TBD - A Reflection on Who I Am

"What a life I would've missed, 

if you'd not took a chance.

I wasn't expecting that."

- Jamie Lawson "Wasn't Expecting That"

      I've been struggling to write this post for almost a month and a half. Today is Easter and last night, at the Easter Vigil, I decided I was finally going to write it. So far this year, I've been to a funeral a month. If I wasn't going to be on a service trip with my students this week, I'd be going to another one. At every funeral there is a remembrance for the deceased, whether it comes in the form of poem, eulogy or song. It is during this time that family members and friends, say all the great things about the deceased. What they were like, who they were, what they liked to do, etc. Having been to so many funerals recently, I've been lead on a introspective journey on who I am. Me. Gutherman.
      It's a question I ask every single retreat group: who are you? It's a question I seemingly expect 17 and 18 year olds to answer easily. But heck, as much as I think I know who I am, I do not know. Yet, every time I have my students reflect on the question, I want to know who they think they are. And I go through these periods when I am so confident who I am then others when I have no idea. The past few months, I've been searching and struggling with trying to find my true self again. I feel like I've been lost and it's partly because I lost a huge part of my heart in January. But last night, at the Easter Vigil, I started to feel a glimpse of who I am again. It's like I'm raising again from my own grave of sadness, grief and mourning. Even if I've put on a happy face for the past few months, it's been a struggle. But last night...last night, I felt the earth shake.
       From before I was born, the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament have influenced my life. That is not an exaggeration. My nun obsession started young. At only a few weeks old, I was held dearly by those sisters. They prayed for me, they loved me and they were my earliest faith influences aside from my family. But at this rate, they basically are my family. I have vivid memories of going to the SBS Convent for Christmas Eve Mass, having milk and cookies after. I remember so many moments of visiting with the sisters for many occasions. From the beginning of my faith life, they were some of the biggest influences. I knew this, of course, but I didn't really understand their influence until last night.
      For the past two years, on Easter Vigil, I have had the privilege and honor of singing at the convent for Mass. Last year I was so nervous, but this year I was confident. More confident than I've felt in a long time. And man did it feel amazing to sing again. Not just singing along to the radio or with the choir in church, actually utilizing my vocal training, my breathing, and letting my voice rise to the Heavens in praise of my Jesus. I felt beautiful being able to use my gift for Jesus again. And then we sang some more, using bells and dancing and clapping. We sang the gloria so loud. We sang Alleluia. We sang Hosanna. We danced, we joined hands, and cried out our praise. We, young and old, sisters, lay people, children, parents, priests. I watched the Sisters in the Balcony dance and clap along. With a big smile, I let myself freely worship. And that's when I realized that part of who I am is SBS, African American and Native American spirituality.
      I've always felt a deep connection with the spirituality presented to me by the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament. Of course, I've always felt a deep connection with the Blessed Sacrament, given to me by the Sisters' example. Even the sight of Him in the Blessed Sacrament at Mass brings me to tears. That love of the Eucharist was nourished in me, in High School, by the example of the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth. You see, it wasn't out of the ordinary for me to stop in the beautiful Chapel at Nazareth during lunch, study or before/after school and see a Sister there as well. Many times it was Sister David, my mentor, sister and now friend. At other times, I would see the sisters in prayers before supper (yes, I stayed at school that late...poor SMJ). Then I began spending more time with the Sisters, who then were my mentors, who are now some of my closest friends. Then and now we spend time together walking, talking, and praying in front of the Blessed Sacrament. There's no thing like friends sending you a text that says, "I think we need to spend more time with Jesus...when are you free?" or a simple invitation to celebrate Mass together (even if it's a two hour long mass in a foreign language. Whether or not they're on the vocation team, they're constantly checking in on my relationship with Jesus. Of course my relationship with so many of the Sisters, makes it completely normal for them, while passing through my town on Easter Sunday, to follow me in the nun car while I'm out walking my dogs. And to, of course, roll down the windows and yell my name! It's because of them that I have a love for Church tradition and family. They are my family. And part of who I am is CSFN, family-loving, Polish wannabe.
       It's funny how my life, when I look back, seems to fall into place. It's because of a CSFN that I ended up at Immaculate with the IHMs. She encouraged me to branch, live my life and not be afraid to embrace a place that I felt was calling me home. She was the first one I told where I was going to college and was always supportive. Because of her I met the IHMs...and it was about time. Yet another group of faith-filled women who shaped me even more into the young woman that I am and made me a true educator. They showed me a truly sassy side to religious life, gave an even more reality to religious women and living in community. They became mentors during some of the hardest years of my life, became women I could cry with, and teachers who pushed me to be the best student (and teacher) I could be. They employed me, trusted me and gave me so many opportunities. They tested me many times: as I told one student, "You'll be a better person because she's reprimanding you right now." But most importantly, they were the faith family for four years of my life. They were the ones who opened their arms when I joined them for Mass every single day, prayed with them, sang with them, and developed a deeper relationship with Jesus because of them. Of course, I can't forget how they instilled a love in my heart for the immigrant, for the refugee and for Peru. I always wanted to be a teacher, but they showed me how - by example and by opportunity. Who I am is part IHM, educator, vocalist, and lover of creative hope.
       Just like how one CSFN led me to Immaculate, one IHM taught me everything I needed to know for my current job. Without every opportunity she gave me on my resume, there's no way I could have made it this far as a Campus Minister. Without her, I wouldn't know how to run a retreat, teacher girls to pray, when to love tough and when to give tough love, or how to stay organized in an office full of chaos. Without her, I never would have met the SSJs who share my love for Social Justice. Well, really it's a burning passion. I never knew that when I insisted on taking French for four years in High School that I would learn and teach with a community with French roots. They, too, have pushed me to be a better me, become friends and sisters, and given me the opportunity of a life time -to do what I have always really desired - bring young women to Jesus. It's because of them that I get to spend a week with my students serving the dear neighbor - doing what I spent most of my college time doing. And so truly, part of me is SSJ, servant to the dear neighbor, preacher of social justice.
        I could easily stop there but truly I'm a Heinz 57 of religious communities. I could say part of who I am is Franciscan: barefoot, one with the earth, lover of nature - creating life with Mother Earth. I could say part of me is Carmelite, the contemplative piece of me who would rather sit in silence with Jessica Powers, St. Teresa of Avila or St. Therese. And I could say part of me is even Holy Spirit Adoration Sisters (Pink Sisters) because of my love for adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, for I could spend hours in adoration of my Jesus.
       So who am I? It's a question I've been grappling with for a few months. I'm an Irish girl, with a German last name and Italian heritage. I love food, eating it, making it, giving it. I love making things with my hands, creating art and giving life to ideas and concepts. I love being in the garden, planting, having dirt in my hands and speaking to the plants. I love walking or sitting by the river, breathing in the fresh (?) air of the Delaware. I love driving in the car for long hours in silence or with music on. I love sitting by the fire, singing, roasting marshmallows or praying, yes, praying. I love laughing so hard my stomach hurts. I love hugs - long, cuddly, embraces that make me feel safe and loved. I love singing so loud and strong that by the end of my jam session or Mass, I've lost my voice. I love playing games, dancing for no reason or every reason at all and I love spending time in silence with people. I love reading - cheesy romance novels or the lives of the saints (which sometimes are cheesy romance novels). I love writing, going to diners, spending hours talking with people who were first mentors, then friends, and always sisters. I love telling stories, listening to stories and being part of stories. I love loving deep and strong and hard. I'm from Croydon so I'm tough, but I also know that the greatest thing we have in this world is each other. And most of all, I love being with my family, whether they share my last name, my bloodline, or my faith. Who I am is all of this and yet more to be discovered. Who I am is all I am and all I am not. But I am she who dances and claps in church, who loves too fiercely and lives for each moment and each memory. All this from one song and dance with my Sisters: Hosanna! Blessed be the rock, blessed be the rock of my Salvation!

Attitude of Gratitude

"Nothing comes easily, 

where do I begin?

Nothing can bring me peace, 

I've lost everything. 

I just want to feel your embrace. 

Turn my grief to grace."

"Grace" - Kate Havnevik

A few weekends ago, I had yet another retreat under my belt. Below is the reflection I shared with my students on being grateful constantly and for all the right reasons. Since I haven't blogged in a while, I thought I'd share this with you. 

 

“Dear Mommom, thank you for helping me with my Girl Scout Badge. Here are some cursive letters (i t u e). Love, Rebecca Gutherman.”

I think that hilarious, little note was written probably when I was in 1st or 2nd grade; just about the time I was learning cursive. My Mommom had the most beautiful cursive handwriting and I wanted to have handwriting just like hers. I was obviously showing off.

“Dear Mommom and Poppop, Thank you so very much for the wonderful Communion Gifts. I am so lucky to have you as my grandparents. You will always be special to me. Love, your granddaughter, Rebecca.”

This note has better handwriting, a little crooked, but better. Naturally it was written in gold gel pen because that was the 90’s. It would have been incredibly incomplete without it.

My favorite thank you note, by far, was not actually written by me. It was written by my mom, because, judging by the picasso art, I could not yet write letters. It simply says, “Thank you mommom and poppop. You make me smile. Love, Becca.”

Growing up, my parents encouraged me, no, forced me, to write a thank you note for everything under the sun. Whether it was for plenteous birthday gifts or Christmas presents, or for the gratitude I was oh so overcome with when someone babysat us, helped us out, or took us on a trip. I can guarantee that most of the thank you notes I ever wrote went to my grandparents. Even more so to my Mommom.

My Mommom loved to write, so often we would end up in the endless cycle of notecards and letters. She would send a Valentine card with 2 dollars in it, I’d write a thank you note, signed by either me or both of my sisters. Of course, she’d later respond and hence, the endless cycle. While at the time it always seemed so nettlesome to write thank you note after thank you note, I learned to really appreciate writing and later, receiving thank you notes. It’s always such a joy to find one on my desk, in my mailbox at school or better yet, one in the real mailbox at home with a stamp attached. Yes, actual snail mail, people. I love the joy that comes with writing them as well.

My Mommom used to tell me I got my gift of writing from her. She would also tell me, I got my gift of people skills from her, my perfect penmanship from her and my love for lasagna, wine, traveling, taking pictures and documenting memories all from her. I’m my Grandmother’s granddaughter for sure. I should also mention that I get my bad habit of keeping EVERYTHING from her as well. I keep every note, letter, card ever given to me. I have drawers filled with them. I keep concert tickets, movie ticket stubs, sticky notes on the fridge, everything. That’s how I got a hold of the thank you notes.

When I graduated high school, my Mommom gave me two gifts: a ring that I’ve worn since that day that is inscribed with Mark 10:27 - with God all things are possible; and two very large scrapbooks. The scrapbooks weigh at least ten pounds each and have documented in them every picture I drew, every TY note I wrote, every picture I took, every trip I took, every concert I performed in or went to, everything. Two scrapbooks filled with momentos from my 18 years of life.

When I got them, I laughed, I cried and I ran my hand over every page that had her handiwork on it. She spent months working on this project and she put herself into every page wholeheartedly. I kept them in my bedroom and would open them up every time I did a “deep clean” of my bedroom - at least every few months. Each time I would sit on the floor and go carefully through each one, catching something new I never saw before. Each time, I felt so incredibly blessed not only that my grandmother put all my favorite memories in one place, but also that I had so many memories - happy memories of people, places and events. Truly, that’s what I treasure the most and each time I opened those books, I would thank my God for blessing me so much.

Just recently, I found myself on the bedroom floor browsing through these scrapbooks. This time, it wasn’t a result of a deep clean, although I should probably do that soon. Rather, it’s because I wanted to run my hands over the pages where my Mommom’s fingers delicately placed each picture perfectly. I wanted to touch the pages on which she had left so many traces of love. I wanted to touch her. The words of the song you just heard said it perfectly - it’s what I’ve been feeling so deeply since January 10, 2016 when my Mommom suddenly passed away.

None of us were expecting it - my sister and my dad had seen her the night before, laughed with her, told jokes, ate cookies, drank tea and she was only suffering from what seemed like a small bout of a cold. But the next morning, after I had routinely gone to Mass, gone to the gym and was headed to spend the day with my boyfriend, I got a very confused phone call from my younger sister. Without giving me any details, she told me to re-route and head the Abington Hospital right away - Mommom was in bad shape. Little did I know, even upon arriving at the hospital, that my Mommom had already gone home to God. I couldn’t believe it then and most days, I still can’t believe it. Yes, most days, I’m still waiting for her to come home from her 2 month vacation in Florida she took every Winter.

As I browsed through pictures to make memory boards and listened to numerous songs to help numb the pain, there was only one thing I really wanted. I wanted to hug her, I wanted to walk into her house, wake her up from “resting her eyes on the easy chair” and hear her voice again. As much as I always felt suffocated when she hugged me, I wanted her to grab my face, kiss me a million times and smother me with her arms. I would do anything to be suffocated by her love again. I just want to feel her embrace.

As hard as it’s been mourning my Mommom, my grief has been turned to grace. There have been ups and downs: Laughing at memories or spending hours sobbing because I lost my best friend; hiding my tears or sharing them with friends; feeling the sun shine warm upon my face and feeling empty. But mostly I’ve been reminiscing on how lucky I am to have had my Mommom for almost 24 years. As Justin Beiber would say, “I’m more than grateful for the time we spent, my spirit’s at ease.” I have so much for which to be thankful - the memories, the trips, the selfies, the adventures, the late-night prayers, the phone calls, the dinner dates, the laughter, the jokes, the joys. I’m so thankful that God gave me such a beautiful woman to nourish me, to hold me, to be my advocate when no one else would, to be the lone supporter in the crowd at a concert, to be my biggest cheerleader. I’m so thankful she was always there for me. And if I had the chance to write her one last thank you note, I would say:

“Dear Mommom,

Thank you for the time we spent together. Thank you for all the hugs and kisses. Thank you for all your love. Thank you for every note card. Thank you for passing down your love of music, writing and loving all people. Thank you for always having orange juice in the fridge for when I visit and knowing it’s my favorite. Thank you for always hiding the good candy and saving it for me. Thank you for your gift of humor and still bringing smiles to my face. Thank you for every FB message that may or may not have made sense. Thank you for giving me so many memories to keep you alive with me here and now. Thank you for every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every year I got to spend with you - the most beautiful woman in the world. I am so lucky to have you as my Mommom and you will always be special to me.

Love,

Becca

P.S. I love you. Shine on.”