, "This September, it will be eight years since we met." Both of us let that sink in for a few seconds and I hugged her again. Even though I know I'll see her again soon enough (perhaps in a few months), it's always hard to say goodbye to the woman that has been one of the most influential people in my life. 

     Sister David was the first Sister I ever had as a teacher. I grew up with the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, so I knew nuns, but I never had one as a teacher. We took semesterly Theology classes so I didn't have Sister David until January but I knew who she was and was secretly in awe of her. I couldn't wait to have her in class. When I finally did get to have her in class, I noticed her all around joy. She was always happy, go-lucky, it seemed and there was something about her that I just wanted to share. I remember studying Old Testament Theology with her, I remember her singing with us, I remember her bouncing around the classroom, super excited for the day. I had her 8th period and I remember trying to think of questions to ask her after class just so I could talk with her (I'm such a nerd, still...) One question I asked her in particular was about what I was doing for Lent. I asked her, "Sister, my boyfriend and I are going to be reading the Bible for Lent. Is there any place we should start?" I think part of her was a bit crushed that I had a boyfriend, but she was happy that we would be reading the Bible. To be honest, I don't remember what she answered. At the end of the year, I hung back after class and asked her to sign my yearbook. I hugged her good-bye for the Summer and left the classroom thinking, next year I must get to know her better. 

      Over the summer between Freshmen and Sophomore years, I broke up with my boyfriend and thought it was really time to focus on what God might be calling me to do with my life. (Long story short, I had been talking with my boyfriend about the possibility of being a sister....yeah....he didn't like that very much). Fast forward to maybe early October of my Sophomore year. I spent the night writing and re-writing a letter to Sister David before I finally conjured up the right words. I begged my best friend the next morning to go with me to her office (she was the disciplinarian, you see) so that I could drop the letter off. Lucky for me, she wasn't in her office. So, I dropped it on her desk and BOLTED out of there. I was praying and hoping that she would read it and NEVER SAY ANYTHING TO ME ABOUT IT EVER. But alas, as I was headed into my French class, there she was, waiting for me. "How about you stop by my office tomorrow after school?" Oh no. She read my letter. NOW she wanted to talk about it? I hesitated but something deep down inside forced me to say okay. Yes, little sophomoric me agreed to chat with Sister about my letter. 

       The next day, I found myself down in her office. It was a Wednesday (because that's the day she did detentions) and a dress-down day. We sat in her office for at least an hour and a half as she addressed every single thing I wrote in my letter. You see, my letter was all about how I felt that I was being called to religious life. I told her that I was scared and nervous about saying anything. I didn't know what it meant, I had not a clue what to do about it. She sat next to me and assured me that it was totally okay to be feeling called to religious life. She told me that Sisters are just as human as every other human being. But the most important thing that she told me was that she would be right next to me the entire journey. She would be praying for and with me. I didn't know how true her words were then. But almost eight years later, she's still journeying with me. 

     The rest of my high school career, Sister David became a mentor. She mentored me in everything from my discernment to making college decisions to even research topics for Senior Research Paper. So many of the Sisters at Nazareth influenced me greatly in my four years there but she was the one who listened to my every nun-related fear. I knew come graduation, it was going to be difficult to say good-bye to her. God, however, had different plans. Because today, years after my graduation, I got to laugh with her as if she was my long lost best friend. 

     Sister David never once ceased writing to me when I was at college. Every so often, I would get a letter in the mailbox from her. She loved to write little cards with little messages to people (I even got one this morning). And I, of course, always loved to receive them. When I was home for break, we somehow always managed to meet up. Often, we would go for a walk around school or even her humble abode, just to catch up with one another. She has a memory like an elephant, by the way; she remembered almost everything I ever wrote to her about when I was at college. Of course, last summer she got transferred...not just to a different convent, or to a different state BUT TO A WHOLE OTHER PART OF THE COUNTRY. Needless to say, I thought the world was ending. How was I going to live without my best friend? 

     But here we are a year later, and I've seen her quite a bit. Every so often, we call on the phone and it's like there hasn't been a month's lapse of time between the last time we spoke and that moment. She still writes to me often...in fact, more often than ever before. I'm always getting cards in the mail from her and I'm always sending something in response. She'll be getting one soon enough from me. Seeing her these past two days, even if it only was for a little bit, was a God moment for me. She has taught me so much in her witness of religious life. She has shown me gentleness and kindness. She has shown me tears and faith and love, incredible love for every person she has ever met. But probably the most important thing she ever taught me from day was is that if I wholly and totally depend on God, He will always take care of me.

      As we were saying good-bye today, I tried to hold back tears. Yeah, I know, I'm a big baby, but she's been journeying with me for the past eight years and it's been a very crazy journey. She's listened to my pains, my fears, my hesitations. She's wiped away countless tears (she always has a tissue in her pocket, just in case) and has been a caring shoulder to cry on. Of course, she's also shared many laughs, smiles and good times with me. I laugh so much with her; she is joy. We laughed as we hugged goodbye one more time. I didn't want her to go, but another thing she has taught me is that one must make their home wherever God sends her. Go with God and nothing will go wrong. She told me to listen to my heart. I called her Grandmother Willow. 

     Sister David, a constant companion, mentor and friend, has stood by me on my crazy journey. We shared so much in the little hour that we had together yesterday, just as if it hadn't been months since our last visit together. She's amazing. I secretly think she might be an angel. And she has been such a key player in my discernment story. One of the last things she said this morning was that no matter where I go, it's between me and God and I can't let anyone else influence that decision. No matter where I go, she will always continue journeying with me as my Sister in prayer. I smiled as I walked away and said, "Self. Do not cry. Your mascara will run and you'll look like a fool." So instead, I smiled and already started looking forward to the next time I'll see this beautiful woman of God. Maybe I'll take a road trip soon. As I thought of all my blessings in simply seeing her and praying with her, I couldn't help but remember that in the Chapel, there right in front of the altar, were sunflowers. 

On The Look Out: Maintaining Dignity

"She is clothed in dignity and strength;

she laughs without fear of her future."

- Proverbs 31:25

Picture Courtesy of IU Respect Week 2013
Taken by: Kerry Wagner

     Imagine a group of people sitting around a cafeteria table, or standing around after class in the hallway, or sometimes even after church services on Sunday. It's not something hard to imagine. Perhaps we can even picture ourselves in that group of people. People congregate all the time and what do they do when they do but talk. Sometimes they chat over the weather, recent changes in life, or really anything to keep a conversation going. But on occasion, it's not always the little things being chatted about. Sometimes, just sometimes (a small hint at sarcasm here), the topic of conversation is another person. 

     I can remember a moment from my grade school days so clearly, that I didn't think about until just this past week. We must have been at an anti-bullying seminar or maybe we were talking about it in the classroom. But I remember this question being posed: if you were with a group of friends and they were talking about someone, would you stop them? I remember sincerely struggling and grappling with the question at probably only ten or eleven years of age. I think that's when my love for moral theology was planted. Of course, I think then I was struggling so much with the question because usually I was the one being talked about. It's a rough life when you're well-behaved and introverted, let me tell you. But I think the more I thought about the question, the more I said, yes. I would definitely speak up for the voiceless. 

      Growing up as a product of a very deeply religious and outspoken Catholic family, I learned that the voiceless were the unborn, the homeless, the marginalized. It came as second nature to say that abortion was against my beliefs, and that we had to always bring in food for the food drives to help with the homeless outreach. I remember hearing stories of my grandmother doing radical things to speak up for the unborn and I love those stories. I remember how all the BIG NAME ITEMS were the topics of respecting human dignity. You know, all the big controversial topics = human dignity. But then I started studying morality. That's when I realized that dignity doesn't just concern those big topics of discussion, but the little things, too. Like that question posed to me and my classmates in grade school. 

       This past week, all of these memories of proclaiming human dignity came back to mind. I remember someone saying to me once that I should be honored when I find my name the topic of conversation among others because it means they have nothing better to do than talk about ME. Oh yes, it's flattering really, when your name is on everyone's tongues for seemingly negative reasons. Instead of feeling honored, as it was suggested, I decided to prove the rumors, the talking, false without directly addressing the topic. That became exhausting so I decided to not care. That was so insanely liberating and freeing. Not caring about what others were saying. Wow. I adapted the philosophy of believing that anyone who knew me and actually cared about wouldn't believe the rumors. This is nice, this is so so so nice. 

      But this isn't a post about my woes and anguishes. This is about the dignity of another person. I was sitting in the car when it hit me. Every time we talk poorly of another person, or we spread rumors, OR we even believe a rumor, we lessen a person's dignity. We have no idea what a person may be experiencing in their lives and yet, if we believe a rumor, or talk about that person, we are automatically lessening their human dignity. The worst part is that more often than not, the person being talked about, has no clue. Name calling, spreading rumors, talking about people. It all seems so elementary, doesn't it? Yet, it happens in high school, it happens in college, it happens in the work force, it happens about the older generations. It happens everywhere despite the fact that it is such an elementary concept. Let me tell you a story:

        The other day I posted this status: "I  think something we all need to keep in mind is that we take away the dignity of another person when we participate in gossip or rumor spreading. The truth is, we don't know where another person is in their life nor do we know their struggle. So perhaps we should lighten the burden and proclaim human dignity instead of talking about others. We should be looking out for and protecting our brothers and sisters not looking to lessen their human dignity." I had been really thinking about how much we take away from another's dignity simply by discussing "their image" or their actions. We lessen another's dignity when we talk poorly of them, when we simply discuss their lives by our own judgments. Something had provoked this sudden outspoken post and I expected many to brush it aside BUT the conversation it began seemed beautiful. Those who commented were among the elder wisdomatic figures in my life and each seemed to agree that life would be different if we simply thought about another person's dignity before we engaged in a conversation. That was when I realized that this issue isn't something among young people, but among young and old alike. 

       It's something we all need to stop and think about. Gossip is part of day to day life. It's inevitable that people will talk and I don't think we are anywhere close to eliminating this issue, but we can lessen it by our own actions. I will start with myself. I know I will find myself in group situations and I know gossip, rumors, or talking will occur, but I must find it within myself to refrain and even suggest a change of topic. When we participate in these belittling actions, we take away from the dignity of another person. We perhaps slowly destroy an image, we judge another's mistakes or actions without remembering that we, too, are flawed. 

      So I think back to the question addressed to me as a grade school student: if you were with a group of friends and they were talking about someone, would you stop them? Would I let one person rob another of his or her dignity? Would I allow the voiceless to go on being voiceless? Would I continue to let others destroy an image of someone simply by their words? Or would I stop it? And would I even allow myself to be in a situation where the dignity of another could be the topic of conversation? Can I allow myself to be surrounded by people who abuse their gift of words and use them to take away another's dignity? 

      My job, your job, our job together, is to be on the look out. We need to look out for and protect our voiceless brothers and sisters when their dignity is in question. We must remember that Jesus loves despite flaws and imperfections. We must remember that Jesus would stop a destruction of dignity. We must remember that as we are brothers and sisters, we must stand up for one another and protect each other. We must build up instead of destroy each others' human dignity because we each are worthy of love and dignity. Truth. 

"Think good thoughts and sunbeams will shine out of your face.

You will always be lovely."

- Roald Dahl

Say Something

"Those who trust God the most, 

wait the longest. God trusts that we trust Him."

- Becca Original

     Did you ever feel like you've done all the talking in a relationship? Did it ever feel like your significant other or the person you've been dating or even your best friend never says a word? Maybe you've been the extroverted one the entire time? Or maybe you were so bothered by silence? I used to be that person, but in the past few years, I've quieted. I am able to sit in silence for long periods of time and be happy. When I'm with someone, I like to let them do the talking. But sometimes, when I'm with God, I feel like the picture above. I'm waiting, in my piece of paradise, for God to take a seat and talk to me. I'm waiting for Him to say something. 

     Recently, I've been feeling like I've been pretending with God. You know, I haven't been honest. If He asks if I'm happy, I say, "Yes, yes, of course I'm happy." But He simply nods His head and doesn't say anything. It's as if He's saying, "Okay, if you say so. But something tells me you're not." Saturday, I decided to be honest with God at Mass. I told Him how anxious I've been waiting to hear if I have a job for the Fall or not. I told Him how I just didn't know where to go from hear, that I felt stuck in some transition that isn't going right. I told Him that I feel alone; that His presence hasn't been made known to me in a while. I was begging Him to say something to me, because recently, I feel like He's just been silent. 

     Every Saturday after the daily Mass at my Parish, we pray the Novena to the Miraculous Medal. Because I've been going to daily Saturday Mass for so long, I've long had those prayers memorized. So, while we knelt down to say the prayers as a congregation, I bowed my head. Suddenly, for no reason that I can actually explain, I started crying. And it wasn't just baby tears sliding down my cheeks, I was close to full out sobbing. I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now. I just started crying. When we finished praying the Novena, I tried to book it out of the Chapel as fast as I could. My crying must have been my show of complete vulnerability to God, begging Him to listen to my cry. 

     Saturday went on as normal. My family went to a family party and I hit the hay early that night; I was exhausted. But before I fell asleep, I started leafing through a book by Christopher West concerning Theology of the Body and Song of Songs in the Bible. Two of my favorite things. I didn't get very far before I fell asleep. Yesterday, Sunday, I got up early and went to 7:30 Mass with my family. When I got home, I laid down because I had a wicked headache. When I woke up, however, the Christopher West book was peaking out from under my pillow. Apparently the night before, I feel asleep reading it and never moved it from my bed. So, I started leafing through it again and decided that it would be a great book to give to Joe, who I was seeing later that day. I through the book in my bag and sat back on my bed. Then, the teacher in me came out and thought that in order for him to understand the book, he needs to do the prerequisite reading of Song of Songs. So, I pulled out my Bible. as I was adding it to the bag of books, I decided that maybe I should revisit my favorite book of the Bible myself before making someone else do it. So, I sat there and opened to the book Song of Songs. 

      I was thinking, as I was reading, once again, how beautiful this particular book of the Bible is. I could go on and on about Theology of the Body and how beautiful John Paul II's teachings are, but that's not the point today. I was reading and praying and hoping that God would send a message to me through the readings of Song of Songs. The only thing that had stood out was that somewhere along the line of me reading my Bible, I had highlighted a phrase that reoccurs three times: "Do not arouse, do not stir up love before it's own time." I didn't realize until that moment that the phrase is repeated three times. When I finished reading the book, however, I didn't feel anything strongly in the Bible and felt disappointed. It was a nice read, I guess, revisiting the love story in the Bible, but that's not what I felt I needed. 

      So, I flipped to Hosea, another favorite in the Bible. I was honestly just browsing when I came to a particular indented verse. This verse, Hosea 3:2, hit me like a ton of bricks and an eighteen wheeler. It reads, "Many days you will wait for me; you will not play the harlot or belong to any man. I in turn will wait for you." Boom. Hello. Instant tears. What on earth was going on with me?! I sat there for a few minutes allowing the verse to hit me a hundred times more before I began to mentally reflect. 

     I had just read Song of Songs, the love letter in the Bible. Scripture scholars will tell you that SOS falls right in the middle of the Bible between Genesis and Revelation. It is literally written as a love letter between a bride and a groom about how beautiful the other is. It's absolutely lovely and will make any hopeless romantic's heart throb. However, the letter is also a love letter between God of heaven and the people of earth. I always read it as a true love letter from God to me personally. Hmmm...imagine, God is absolutely in love with me, head over heels in love with me. He thinks I am absolutely beautiful and gorgeous and He loves me. When I read it this time, however, I didn't read it necessarily that way. 

     Hosea is the story of the man who loves his wife so much that despite the fact that she becomes a harlot and has multiple relationships with other men, he welcomes her back. He loves her so much that he will adore her and love her and forgive her. He takes the honeymoon phase of Song of Songs and puts true marriage into action years later into his marriage with the woman. He loves her despite her faults. That's how I read Hosea and Song of Songs. 

      Anyone who knows me knows that I have been seemingly waiting for years to finally enter religious life. I feel like I am always playing the waiting game with God. Not yet, not yet, not yet. Yet, I know that's what He wants of me. And at times, I get anxious and feel like giving up. Do I really have to wait this long? I'm tired of waiting. BUT, Hosea said, "many days you will wait for me...." Song of Songs said, "do not arouse, do not stir up love before it's own time." Yes, I guess I must continue waiting for the Lord to say the word. He assured me, however, through Song of Songs, that He truly does love me. He also assured me that as much as I wait for Him, He will also wait for me. He loves me and no matter what I may do wrong, He will always forgive me. He will always love me. 

     And so, I resolved to understand that God is saying something. He is saying, wait, wait, wait. I may roll my eyes and ask for more and swear that He is not saying anything at all, but He is gently whispering for me to wait. Doesn't mean I like it, and He knows that (we can be honest with each other that way, it's nice), but I must wait. Of course, I'm still sitting hear anxious because I hate waiting. I want to know my future, I want to know when I must make a decision, when I must finally say YES GOD. But right now, as much as I don't like it, I am saying Yes God, to waiting for the right time and place. I must not arouse or stir up love before it's own time. I'm still in a period of "Okay God....say something please to keep me going" so prayers are always accepted. Especially these days ahead. Thank you.

Today, I Will Be Confident

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by

every experience in which you really stop to look

fear in the face. You must do the thing you think 

you cannot do."

- Eleanor Roosevelt

     Confidence. According to Webster's Online Dictionary, confidence is a feeling of self-assurance arising from one's appreciation of one's own abilities or qualities. I found this very interesting. According to this definition, in order for us to be confident, we need to appreciate our own abilities and qualities. That sounds pretty easy. But I think the hard part comes when we find it difficult to even name abilities or good qualities. 

     Yesterday on Facebook, I posted a status saying: Today, I will be confident. Right away, the like notifications came filing in. Before I knew it, a few people were leaving comments. One of my friends wrote, "aren't you always confident?" Another friend wrote, "I have this written on my computer everyday...Today, I will find a way." Someone even wrote, "You should be every day." I smiled at the comments and at the likes, but my confidence wasn't given a boost by any of them. No, my self-worth isn't determined by what social media has to say about me. But there was something in me that started to grow when I realized, that yeah, I should be confident everyday.

      On Monday, I had my first interview for a teaching position. I always hate the question, "so what are you strengths and abilities?" I always stutter and find it very hard to list strengths and abilities. Of course, given a few days, I could maybe write a few down for you, but it's hard to come up with something on the spot. So I listed a few things like possessing gentle patience, being able to connect with all people, and my faith. The next question, I should have seen coming: "What is something you find you might need to work on in the classroom?" I sat for a few seconds and said it, "Confidence." The Sisters looked at me with such a confused look, so I started to explain.

     I broke the cardinal rule of interviewing, I told them how nervous I was sitting there in front of them, people I've known for quite a few years now. I told them that my biggest struggle during student teaching was that I couldn't believe I'd actually make a good teacher. I was afraid my students wouldn't learn anything. I was afraid that I'd make them hate literature more than they already did instead of fall in love with it. I told them that at the end of the semester, however, my students told me that they had learned so much more in my few months of teaching than they had before. And that even last week when I saw a few of them, they were rattling off characters from The Canterbury Tales with no difficulty. I told the Sisters that the moment I get in front of the students, my nervousness disappears, but that doesn't mean I question everything the night before a new lesson. Confidence, I told them, was my weakest link. 

     After I explained, the two of the Sisters mentioned that they never would have known that at that moment, I was shaking in my boots. I assured them that I hide it well. It was a response I was used to; no one ever thinks that extroverted me is ever lacking in confidence. Go back to my own friend's comment on my status, "Aren't you always confident?" I wish I could agree. 

      Last week, I was blessed to be a part of a Kairos retreat for the school where i did my student teaching. I had never been a Kairos leader before but I had led numerous other retreats. I was, as expected, nervous as all get out. But I think my excitement covered my nervousness, because even I didn't realize how nervous I was until I got there. Be yourself, I said, just be yourself. Now, because I can't give away any of the miracles of Kairos (because I want you all the experience it for yourself), I'm only going to tell a part of the story. I brought with me a mirror. It was a little 8.5 by 11 thing and on it had written, "You are worth it, you are beautiful, you are LOVED." It was something I kept telling my group over and over all week. The mirror, however, didn't make it's debut until Thursday. I pulled out the mirror as I was telling the entire group about my confidence struggle. I told them, in brief, how many mornings I need to remind myself that someone, somewhere loves me. I told them how sometimes it's hard to believe my own words. I told them a little bit more and I could see faces of shock, but also faces of girls that felt the same. Confidence isn't just my struggle, it's the struggle of many young women and young men. Confidence is the struggle of anyone, at any age, of any gender. 

      Lack of confidence can come in an array of things. Some struggle with physical looks: they don't feel beautiful, they don't feel masculine enough, they feel over-weight, they feel skinny, they don't like the shape of their bodies, etc. It goes on and on about physical attributes. We are constantly finding something about our bodies that we simply do not like. For others, a lack of confidence might come in the form of not feeling that they can be good at anything. It is easier to list a bunch of "can'ts" instead of "cans." Sometimes people even feel like they might be judged for who they are so they pretend to be someone else. They hide their laugh because they think it's too obnoxious, they don't open their mouths for fear that what they might say would be considered dumb, they don't do what the love because they feel like they aren't good at it. I've been there. I know. But then there's my Sister. 

     I think older siblings always have the stereotype that they must be a good role model and have their younger siblings look up to them. I'm not saying I'm not the best role model, but what I'm saying is that my little sisters have no idea how much I actually look up to them. My Sister, Mary, is someone who I think is so full of confidence, that sometimes I wish I could ask her to give me some of her confidence. When I look at her, I see someone who isn't afraid to speak her mind; she just doesn't have a filter (although sometimes, I wish she did...). She says whatever she wants, whenever she wants and doesn't care who might judge her for it. She also doesn't care what anyone thinks about her wearing a two beach bathing suit to the beach. She's confident in her own body image. She doesn't hide her extremely obnoxious laugh (which I have...and is actually a family trait). I will also embarrass her here and say that belching in public does not phase her...why can't ladies belch?! She's someone I've watched get up on a stage a plethora of times and belt out any song she wanted. She would sing with such confidence that I was sure she was going to blow the crowd away. She had enough confidence to say to my family that she didn't want to follow in my foot steps and go to the same high school as me. She doesn't know how much I applaud her for that. She has enough confidence to flirt with the boy she likes without fear that it might not be returned (of course, she does hope it's mutual). She has enough confidence to be her crazy self wherever she is because she's not afraid of others being judgmental. For all of this and so much more, I admire and look up to my little Sister. And sometimes when I am feeling self-conscious, I look at my beautiful Sister and remember that it's possible to be confident.

     So yesterday, I posted my status saying, "Today, I will be confident." I posted it after I took a selfie with my sisters in the car waiting for Julia and Madi. I looked at both of my little Sisters, but especially Mary and thought, if she can be confident, I can be confident. If she can feel beautiful, I can feel beautiful. She is beautiful (and we are related). I can be beautiful, too. I just have to believe it about myself just like she does. So, yesterday I was confident. I followed my Sister's example and let myself be beautiful. Today, I will be confident again. 

 

Sitting At The Kid's Table

"Let the little children come to me, 

and do not hinder them. 

The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these."

- Matthew 19:14

Mis chicas y chicos de Montenegro

     This past week, my Parish family experienced a lot of change (and growth) due to the merger between St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parishes. We gained a whole new church community, a whole new Mass schedule, a whole new summer-y change of pace AND a new priest, Fr. Rudy. The more I pray and think about this merger, I can only think how much more blessed we have become this week. I mean, honestly, look at the options we have now for morning Mass. We have a whole new set of family members (suh-weet), and our Pastor, Fr. Mike, now has not only someone else to live with him in that hug, lonely rectory, but also a friend, confidante and help. Needless to say, I am more than excited about this. Of course, aside from all of these fun and exciting perks of merging two Parishes, there is one important thing that must always occur when change happens: first impressions and introductions. 

     It would be a lie if I told you that I specifically dressed up every day last week in my attempt to make a good impression. Honestly, most days it's just more comfortable to wear a skirt instead of pants (sometimes I wonder why ladies ever fought to wear pants) and the perk of that is that I look like I didn't wake up fifteen minutes before going to church. I laughed at myself on Friday when I showed up in skirt for like the fifth day in a row. I couldn't help but think what maybe someone's first impression of me might have been that week. At 6:30 in the morning, one is lucky to get a few words out of me, much less a sentence or a paragraph (coffee is like gasoline...car won't run without out gas; Becca doesn't run without coffee).So, I probably appear a quiet person...who happens to wear skirts a lot. But also, I come and go without interrupting much. I enter chapel quietly, I leave just as quietly, without really talking to too many people (again...coffee). But I also LOVE to hug people during the sign of peace. Yeah...I don't do handshakes. So that's what I imagined the first impression of me might be. When I walked into church on Sunday morning for our new 7:30 Mass (yayayayay), I saw Fr. Rudy sitting in the vestibule. I was surprised when he greeted me.

     Of course, my sunny disposition said, "Hi, Father!" He said, "Good Morning. Do you live here?" At first I thought he was referencing to Croydon, like my city, so I laughed and said, "Well, yes I do live here." Then he clarified by saying he meant the church. So I said, "It feels like it sometimes, but I like it here." I was suddenly aware that he was probably confused by my presence at Mass daily. I was then reminded that I usually am the youngest one present except when I drag my friend, Trevor, along for the ride. So naturally, this would be a surprise for any priest used to the "typical" church crowd. I took this with me as I giggled and walked to our pew. Our new priest's first impression was that I live at church. Oh and I'm pretty sure at this point, he still didn't know my name. 

      When my little sister finally got to church, she told me that she just had her first conversation with Fr. Rudy. What did she tell him? All about her ER adventure to get her earring back removed from inside her earlobe (don't worry folks, she's fine; unbeknowst to us, we got two ear miracles for one family). That's just great...absolutely great, I thought. All throughout Mass, I was watching the reactions of the people to Fr. Rudy. Positive all around. He was excited to be at STA. He was funny. He was honest. People seemed to react wonderfully. I don't know why, but I love to watch human interaction; it's so interesting. I also have no qualms, myself, for wearing my heart on my sleeve, so when I react to something (everything), it's very clear how I feel. During Fr. Rudy's homily, my mouth dropped a few times, I smiled really big and I even wanted to cry. Here's why:

      The first thing that Fr. Rudy told us about himself was that during the consecration of the Eucharist, right after the "Holy, Holy, Holy," he likes to invite all the kids up to the altar. I remembered something like that happening one time when I was a kid during a Christmas mass, but I had never seen it again until I was in Peru almost a month and a half ago. It was during Sunday Mass at a local Parish in La Molina. The priest looked like my cousin all grown up and I was in awe of his gentleness. While I didn't understand much of the Spanish aside from the readings and dialogue during Mass, I knew at the time of the consecration, what was going on. Suddenly all the little kids started running toward the altar. Older kids were holding babies and the hands of the younger kids. Some were running around the altar, while others were standing perfectly still. This memory came flooding back as Father was telling us why he does this: the little ones always help him pray better. Kids are so innocent and honest, both with people and with their relationship with God. 

      When the time for the kids' invitation to go up on the altar came, I think I was more excited than Lizzie. In fact, I was. I had to drag her up to the altar. At 7:30 in the morning, she was one out of a few kids at Mass. She was one of two (err...three) kids at the altar. Yes, I took her up there and then I stayed with her. As we were standing there, I mentioned to her that she was NOW able to see everything that happens at the consecration. By the end of the consecration, she was just as in love with the concept of kids at the altar as I was. When we got back to our pew after the sign of peace, I had the following thoughts:

       Not only does he think I live at church, he probably thinks I kidnap children. I've got to tell him that she's my sister. Also, more kids need to come to church so they can be awesome on the altar. And, I think we should start calling it the kid's table. You know how the altar is the table of God, well, it's the kid's table. I've always loved being at the kid's table at family dinners. Honestly, it's more fun. I'm a kid at heart. I wonder if Fr. Rudy would be opposed to me going up to the altar every Sunday?! Hm...maybe I shouldn't. But like, I want to....

      Yes, a stream of consciousness. After Communion, I realized that Jesus loved the little children. I love the little children. I could honestly just play with kids all day. While Jesus, on occasion, ate with His disciples and the sinners, He also was the inventor of the idea of the kids' table. I mean honestly, He said, "Let the little ones come to me." At 30 some years old, Jesus was sitting at the head of the kids' table. Of course, Jesus calls us to imitate His example. So you can all guess what this means: if I want to imitate Jesus, I have to sit at the kid's table :) I smiled at this play on words and promised myself that I would never let myself lose my seat at the kids' table. 

      After Mass, I walked out holding Lizzie's hand. We said good-bye to Fr. Rudy and Fr. Mike and then were headed on our merry way. I still hadn't given Fr. Rudy my name, but I'm pretty sure he'll remember me by my constant living at church and my desire to sit at the kids' table with the kids at consecration. In all honesty, the little ones help me pray better, too. And if that's not a good first impression, I don't know what is. Quiet, prayerful, morning bird, kid at heart. 

Like A Girl

"By watching her, I began to think that there must 

be some sort of special skill involved in being a girl."

- Harper Lee, "To Kill A Mockingbird"

  On occasion, when I surfing the net (does anyone actually say that anymore?!), I come across some severely influential videos or articles. I think of it as my means to broaden my brain. You know, read or watch something that helps you learn something new or ignite a fire within. While I prefer to learn through oodles and oodles of books, I do enjoy the occasion learning experience online. The best part is when it comes across my computer screen on social media. That means someone else engaged in some learning as well and felt he or she should share the knowledge. That's what happened yesterday when I stumbled across a video about what it means to do things "like a girl."

    Believe it or not, I was blown away. I didn't know that running like a girl meant running with her arms flopping around and her feet seeming dainty. I didn't know that doing things like a girl meant being afraid to get her hands dirty or disturb her perfectly painted face or mess up her hair. I didn't know that doing things like a girl was demeaning and wrong. I didn't know because well, I guess I never read anything that told me doing things like a girl was wrong. In fact, all my information always said that doing things like a girl was good...because well, girls SHOULD do things like girls. However, I watched a video the other day that told me that according to most adults, "like a girl" is an insult. But what the video also told me was that young girls believed that doing things "like a girl" meant doing things with all they had within them, like running as fast as she can, fighting with all of her will power, being as strong as she can be. And here, I thought it would be the opposite. 

     Watching this video reminded me of a conversation I had with my CREW girls in the car on the way to the beach for the day last week. I was sitting shotgun to help Sister Mary Anthony with directions and also playing DJ. At some point in our very long winded conversations, the concept of feminism came up. Aside from Jesus and literature, it's my favorite topic (although, I like to think they are all intertwined with one another). I like to think about the evolution of feminism, how it began, how it progressed, how it changed dramatically and where it is today. Sometimes I venture out and say radical, crazy things like, "Mary was one of the first feminists," "St. Teresa of Avila was a feminist," and of course, "I'm a raging feminist down inside." Usually this gets insane, crazy looks. Mary, the Mother of God, was a feminist? St. Teresa of Avila was a feminist? She was a cloistered nun. You're a feminist? Yes. These are often things I hear when I add my two cents. 

     When I was talking with the girls, we talked about feminism. The feminist movement came about during the Women's Suffrage movement. Women like Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton (names I haven't forgotten since my grade school days) fought long and hard for my right to vote. Of course, this was a great thing and I never forget to exercise that right. We spoke about how to feminist movement changed from fighting for rights to fighting to be treated equally to men to be treated as womanly men. The fight of feminism these days seems that all women want is equality with men. In my own personal study, however, I see that men and women were NOT meant to be entirely equal. Yes, each are meant to have their own political, social and economic equal rights. But women, instead of fighting to be treated just like the men, should be fighting to be respected as women, the lovely ladies that they are. 

     I've said it a million times and wrote about just as much, but here's the view of  feminism that was present in the van among the women ages 14-40: feminism is relishing in the beauty that is woman. It is believing in your womanhood, embracing the awesomeness that is maternal instinct and child-rearing, loving the curves and the edges, loving the natural skinniness. It's not about being the superior woman, but rather being the respected woman. It is demanding the respect of men and not presenting oneself as an object to be claimed but rather a lady to be loved. Being a feminist is embracing all things woman and loving it. Oh yeah...stand in front of that mirror and tell yourself how lovely you look when you first wake up (yes, even before coffee), when you dress up really fine for that fancy date, or dress in shorts and a t-shirt for a day of hiking, or with your sisters, mom, grandmother, aunt, daughters, nieces. It's being a beautifully, strong lady. But trust me when I say, there's not much you have to do to be beautiful and strong. All you have to do is be yourself. So next time you hear someone say, you do something "like a girl," take it as a compliment; because YOU ARE A GIRL AND YOU SHOULD BE DOING THINGS LIKE A GIRL. That's always been my response to every, "like a girl." THANK YOU, I AM A GIRL. Be proud, ladies, be proud. 

Growing and Changing NOT Closing

"Change is inevitable; growth is optional."

- St. Charles Seminary's Vocation Director

     While on my way to the turnpike or to the mall or to Target (or chipotle) in the past two weeks I have passed the same Church sign over and over and over. I've always been a sucker for cheesy church signs and sometimes the one out front at Our Lady of Fatima in Bensalem takes the cake. They always have something clever written out front for each and every Holy Day or Church Season. However, it's simply Ordinary Time so what could be so fantastic about it this time? Well you see, the sign read: "We are NOT CLOSING. Just Growing and Changing. Worship here daily." When I read that, I thought, wow, how refreshing to finally see some positivity.

     For many of us in the Lower Bucks County area, we've been experiencing the Archdiocesan Year-Long Study. Basically, there had been a series of interviews, observations and studies at each Parish in Bensalem, Croydon and Bristol for the past year. Things such as structure, facilities, parish activities, Mass attendance and more were taken into consideration. Even though I was at school for most of the year, I was still feeling the strains of the study. It felt as if at any moment everything was going to be ripped away from me. I didn't want my Parish to close. I didn't want to have to go to a different church. I didn't want to change. In the beginning, I was outraged that we were going through this "survival of the fittest" study and I kept saying that I wanted to sing "Give Me Back My Hometown" by Eric Church to anyone in the Archdiocese who would listen. I was upset because I felt like we were on the chopping block. I felt the same as everyone else in all the surrounding parishes. But then I had a change of heart.

     I was sitting in Sister Peggy's Catholic Belief and Practice class (or as we liked to call it, Catechism) when it hit me. We were studying the words of the Creed, "One, Holy, Catholic, Apostolic CHURCH." Let me repeat, ONE. HOLY. CATHOLIC. APOSTOLIC. CHURCH. When we were first discussing this concept, I shared a story about attending Mass in foreign countries. No matter what country I was in, the Mass was the same. The language might have been different, but the Mass was the same and I knew I was in good company. Although I may not have understood the words, I understood that we were one, holy, catholic, apostolic church. Studying the depth behind those words, I became to advocate not against the Archdiocese but rather, with them. 

      For years, since I could drive, really, I've been considered a church hopper. You know, someone who just church hops and doesn't always go to her home Parish for Mass. My reasons stemmed from needing to go to an earlier Mass to having a church date with a close friend. But more often than not, when I was home, I was at my Parish for Mass. Even if I wasn't seen at Sunday Mass there (the best dates take place on Sundays), I was usually at daily Mass. Of course, this busy girl sometimes needed to get to an earlier Mass, so even then I would travel to a closeby church for an earlier Mass. Last Summer, our Pastor presented the idea of an earlier Mass at our Parish to the daily Mass goers. While everyone was deliberating in the pews, I listened. Some wanted, some didn't. Finally, being the youngest in attendance, I raised my hand. The congregation quieted and let me speak. I mentioned that "while an earlier Mass would be ideal for me, I'm not tied to going to the 9:00 AM Mass because I can drive. I don't walk to Mass, I don't carpool, I don't need the later start in the day. When I need an earlier Mass for something, I go to a different Parish. We have a cluster for a reason: to depend on one another." My end resolve was to say that the 9:00 AM Mass works for St. Thomas, it always has. We are all one church and our loyalties aren't to the Parish, but rather to the faith. So, if need be, the other churches provide a means for me to practice to my faith. My biggest emphasis was not the matter of times for Mass, but rather that we are ONE. HOLY. CATHOLIC. APOSTOLIC. CHURCH. 

       This morning, as I was driving to the new 6:30 AM mass at my Parish (I must admit, I'm extremely in favor of this addition!), I was thinking once again of our ONE. HOLY. CATHOLIC. APOSTOLIC. CHURCH. Today, July 1st, 2014, marks the beginning of the mergers. I know full well that people are still upset. St. Thomas Aquinas merged with St. Elizabeth Ann Seton and I know that it might be a hard adjustment for many. For the people of St. E's, I say this, my parish is not your parish and your parish is not my parish. Rather, this is OUR parish now; we are ONE. For the people of St. Thomas, I say this, remember that according to our creed, we are HOLY; be HOLY. To our priests and pastors, remember this, we are CATHOLIC. Our loyalties should be to none other than the faith. And to all of us, including myself, we must be APOSTOLIC to one another's needs during this time of change. We are the CHURCH. 

      This merge will be difficult for everyone if we do not remember that we are one, holy, Catholic, apostolic church regardless of where we go. Change is something even the apostles experienced. Remember how Jesus said, "leave behind everything and follow me." So go where Jesus goes, my friends. Change is inevitable in every aspect of life. We have the choice to grow. I suggest we look at this concept of merging with a positive outlook. It is not one Parish being taken away, and one remaining. It is not that one survived the chopping block and the other did not. It is not and will never be the survival of the fittest. We are ONE. We are (should be) HOLY. We are CATHOLIC. We are APOSTOLIC. We are the CHURCH. No single Parish is closing. But rather, just as the church sign out front of Our Lady of Fatima says, we are growing and changing. My challenge to all of us, including myself, is to embrace that which we profess every Sunday. We must be the ONE, HOLY, CATHOLIC, APOSTOLIC CHURCH. And hey, since mi casa es su casa, there's always room in my pew. Happy Birthday to our new St. Thomas Aquinas Parish. Welcome Home.