Til Death Do Us Part: Fifty Years Strong

"I never thought we'd make it this far, 

given the track record of our parents and family.

But we made it and I am so blessed.

God, I love this man."

- Mommom Reichardt

      Marriage. It's something I don't know too much about, right? I'm not married now, nor will I be in the near future if ever, to a man on this earth. I am twenty years old and so, that's expected. However, at twenty years old, my grandmother, Evelyn, was already married for two years, had a baby and another on the way. Apparently, to get married at 18 was a huge scandal in the Catholic Church back in 1963. But although her father couldn't walk her down the aisle because of this, she still went and married my grandfather. And for fifty, long years they have been married. It's been a tough road, but they still made it. They took that vow, "til death do us part" pretty seriously, and I couldn't be any more proud of my grandparents.

     Yesterday, a few members of our extended Reichardt family gathered in honor of my grandparents. There was food everywhere, kids everywhere, love everywhere. Oh and plenty of "tweetable" moments. However, the real party didn't start til my Mommom and Poppop walked through the door to see a crowd of people standing there. Although the beans had been spilled to my Poppop, my Mommom was still surprised. From that moment, it was a loud, hustling, bustling party. When half the family is Italian, that kind of happens. 

      Half way through the party, my Mommom's best friend pulled me aside and asked if I could sing for her. Clare asks me every single time I see her if I would sing for her. I usually always say no. I usually just can't sing on the spot; I get, too nervous. Yet, this time, she wanted me to do it for my grandmother. And so, a half hour later, Clare made an announcement that something big was going to happen. So, I stood there, in the corner of my aunt's kitchen and sang "Wing Beneath My Wings" by Better Midler (yes, I know who she is....) for my grandparents. When I finished my extremely shaky and falsetto performance, I took the deepest breath. What did my grandmother have to say? "That was the first time I've heard you sing in over three years." 

      It was true, once I graduated grade school, I stopped solo performances except at the bi-annual family reunion. Once I graduated high school, I stopped altogether. Performing vocally actually makes me sick to my stomach nervous. It always has and it probably always will. Even when I sing at church (every.single.Sunday.) I have to put myself through mental preparation to get the nervousness to go away. It never really does. But whenever I sing for my grandmother, those feelings always seem to go away. If I can make eye contact with her in a huge crowd, I will be fine. She has always been my support and always will be.

      For years, my Mommom has always had a subtle hint of support for the religious life future for me. It has never actually been brought up with that side of the family, since religion is such a sore topic, but every so often, when it's just me and Mommom, she will say, I think you're deep faith is beautiful and I wish I had that or I support you if that's the future you might want. For years, up until yesterday, I really thought my grandmother was Evangelical still. Having grown up in that faith, she often brought up what church was like for her as a kid. My grandfather is Catholic, and honestly, the only time I have seen them in a church in my life time was for our Baptisms, Communions, Graduations, and Confirmations. I'm pretty sure they aren't practicing Catholics. Yet, there was always something in my Mommom, that if I was up and needed to go to church, she'd take me. I always thought this was strange. 

       If she was Evangelical, wouldn't it be weird for her to be in a Catholic Church? Why wasn't Poppop taking me to church? I just never understood it as a kid. What I also didn't get was how my Mommom seemed to be the most understanding of the "nun thing." How did she seem to understand more than any of my Catholic family members? How come she was always more than willing to pray Night Prayer with me and the sisters over Skype? How come she was the most excited to meet my "nun friends"? None of this made any sense to me until last night when I was looking through the photo album with my Great Aunt Bunny (her real name is Mildred Olga....).

       Someone had brought all the wedding photos from fifty years ago of my Grandparent's wedding. I had already fallen in love with their actual wedding picture, but being a lover of "old" photography, I quickly fell in love with each of the photos I was holding in my hand. I asked my Aunt Bunny why she wasn't the Maid of Honor and she said because she wasn't Catholic. I didn't know that was a thing back then. She then added that it was because of that reason, my Mommom converted to Catholicism..... SHE WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Imagine my shock when all my life, I grew up thinking that my Mommom was evangelical and had no idea how the Catholic Church worked. Yeah...I was wrong for a good twenty years. Good job, Bec, I congratulated myself. Good job! It all suddenly made sense. 

       I looked back on everything with this new view of my Grandmother. As I watched my grandparents interact throughout the night, it was easy to say, my Mommom was a woman of class as she followed so many "well-known" party protocol. She was also a woman of devotion both to her husband, her children, her grand-children and the rest of her family. She was also devoted to breaking the stereotype and plague of divorce in the family. But finally she was a woman of love and deep faith. I also saw her as a woman of faith, but even more so now. I was literally in so much shock!

       In addition to learning something new about my grandparents, I was so blessed to watch them stuff cake in each other's faces, kiss after their "testimony" of marriage and enjoy the family. My grandparents literally gave me so much hope that marriage can defy odds. Even as they were growing up, they lived in a culture of divorce. Yet, they made it fifty years. FIFTY LONG YEARS! We live in a culture of divorce now, where it's strange to say I live with both my mom and dad. But if they can defeat the odds, so can my generation. They are the example of what it takes to make marriage work. And I couldn't be more proud to be called their granddaughter! 

      Congrats on Fifty Years Mommom and Poppop! Here's to another fifty! Til death do you part! 

Aren't they still precious?!

Aunt Bunny!

Clare!

Oh and then this one...where my best friend looks like my grandfather. WEIRD!

The Remnant of a Sniff: Remembering Sister Marie Albert

"I woke up this morning and heard the news, 

I know the pain of a heartbreak.

I don't have answers and neither do you, 

I know the pain of a heartbreak."

- "When a Heart Breaks," Ben Rector

    I have been silent this week, friends, but that doesn't mean I haven't been writing. I have been using my other (secret) outlet as a coping mechanism. Yes, I have been writing poetry. Today was the funeral of our dear Sister Marie Albert, and so, I feel  it is the time to share one of my poems with you, that I wrote in her honor.

The Remnant of a Sniff

it's what lingers after

a sledding adventure in

the brisk, snow-filled air.

it lingers over hot cocoa

even as we try to warm ourselves.

it's what lingers after

the common cold or flu

has paid a visit to the body's

immune system.

it lingers over the tea 

we drink to regain our sense of smell.

it's what lingers after 

an allergy attack in the

awakening of Spring.

it lingers over afternoon coffee.

it's what lingers after

hearing the joyous news of a birth

or

the heartbreaking news of a sudden passing.

  

it lingers as hugs and tears are shared.

it lingers after my weeping

and 

my mourning.

it lingers now.

but what lingers also, 

is the remnant of a smile 

as memories of you

flood my heart.

- 1/21/13

     It's snowing right now, and if I have never said it, snow is a sign from Heaven for me. I take snow as a sign that all is right in my world. It snowed the first day I ever mentioned my discernment to Sister David and I knew it was my path of life. It snowed on a day I was walking to the Motherhouse for Mass on a Chapter weekend and I knew I was meant to be there. It snows today, and I know Sister Marie Albert is at peace. This is her sign for me.

      Yesterday may have been one of the longest days in my life. Sixteen straight hours of being awake and not a signal break in the day. I went from 5-11 full force. In the middle of my day, around 3:30, my best friend, Cameron, and I walked down the street to Camilla where we were finally going to get our closure. But before we even walked down the street, I said, "Just a fair-warning: this is not okay in my heart yet; I am going to cry. I'm sorry." And just as he does for me, he nodded in silent agreement that he not only understood, but may have to do the same. That's the one thing about him that I love, we can have conversations upon conversations of full understanding with each other without saying a word. God blessed me in that sense. 

     We walked into the front doors of Camilla and right away we saw some of our sisters from school. There were shared smiles and waves and that was it really, until Sister Denise came up to my side. It was as if she had known I walked through the door; like magnets connecting with great force. She linked my arm and said, "Be strong, baby girl, we're just going to talk to her." Before we even entered the parlor, however, Sister Carol opened her arms wide and greeted me with a, "My hall buddy. I am so glad you are here with us." Of course, already, tears were silently streaming down my face. Sister Denise once again linked my arm, but I honestly admitted that I would need to hold her hand and I asked her not to let go. Cameron followed behind me, close enough to be there if I needed him, but far away enough to give me space to cry. I closed my eyes and did just what Sister told me, I spoke to my sister. 

      I got through the rest of the night, my six hours of classes with an angel by my side. Truly, I knew she was with me. When I finally was able to collapse in my bed, I let the river pour. But even then, it was still just a river. This morning, I moved around so slowly, as if trying to avoid the inevitable. Finally, I pulled myself together and trekked down to Camilla once again, in my black and yellow, but this time alone. I prayed and talked with her during my ten minute walk and told her honestly how hard it really was for me. Thankfully, when I walked into Camilla, I saw "little poss," or as many know her, Christina, the Postulant. I sidled up next to her, and listened as the IHM community prayed the Rosary, with Sister Lorraine, the Mother General leading. To a few of the school sisters I saw during the final good-bye, I gave hugs, even to the cold-ridden ones, like Sister Marcille and then made my way to Chapel. 

     I don't think my cheeks were ever as wet, even in the rain, as they were today. When I saw each of the sisters from school, line up on either side of the main aisle, I couldn't hold back the tears. Honestly, the hardest thing for me, was not only carrying the heartbreak of my own heart, but the heartbreak of the sisters. They created a passage-way of sorts for their sister. It was so difficult to watch their faces and not feel their pain. Yeah, it was hard.

     It wasn't toward the end of the Mass that I realized which sisters were sitting behind me a few pews. Part of the council and a good deal of the motherhouse sisters. So, it was no surprise to me when I walked into the Portress office for work tonight, to have the sisters ask me about it. What I was surprised about was the amount of support they each gave me. Plenty of beautiful words were said, but what stuck with me was what Sister Rita (my home girl, I call her, since she's from Levittown) said. She said, "Becky, dear, she's going to be your special friend up there. I can promise that. Pray to her all the time, she's got you special under her wing." 

     The surprising thing about that saying, was that as I stood with Sister Marcille and a few of the students, I felt a peace come over me. Of course, tears were still streaming down my face, but I could feel her presence with me. I closed my eyes and just let that peace come over me with the gentle breeze that came with it. The sisters began to sing the Salve Regina, and you know that feeling in your heart, when even if you can't sing, you have to sing? That's what came over me. I joined in with the sisters who were literally surrounding me and sang as if that song has always been engraved deep in my heart. Afterwards, I heard Sister Marcille whisper to Dara, "That's a community tradition." Oops. Yet, I know Sister Marie Albert would have just laughed at me in her kind way.

     As I walked home tonight from work, after listening to so many of the sisters at the Motherhouse wrap me in words of support, I couldn't help but smile up at the sky. It's clear tonight, despite the snow. I couldn't really tell if it was snowing or not, but when I looked into the lights that lit my journey home, I could see the fine pieces of icey snow falling so gracefully. I felt as if someone was literally dumping a bottle of fine, silver glitter on my head as if to make me shine. Then I realized it. Sister Marie Albert always told me to shine. And wouldn't she be the one to dump a bottle of glittery snow on my head from Heaven tonight. 

     Hey girl, I know you're listening, so let me tell you, how much I really appreciate your loving support during these beautiful times I knew you. And honestly, I know you're with me more now than you ever could have been here. Help me keep shining with a smile in remembrance of you!

Being The Little Sister: Grief Edition

"What I longer for, I now see; what I hoped for, I now possess;

in Heaven, I am espoused to Him whom on earth I loved with all my heart."

- Morning Prayer Antiphone for the Feast of St. Agnes, January 21

    Sometimes, I like to pretend that I am little. You may say that I already am little, as I stand only five foot tall and am light enough to be carried on various people's backs. You may say I am little because I have an air of innocence. But I like to pretend that I am little like Lizzie. I like to pretend that I can hug everyone and hang on really tight like she does. But mostly, I like to pretend that when I am upset, I can just knock on my big sister's door and then snuggle up to her and cry as she holds me. And then I remember, that sometimes I don't have to pretend. 

    When I look up into the infinite sky, I can only feel miniature. I think, out of all the people that need God's love this day, He choose little me to send me a Valentine of sorts. He choose little, itty, bitty me, to warm my heart. When I look into the eyes of my many sisters, I, too, feel so little. These women have gone years and years before me in school, have accomplished so much in their lives, and still are so humble. When I sit with them in Mass, I feel so little and yet, I feel loved. Because I am little in two senses: little as in very young in experience and little as in the little sister.

    There is a bond between sisters that is so hard to describe, but if you have a sister, you know how strong and unique that bond is. Even from far away, I know when my little sisters need me. I know when they need a hug and some loving words. I know my sisters and they, in turn, know me. This bond exists between some of my religious sisters and myself, as well. Which essentially makes this so hard to write.

     As we were practicing for church choir before Mass last night, Sister Cathy made her way over to us. Just before were various moments of laughter and joking and suddenly it was as if a bomb had been dropped on my heart. Often times, I feel, I can "guess" what a person is about to say and prepare myself to react accordingly. However, what she had told us was such a shock to me that I reacted like a little child. I even surprised myself with my reaction. My mouth immediately gaped open and my hand flew to my mouth. Tears immediately started filling up in my eyes. I couldn't even look Sister Cathy in the eyes. I turned around, told myself to get myself together, and turned back, still with a hand over my mouth. I reacted as Becca in the raw (and rare) form. I acted like a child, like a little sister, like Lizzie. 

     During Mass, I tried my usual coping mechanism: not thinking about it. But alas, as Father began the familiar Homily (I had heard it earlier yesterday morning), I began to think about it. A steady stream of silent tears fell down my face and for the first time, I didn't care who saw me crying. Because just moments prior, as I sang the Psalm, I saw our president, Sister Pat, wipe away her steady stream of tears, too. I was numbed by the shock and felt the loss times 48 because sisters feel each others' pains,  and I felt my sisters' pains. 

     After Mass, on my way to replace some borrowed "furniture" from behind the altar, Sister Denise and I caught each others' glances. It took a matter of two seconds for her to know and for me to know, that we needed each other in that moment. So we hugged, and she held me tight as I cried a little more. I thanked her and I thanked God for all of my sisters.

     It wasn't until daily Mass this morning that I really began to reflect on my "little-ness." I realized that as normal as it was for me to attend daily Mass, I didn't quite fit in. Most mornings I am the only student. All the time, I am the youngest (by far with no insult intended...). And yet, as I began togo through the list of reasons why I appear out of place, I remembered my being a little sister. I've attended daily Mass with these sisters almost every day (for the exception of holidays and breaks) for the past three years. I have my own particular seats in our Chapels and the sisters get worried if I don't show up on a day I usually am there. I get hugs and kisses during the sign of peace and beautiful smiles around campus. I have essentially made my way into being part of this family of sorts. And that being said, I feel all their pains and my own, too.

     Heaven gained a few angels yesterday, one of them being our dear Sister Marie Albert. It's so rare, they say, to lose a "school" sister and a school sister she was. And so, I believe that in addition to the pain of losing a sister (and she was to so many of us), there is a shock of losing someone we see so often, so suddenly. As we prayed Morning Prayer today, which for the Feast of St. Agnes, fit so perfectly for thoughts of my heart and soul, I could feel the emotions of my sisters all pushed into one small Chapel. There was an emptiness of undescribable capacity. I admit to wiping my cheeks a few times as father "cheered on" the life of the 12-year old Agnes and the 80-year old, Sister Marie Albert. Indeed, both lived lives of saints. 

     As such a little sister I have become, one of my greatest fears have also came into fruition. That fear was emulated yesterday and even still into today. It is the fear of losing my sisters. Being so young, I know the possibility is great and yet, I still never expect to lose someone so close to my heart. I may not have told my deepest secrets to Sister, but I shared time, space and beautiful words with her. I cannot help but have beautiful fond memories of her, as she was a big sister, I so often looked up to. Sometimes, it's tough being a little sister.

     However, I know my big sisters are grieving with me and perhaps are still in shock. But what St. Agnes reminded us all today is that we need to rejoice. "Rejoice with me, and be glad, for I have taken my place with all the saints in the kingdom of the light," our morning prayer said. I felt peace. I still felt a loss, but I felt a peace, that for sure she is in Heaven kicking it back with God. I saw the faces of my sisters but I saw their hearts, as well. I think we might all just need one big group hug so we can embrace all the emotions flowing through us. Just as I know they will be there for me, I will also be there for them. My hands may be little, but they are hands that can hold and love. 

     It is hard to lose someone so dear. And yet, there is or will be a peace that comes when we can rest assured, she is with Him whom she loved with her whole heart. Yes, she is in Heaven now, for sure.

Seeing The Face of God and Being Dazzled

"Even the darkest night will end and the sun will shine."

- Les Misérables, Victor Hugo

  Ever since I was little, I've loved music. I can vividly remember swinging on the swings in my backyard, singing loud and clear. I would sing anything from church music, to songs I made up about Jesus, to even songs from the radio. I was always singing. Sometimes my Dad tells people I was born singing, which sometimes I wouldn't necessarily doubt. I simply love music and I love singing. I went through times in my life where I taught myself violin, piano and even some guitar. I just never continued with it! It happens. Anyway, because I love music, I have always love the musical theater. My favorite musical of all time is Les Misérables. 

   I believe I was a Sophomore in High School when I traveled into the city to see it with my cousins at the Walnut Street Theater. I was such a baby back then, now that I think of it. In fact, my dad even dropped us off. He is such a gem! My cousin, Kiersten, and I met our twin cousins, Timmy and Tommy, and our Uncle Tommy and Aunt Maureen at the theater and embarked upon one of my greatest theater experiences (up there on the list includes How I Learned To Drive with Sister Marcille last Spring). 

    I remember being up in the loft of the theater and being at the edge of my seat the entire time! I had no idea what Les Mis was about and neither did my aunt. While she and I were hyperventilating at the suggestive parts of the show, my other cousins were eternally enjoying it. When I finally realized that this was a pretty accurate depiction of the life of the suffering French, I cried. It really was so painful to watch all the suffering and pain on the stage. But more so to hear it in the voices of the actors and actresses. The music just fulfilled my heart and soul more than any other music had before. After bawling my eyes out at the end of the show (and most of the show, for that matter) when Fantine came back to accompany Jean Valjean to heaven and they sang the best line of the show, "To love another person is to see the face of God," I went home and immediately downloaded every single song from the original London cast and listened to it for weeks on end. 

    Fast forward to a few summers ago, when one of my best friends, Melissa, played a nun in the Summer Theater Session at UPenn. I remember sitting in the audience with her parents and my best childhood friend, Mike, once again bawling my eyes out but this time singing along with the songs in my heart. So much emotion went through me as I watched the actors and actresses sing and dance across the stage and so much of me wished I could be there with them. But alas, it was something I was meant to see for once again. This time, the song "On My Own" sung by my favorite character, Eponine, touched my heart more than I could understand. I understood then how this best childhood friend, who was sitting right next to me, felt about me. And I thought, if only Marius knew how she felt...then I realized...if only I knew how Mike felt. I understood then.

     Fast forward once again to last night, when my friends almost literally dragged me out to the movie theater to see Les Mis. I had heard so many good things about the movie and it had won a few Golden Globes, so I was excited to see this movie. Every one from professors to my friends to the sisters were raving about this movie and I couldn't wait to make my own critique. I made myself comfortable as possible in the movie theater seats and settled in for a two and half hour movie. 

     As I watched, part of me winced as the camera zoomed in on the mouths of the vocalists in the movie. However, I also covered my eyes when the pain of the actors got too visual for me. I listened to the songs and remembered how much emotion they had once instilled in me. I went back and forth between loving the movie and hating it. I had to remind myself that, "Even if the beginning is not strong enough, the ending is what the audience remembers." It was something that my music teacher always told me. And so even though, I didn't like the beginning of the movie, I let myself watch til the end before making a final judgment. Are you ready for it?

     For the visual effects, I thought it was over the top wonderful! I understood a bit more about the reality of what the people went through. Hollywood can really do that for a movie. It gave 19th century France a picture and a reality that the stage productions could never really give. I mean, if a stage production EVER was able to do the opening seen like it was done in the movies, I would be shocked. What I didn't like about the movie was the music. I can't help it, but after listening to so much musical theater for so many years, I have an ear for critique. At times, I couldn't get over the strange vibratos (when the voice vibrates) and the talking through the music (like when some of the lines usually sung were spoken). One thing that the stage production really does for the audience, is give a HUGE emphasis on the music. In stage productions of any musical, actors are chosen based on their musical ability and then their acting ability. While I loved the cast of the film version, it was hard to listen to them singing. But that's just the musician in me. 

     Regardless of me not loving the music, I wish everyone could see this movie. Of course, after the movie, I texted my dad and told him that eventually in our lifetimes, I am taking him to see the stage production. But for visual people, or movie people, or people who don't like theater, this movie is great. (I think the hardest obstacle for me was that I've seen it on stage so many times). What Victor Hugo did for the reader, what Claude-Michel Schönberg did for the listener, and what Tom Hooper did for the viewer was instill in the people a love for something they might not initially be aware of. Les Mis touches on so many social justice issues but it also can be a HUGE metaphor for our Catholic Faith. It talks about things as deep as abuse against prisoners to simply lying to another. It emphasizes the sacrifice for others and also gives an example of forgiveness. Of course, the line everyone loves is "to love another person is to see the face of God." And how true it is!

     Of course, within the book, there are so many lines that shake my soul! Some of my favorites, "Those who do not weep, do not see;" "Life's great happiness is to be convinced we are loved;" "Love is the foolishness of man and the wisdom of God;" and finally, "Let us sacrifice one day to gain perhaps a whole life." I know a good author when almost every word shakes my soul and makes me gasp when I understand it's truth. The same goes for a composer! Because every single song in Les Mis shakes my heart and soul, making a spirit awaken in me that just wants justice. I truly believe that perhaps our whole country needs to see and UNDERSTAND what Les Mis is about. It is not only a political move, but a move of what goes even deeper. It starts with love.

     If you have seen the movie or the stage production, you know that Jean Valjean makes a change in his life. He says that he once hated all men but when he started love, that was when the change was made. He hated and it was obvious when he was released from prison and when he stole the silver from the Priest. But when the Priest showed him love AND forgiveness, he realized what life is all about. That is why, at the end of his life, he says over and over and over, "to love another person is to see the face of God." If we truly loved all those around us, we would see a strange familiarity within each of them. Whether it is a fellow student or co-worker that we cannot seem to get along with, or it's a child in the classroom who drives us nuts, or maybe a family member or if we go deeper to say the poor, the homeless, the outcast, they have something so familiar in their souls. When we truly love them, we would see their souls and what we would see when we saw the souls is that their soul is just like our soul, made in the image and likeness of God. God abides in their souls just as He abides in ours. If we truly loved one another, we would see that, we would truly see the face of GOD! 

    And so my friends, perhaps this is why I love Les Mis: because it instills and awakens in me such a deep desire to love. We were made to love and be loved, I truly believe this, and Les Mis shows us what could happen if we truly followed that basic mission given to us from God, Himself. What if we truly did just love one another. All of Les Mis is a lesson from God and like Victor Hugo wrote about Jean Valjean, "He did not study God; He was dazzled by Him," I, too, am dazzled by God's goodness in my life. He has taught me love through something I love so much, Words and Music. Now who else can do something as awesome as that?!

The Nuns Caught a Case of the Mommies

"A good mother is irreplaceable."

- Adriana Trigiani

     A good mother is irreplaceable and I have an inexhaustible number of good mothers including my own mother. I know this because every time I get a case of the cold, flu, sniffles or insane coughing, the nuns get a case of "The Mommies." It all started Friday night, when my congestion began...as soon as I finished work and headed around the bend (which is a long, dark, scary hallway through the kitchen mind you...that apparently only the real deals can handle) to Formation, I was met with two of my close nunny mommies, Sister Eileen and Sister Mary, both of whom advised me to go to bed early after they asked me if I went through the multiple step pre-caution system at the Fortress Portress which really just included me de-germing everything before and after work with Clorox wipes. As I got sicker and more congested through the week, I was getting various Mommy Sick Tips. Last night, which was the peak of my illness so far, I had a nasty cough, I used most of the tissues in the Portress Office and definitely was losing my voice. Not only did multiple sisters advise me to drink my fluids, but many also were telling me just to sleep, rest and not go crazy (like normal). Sister Honora, who is also sick, came in from work while the sisters were at prayers and we just sat together feeling the breeze come through both the open windows. Needless to say, I was having a bit of a hot flash probably from a friendly fever. Later that night, Sister Cathy said she knew I was on portress because she heard me coughing before she even came through the door...oops. It seems I have so many loving and comforting mothers, not just when I am sick but also at many other times during the year. When I am away from home and I need a mother, one of the sisters always steps up to the plate. I am blessed. 

    Since it is National Vocations Awareness Week, I figured I would take my many mothers as an example of the vocation of Spiritual Motherhood. I tell my cousin that when I am a sister, I will have more kids than physically possible. Of course, that sounds so strange at first. Nuns usually aren't mothers at first sight, you see. They do not have biological children of their own, this is very true, but they have blessed so many children with the gift of having a Mother. I see myself as a teacher but I know, too, that somewhere along the line I will be working with younger children. Both as a teacher and a caretaker, I will be a mother, like the sisters are for me, to my students. Some may not have real-life mothers for various reasons, but many of my students, especially the younger ones will need a motherly figure while at school. 

     One of the greatest examples of Spiritual Motherhood I have ever seen is my dear friend, Sister Jean. Every morning when I drop my little Lizzie off when I am home, Sister Jean not only has a smile and hug for Lizzie but also for me. She is more than willing to converse with me for a half an hour while at the same time greeting every child by name as they walk through the door in the morning. I have known her to do this for as long as I have known her, which is two years. However, on the last day home for me, I was dropping Lizzie off at school when I saw Sister Jean walk up to the car in front of me. She not only opened the door for the boys, but she picked up the youngest's backpack, slung it on her shoulder, and then picked up the little Pre-Kindergartner, because he was still too little to jump out of the big SUV like his older brother. She then placed his feet on the ground and held his hand as they walked together to the front door of the school where she gave him his backpack and led him inside. She simply gave a whole new meaning to Spiritual Motherhood for me. 

     Now there are a few sisters who I have told many times that they have been such a mother to me. One of those sisters is Sister David, who took me under wing when I was baby Freshmen in High School. I had her as a teacher for the last period of the day, and often when I was feeling under the weather, she would send me home with her Mommy Sick Tips of drinking tea with honey and sleeping in the next morning. She sometimes would even encourage me to take a day off just to catch up my immune system. When I was having a rotten day and just wanted to cry, I would sometimes go to Chapel which I knew to be my prayer space. She would just know, like a mother always does, and would casually slip into the pew next to me and pray with me. And if I needed them, she always had tissues for me in her pocket. Of course, she was never without a hug or a shoulder to cry on. 

     I once had the following conversation with one of my high school English professor, Dr. Roche, a year after I graduated. It was a known fact among many of my friends then that I was discerning religious life, but most of the professors were out of the loop. However, many had their speculations and often they would casually bring it up in conversation. The conversation went like this: "Becca, I think you would make such a good mother. You are so caring and loving and you would sacrifice anything in the world for your children just like you do your friends." "That's so sweet, Dr. Roche, but..." "Oh I know, and because I know you'd make a good mother, you'll make a great sister. Because in order to be a sister, you must first possess the gifts of a mother. You'll be wonderful." 

     I had never truly thought about that, but in all honesty he was right. All of the sisters I have known, have that motherly twinkle in the eye. Whether it was a gentle smile on the day of my hardest exam, or a hug on one of my rough days, or even a tissue from their habit pocket on a day when I was struggling with the sniffle, they had it. And each sister possessed a different motherly twinkle because no two sisters are identically alike. Now some sisters may say they became a sister because they would never have been able to handle children of their own, but in the end those have been some of the sisters that were the most motherly toward me in their own way. They may not have a hug, but they gave me the friendship of a mother to her daughter, which then transpired to a sister to a sister. 

     Sisters answer a calling to love in all forms, love for children, love for families, love for the sick, love for the uneducated, love for the poor, love for all people. They are called to sacrifice a biological family to make the world their family and thus become mothers to the people of world. And while I know that sacrifice is a difficult one and often I battle with it, thinking about how much I would love to hold my own baby in my arms, I know that God may be calling me to be a mother to many babies who have no mother at all through my vocation as a religious sister. The stories God has planned for me are a beautiful piece of literature. 

And now for a little song that I love to dedicate to my own mother:

This Ain't Goodbye

"This ain't goodbye, this is just where the love goes. 

This ain't goodbye, it's not where our story ends.

This ain't goodbye, as long as we got time,

this ain't goodbye."

- "This Ain't Goodbye," Train

    In the past week and a half, I've seen a lot of good-byes. I've not only moved back to school for a new semester, but I've also seen off the IHM Novice (and one of my close friends) and I've sent my parting blessings on my AE. If you know me, you know I just don't do good-byes well. Usually, I am a  crying, blubbering, red-eyes, snotty nose, hot mess when it comes to good-byes. Ok, so I know that's gross...but still, it's the blatant, honest truth. In addition to the hot mess, however, I also try very hard to occupy myself with something silly so as not to dwell on the nearing departure. When my final good-bye with my AE was coming, we both let ourselves watch a good two hours of The Peanuts while avoiding the real good-bye. When it was nearing the hour I was meant to leave home to go back to school, I busied myself with making a 12 inch clay model of a leech for my sister's bio project. And when it came time to send off Sister Melissa, we all occupied ourselves with washing dishes until the last possible moment when we all ran down the hallway to wave good-bye. Yeah, I find creative ways to avoid saying good-byes.

     On my last day home, I visited my high school just to give those final good-byes to the sisters. Later that day, I found myself visiting Saint Katherine's to say good-bye to the sisters there. When I was hugging Sister Daniella good-bye, I couldn't help but hang on for an extra long hug. I realized that every time I go back to school, she is one of the last people I see. And no matter what, she is somehow always prepared for some tears. She knows me. Already that day, there were so many good-byes. Later that night, after quite the adventure of leaving keys at home and losing wallets and impromptu visits to grandma's house, I had to say a final good-bye to my Daddy and my little Lizzie. I'll be honest, even after doing this five times before, it gets harder to say good-bye every time and I did shed quite a few tears that night after they left. It's always hard coming back to school, even though I love it so much, because for a few weeks, the schedules are upset and my sisters and I get used to morning Wawa runs and midnight snuggling while watching Disney movies on a school night. It gets harder every time because I get used to food fights in the kitchen with my Daddy and shopping for my Mom. It gets harder every time because I get used to my Frankie knocking me down every time I walk through the front door or my Marina pawing my leg to wake me up in the morning. It gets harder because I just hate good-byes.

     This weekend, I was blessed to be part of the send-off for Sister Melissa. And even though I was super excited for her and somewhat jealous because she would now be living down the hall from Sister Bern, deep in my heart I was sad. I wouldn't see her every so often over at the college nor would I see her late at night in the portress office. And I knew it was hard for her to once again leave a place so familiar to embrace the unknown. As she went around giving us each a hug, there were smiles and tears. I had just previously occupied myself with washing the dishes and really didn't want to think of the reality of her moving away. So I didn't cry then, but later I carried the pain of distance in my heart.

     Tonight, while at Mass, I couldn't get the song, "This Ain't Goodbye" by Train out of my head. So many times before in my life, this song has been key in my emotions. I realized very quickly that all of these good-byes aren't really good-byes. They are more of a "see you later." I will see my AE in a few weekends, when I go and visit her in Chicago. I will see my siblings and family members soon enough too, when I go home for a restocking of shelves...and I will see Sister Melissa well, when she comes back! They were momentary good-byes, but not eternal good-byes. 

     All these good-byes got me thinking about the one other good-bye we all made this past weekend and that was the good-bye to the Christmas Season. Father Chris touched a tad bit on this during his homily tonight and so I simply just have to share. You see, today is the Baptism of Jesus. This day, while coinciding with Father Gillets 200th birthday, marks the anniversary of Jesus' public ministry. It is true that during the Christmas Season, Mass attendance sky-rockets and then once it's over, the pews are just as empty as they were at Thanksgiving. Even in Jesus' real life, once His public ministry began, so many said, "Good-bye, Jesus." It is not ironic that during Mass this song was replaying over and over in my head (during my moments of hot flashes, coughing fits and nose blowing as I have not avoided the common cold....). We cannot make the end of the Christmas Season a good-bye. Because the truth is, just like how it is when Sister Michele, Sister Melissa and my sisters, this isn't where the story ends; we have time. So, this ain't good-bye. We can't let it be a good-bye, we must keep at it! We must keep loving! And when we don't say good-bye, there's no knowing how God might surprise us next! So remember, this ain't good-bye.

Angels Among Us: A Summary

"I believe there are angels among us,

Sent down to us from somewhere up above.

They come to you and me in our darkest hours

to show us how to live, to teach us how to give

and to guide us with the light of love."

- "Angels Among Us," Alabama

The Smiles Say It All

     I had finally gotten a power tool in my hands when all of a sudden (it seemed) it was time to head on out for the day. While I was teaching my RA, Caiti, how to use a power screw driver to screw screws into what would eventually be a dog house, the rest of our group was filling out evaluations; it was our last day on the worksite. I had spent most of the days mudding/spackling the walls of Miss Sande's living room, bedrooms, kitchen and closets. Trust me, it's tedious work. And actually, it's quite a pain in the butt...especially when they tell the short girl to mud/spackle the ceiling. I can't tell you how many times I dropped mud on my face, in my hair, on my clothing. I felt absolutely disgusting afterward and my body ached from reaching high and bending backwards to float, skim and doctor the ceilings and walls. However, as we sat as a group on Miss Sande's back porch filling out evaluations and listening to our site leaders, it all came together for me.

    I have never been on the NOLA January trip. In fact, I will honestly say, I like NOLA in the Summer better because of the weather. I'm not about this cold weather in the South nonsense. Going on this trip was completely out of my comfort zone because even though I knew everyone, I didn't know anyone. It was going to be a completely different trip than what I was used to: nights were longer, sun was weaker, schedule was crazier. Yet, I felt this strange whisper in my heart that kept saying, "Go, go, go, go back to the place you love so much." And so I applied and then got accepted. Ironically enough, a few weeks later, I got accepted for the Peru Service Trip which would most likely take place during the same time as the May NOLA trip. I understood that God understood my desire to go to NOLA at least once a year. However, even as I pulled up to the airport, I was questioning the reasons why God was sending me to NOLA at this time.

    I felt I was jipping my sisters of my Christmas Break time. I felt like I didn't belong with the people and friends in our Work Crew. I felt so out of my comfort zone. Yet, this is the life I so desire. I desire to be a missionary and leave home. I desire to work with strangers. I desire to go out of my comfort zone. But even still, I was doubting God working in my life through this trip. So, as I sat on the plane, I closed my eyes and prayed: God, keep my heart open to Your will. As I nodded off to sleep, God began opening my heart.

    As we visited the French Quarter, I saw monuments and attractions all so familiar. I almost had no desire to be there. Instead, I was wanting so badly to be in my work clothes and building. But, it was New Year's Eve and so, every worksite was closed for the day. So, we found ourselves doing to the same activities in the Quarter, that I had done two times prior. I shopped a little and continued to doubt God's work. 

   This doubt continued through Mass at St. Louis Cathedral, through priming a shotgun house in a pretty bad neighborhood, to building boxes at Second Harvest Food Bank, to serving the homeless and hungry dinner at the New Orleans Mission, to even mudding the walls and ceilings of Miss Sande's house. Why was I here? I kept thinking. I was seeing no change; no change in the people and no change in me. I found myself spending a lot of personal quiet time on the worksite, at our other volunteer opportunities and even while we were back at the house. I was seeking for an answer. At the end of the week, I had almost given up and I had stopped searching for a reason why I was there. And when I stopped searching, God gave me the reason.

    Go back to the image of us all sitting on Miss Sande's back porch. We had filled out the evaluations, we had listed our highs and lows of the week with our leaders Megan and Cait, and given out some thank you gifts to them as well. We had one final gift to give and that was to Miss Sande. It was a Mardi Gras Bead Art image of the Immaculata School Symbol which we had all signed. As we handed her the frame, she immediately began on a Miss Sande Story. 

      Throughout the week we had each heard various Miss Sande Stories and other mentions of her wisdom. We had each been able to piece together her story of suffering, rebirth and how she came to have her house a part of the St. Bernard Project. But this story was different than any other Miss Sande story; this story was about angels. 

      As she spoke, Miss Sande referred to all of us as her angels. She told us how without God's Angels coming to work on her house, her house would still be non-existent in the Post-Katrina era. She kept calling us her angels over and over and over again. And each time she did, the lump in my throat got bigger and bigger until finally, I let the tears roll down my cheeks. I got it. I understood. God sent me there to meet Miss Sande. Little does she know that she was an angel to me. She was God for me. 

     All my life, all I have ever wanted to do was help change lives. When I was younger I thought that there were so many people in our world that needed me. But as I got older, I realized, there are so many people in our world that I need. I needed Miss Sande more than she needed me. So what I put a little mud on her walls and helped build her six dogs an outdoor living space. Miss Sande helped me realize that the little bit I did, helped. Without the mud and spackle, no paint could go up. Yes that's true! 

     A few years ago, I stopped looking to change the whole world. I narrowed my goal down to change a few lives. But this week, I made a complete turn around. I started looking for people to change my life! Yes, I did help Miss Sande and yes, this past week I was an angel for her. But more than I was for her, she was for me. She was the angel I needed in my life. She reminded me that I don't need all the things in the world to be happy. She reminded me that my little hands could get roughed up and change a life. But mostly she reminded me that although I may doubt God's mission for me, He is always working through me...whether it's my hands, my heart or my smile. She reminded me of something that I so often neglect to believe in, something that I am always telling others but never telling myself: Miss Sande reminded me of my own goodness. She reminded me that I can actually be an angel. Miss Sande, in being an angel herself, reminded me of the same. And so, this NOLA trip, angels united. 

     I can't thank Miss Sande enough for breaking through to my heart...for being willing enough to risk that journey! She is a beautiful woman of God! Yes, there are angels among us! I am home now, but no matter where we are, there are angels among us.

Working With The Girls

"If you give a woman the right pair of shoes she can change the world."
- Millie Gaghan

So how's it been so far is the million dollar question. I've had text messages from friends, Facebook messages and posts and phone calls asking me how the big easy is! So let me tell you how it's been!
I now know what it's like to be hungry, homeless and cold! Home is wherever the people we love are and where we feel loved. And while NOLA has been such a home to me and I truly feel like I belong here, people are missing from my presence and this city! I am homeless from my family and friends!
I am hungry! Not a physical hunger, no my belly is full of gumbo and jambalaya and red beans and rice! Instead I am hungry to serve and love! Even though I am working so hard all day, it isn't enough for me! I need more! Like one of the sight supervisors said, service and giving love is the best kind of drug out there!
I am cold! I know at home, IU has has some snow and there is a cold front! However if I was at home, I'd be wearin a coat! Here it is about fifty degrees everyday! That would be fine except I didn't many warm clothes! I know what it is like to wear all the clothes in my possession just to stay warm! Last night to bed I wore both pairs of sweat pants , both pairs of shorts, both long sleeve shirts and both sweatshirts!! I slept with the hoods up and curled in a ball under one blanket with my teddy bear!! Needless to say I was a little chilly!!
However being hungry, homeless and cold is not my daily life! I have felt solidarity with these people for the past few days but I have not always had that life and most likely will not have that life for an extensive time in my future! However it really hit the heart when I realized that not only was Katharine Drexel here in this city but also Mother Teresa and Frances Cabrini!! These are seriously three of my favorite girls!! And even though they aren't here now I still am working and walking with them!!
When I checked Facebook the other morning to post some pictures, I saw the above quotation as Millie's status! Right away I had to comment: work boots! I would wear work boots!! I couldn't help but imagine Mama K or Mama Teresa or Cabrini wearing work boots under their habits!! Wouldn't that be a sight to see?! And what if they wore work pants under their skirts and bandanas over their veils? I decided that would be me...I'd work the boots with the skirt...and when my work boots get too dirty to wear inside I will just were socks to chapel like I did this morning!!
When I am down here I can't help but think of my girls, my sisters the saints working in the poor schools and building houses!! If they were here during this time they'd be nailing down floors and mudding walls after school on the week days!!! Yeah....me too!!!

A New Orleans New Year's Eve Resolution

"I'll be your sun, I'll shine on you. I'll make you happy, I'll smile to you." - Nouf Alfadl

This is the first New Year's Eve I am away from home. I have always rung in the new year with close family and friends in either Pennsylvania or our neighboring New Jersey. I have always heard my daddy's voice at midnight! This year is different; I'm not only in a different state but also time zone! I'm in New Orleans, Louisiana.
Staying up til midnight here is equivalent to staying up til one am at home! Needless to say I was exhausted come midnight. However watching the fireworks surrounded with my IU peers was nothing short of beautiful! I am so used to sharing hugs and kisses and phone calls at midnight but instead here we decorated our IU work crew shirts and watched out our windows over the seventh ward! We shared hugs but it was interesting for all of us!! As I watched I noticed how quiet it got! All of us momentarily fell into some sort of reflection mode. Well at least I know I did and here's why:
I always get nostalgic on New Year's Eve! I think about the past and the future! I smile and get scared, too. I always cry without a doubt on New Year's Eve. It's a thing I guess. But as I watched the fireworks, I couldn't help but think of two people: my grandmother Bea and the Air Force gentlemen we met in the French Quarter!
The Air Force man was just casually getting sno-balls with his family when we walked up next to him! Of course, because I am my fathers daughter, I started talking to him! We talked about everything from him growing up in NOLA to sno-ball flavored to the new year to him being in the Air Force! Suddenly I found myself thanking him for serving our country because I am a patriot through and through! But before I knew it, he was buying our sno-balls as a thank you for our service to his beloved city even after so many years after Hurricane Katrina! I almost cried.
My grandmother, Bea, who I describe as a fiesty Irish woman, was with me from the very beginning of this trip but especially at Mass last night! You see the reading was essentially the Irish Blessing! May The Lord shine his face on you always! I love that so much and I couldn't help but believe Bea's face was shining on me in this beautiful city! I also couldn't help but imagine her being here with me doing the same thing right next to me! Maybe she would have...maybe not! All I know is that I share Bea's spirit as so many have told me! They tell me I am just as likely to get arrested for the same reasons she did...I'll leave that to your imagination! But I know Bea would love this city as much as I do!!
As I thought of Bea and Mr. Air Force, my New Years resolution was confirmed! My goal for the year is to go out of my comfort zone and take more positive risks!! Bea and Mr. Air Force emulate both of those things!!! I couldn't have felt more blessed as I did at midnight last night during my reflection under the fireworks!! You see, I am all about spreading the love and in order to spread the love, I have to exit the comfort zone!! And in spreading the love I know I may be so vulnerable because the heart is human and because it is human it is fragile! But like father said at mass last night, the adventure of life is faith! Both Bea and Mr. Air Force emulated that as well!
And so for me this new year, I'll be allowing myself to be vulnerable upon exiting the comfort zone and loving! I know I am in for a huge adventure because of my faith! My The Lord bless you and keep you, my friends! Cheers to 2013!!!