For Whom The Bell Tolls

"So this bell calls us all;

Know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

- "Meditation 17," John Donne

     "These are my favorite of all days," I told Sister Maureen when she walked into the front office a half hour before First Communion was set to begin. Usually, when I am at work, I am working on some homework. Okay, that's actually false. Most times, I am reading and drinking coffee/tea. But some times, that reading has to do with a class I am in. Other times, I just find myself writing poetry or letters. It's usually quiet at the Fortress Portress on Saturdays, save for the occasional visitor but Sister doesn't really stay very long. There are rarely any visitors who need to gain entrance through the front door and the phone barely rings. It's quiet, so I open the window, let the breeze come in and sip my tea quietly as I read or write my poetry. But yesterday was completely different.

     Sister Susan came bustling in after 9:15 am Mass and asked if I was ready. Well, for what, I wasn't quite sure. So she quickly and excitedly informed me that the second grade girls from the academy would be making their First Communion in a few hours. Suddenly, my whole day was turned upside-down. No homework would be getting done and probably no reading either as this was a day I really had to pay attention to the front door. Suddenly, I was over-joyed and my heart was ready to sing. Mass was set to begin at eleven and people began coming at ten. I couldn't wait. 

      Of course, my fellow Portress girls know that there is a camera at the front door where we watch anyone who is entering. However, people who rarely frequent the Motherhouse don't understand how the front door works. There's a door bell, you usually ring that. However, people can never find it. So, often we just unlock the door from our seats but when we do, it makes a loud alarm noise. It freaks people out and quite honestly, it becomes a source of entertainment for all of us on big days like these. Especially when the younger children try to open the door. On many occasions, I have unlocked the door for a kid and instead of pulling open the door, he will run in and out of the door a million times until his parents come. Then his parents do the same thing. Trust me, it's actually pretty entertaining. 

     On this beautiful day, so many little children, baby brothers and sisters, were running all over the foyer to the Chapel. I couldn't stop smiling. Anytime there are little ones around, I instantly remember my family, which is full of little kids. I am always, as you may have read, the big kid chasing the babes. Essentially, I take care of them all and it's fantastic. So, I was sitting at my desk in the portress office wishing I was with my family on a beautiful like this and then realizing that in less than a week, I would be seeing them. My two little cousins, Claire and Mackenzie will be making their First Communion. There will be a huge family party at the new big house and all my baby cousins will be there. Of course, this also means I will get to see, hold and spoil my God-Daughter. Seeing all the little ones running in and out of Chapel reminded me of that and I was over-joyed with a few of them decided to make the front office a play room. I didn't mind. I hope the sisters don't.....

      I could literally feel in my heart so much happiness. I heard someone shush in the hallway and I knew that it had to be the girls getting ready to line up and enter the Chapel. I jumped out of my seat and stood in the hallway. Each of the girls had their prayer hands folded, smiles draped across their faces and excitement bursting from their hearts. They looked like little princesses and I wished them all congratulations before they went in. Sister Nancy and Sister Maureen Ruth were walking with the girls and I felt so much solidarity with what they were feeling; pure joy. Then suddenly, right before they entered the Chapel, the bells began chiming and I was reminded of how I feel in love with Jesus. 

      Bells. Bells. Bells. Every time I hear church bells, my heart feels ready to explode. I am suddenly taken back to a Spanish Monastery in the days of Teresa of Avila. I feel like a Carmelite nun working the Garden when suddenly the bells remind me and call me to prayers. Bells are the soundtrack to how I fell in love with Jesus. From my room at school, I can hear the bells of Camilla ring at noon and then at six and then again at seven. When I am at work, no matter what the weather, I always throw open the window at six and at seven just to hear the bells. When I go to Mass at the Motherhouse, like I did this morning, I can only feel so much peace in my heart when Sister Marjorie sets off the bells to signal the beginning of Mass. Whenever I hear bells, I instantly am reminded of this vocation Jesus has placed in my heart and I can only say YES YES YES to Him. 

      Right before the girls entered Chapel, I  noticed Sister Nancy place her hand on the shoulder of the girl closest to her. This little girl looked up at her, smiled and in an instant, I was reminded of how I felt on my first communion. I can only speculate that this little girl may have felt a calling in her heart, but I  know that on my First Communion, I felt it. It wasn't about the party, the presents or the cake after Mass; it was about Jesus during Mass. I couldn't wait to finally have Jesus truly in my heart. And I can distinctly remember Sister Thomasita (God bless her soul) telling me all about how Jesus loves me more than I can ever imagine; that's what First Communion was all about. Without really knowing it, I had this joy, this desire, this longing for Jesus more than just in Communion but to be his bride forever. Oh, thinking about it now even sends shivers done my spine. It's like when you realize that your husband and wife (before you're married) is actually the one. I knew that Jesus was the one at eight years old (technically I was only seven...I turned eight three days later). 

       When I think back on how I fell in love with Jesus, I remember those instances of being at the convent or seeing a sister and just feeling simple awe. I remember wanting to know the mystery of what being a nun/sister was. And every time I would hear the bells, I would wonder what they were really doing. Those bells, no matter where they are, call to me, they fill my heart with such a longing for Jesus. They fill my heart with mystery of what religious life really is. Because as much as I know, I don't know. There is still the mystery there. Of course, as I get older and more into finding the specifics of religious life out (and eventually as I join the community Jesus has prepared for me), the mystery seems to wear off. But every so often, whether I'm standing at my window and I see a Sister walking, quietly, prayerfully down the walkway or I hear her singing in the hallway, or walking the Grotto, that mystery comes back. That awe is re-instilled in me. I know now that sisters are real people who go shopping, who drive cars, who are human and can cry, but there is still a mystery that surrounds them. A mystery that at age eight, I wasn't quite sure meant, but I knew I fell in love with. These beautiful women literally spend each day in love with their creator. And every morning when I go to Mass with them, truly how do we all stop singing His praise?! 

      This weekend, I was so blessed to witness just under twenty little girls make their First Communion. By their witness, the mystery of my love relationship with Jesus came back so greatly in my heart. They do not realize it, but they each helped remind me why and how I fell in love with Jesus. Their little hearts, beating with the ringing of the bells in excitement for this COMMUNION OF SOULS reminded me of my vocation, of the mystery of the sisters and of the mystery in my own heart. And Jesus, I could't be any more grateful. I feel this calling SO LARGE in my heart and I CANNOT keep from singing Your Praise. The mystery is flooding my heart! Thank you, Jesus.

Sometimes the Road Gets A Little Rocky

"Just because you are in a tough situation, 

doesn't mean it has to be tragic.

You are in control of how terrible your situation feels."

- Sister Marcille

    You may or may not have seen the Facebook status that read : The phrase that sums up my week "let's just find a rock big enough for both of us to hide under and call it a day." Yes, I said that. But it was in casual response to something I never would have expected to hear from one of my Sisters: "I want to hide under a rock." Of course, this was as we were attempting to lift the giant, ancient window in her office and after I almost cried in her presence for the third time in a row that week. It was only Wednesday. However, it didn't quite shock me like it probably would have had I been not in a crabby mood. In fact, it was almost comforting; someone else was feeling almost the same attitude. Okay, well, maybe we both wanted to hide away from the world for different reasons, but the point is, we both wanted to hide under rocks. I was tired of crying and she was tired of meetings. But that's life, I guess. 

    Many of you know me as the girl with the perpetual smile. The truth is, I have found ways to always keep positive and to smile through anything that is upsetting me. However, this doesn't mean that I don't have days where I am just in a complete Debbie Downer mood. On these days, I usually avoid all kinds of civilization and stick to myself. So essentially, I am always in a smilely mood because most people only see me when I have tons of smiles to give. Of course, duty calls and one must go to work and to class even on days when she might rather just stay wrapped up in her blankets in her bed. Last week, I was seemingly in a perpetual Debbie Downer mood and while, I tried to avoid people so as not to have my bad mood rub off, I still had to come in contact with a few people. 

    So here's the background. It's the final two weeks of school. That means, finals, finals, finals. Of course, as an English Major I am so blessed to be given papers in lieu of finals. However, I'm also half an Education Major and so, my finals consist of teaching lessons to my class. As of now, I have one paper to worry about, four discussion boards to finish, a lesson plan to do and a Theology final. Almost done. However, at the beginning of last week, the workload was definitely doubled and I had no desire to do any of it. I was wishing I could be back at home with my little sister who has seemingly been putting up a daily fight to go to school. 

    As the oldest sister, I am always worried about my little sisters and this new knowledge of little Lizzie was worrying my heart out. I actually wanted to just scoop her up in my arms and snuggle her "all the day" (as she always says). I wanted to protect her, love her and squeeze her close. Having to go back to school was the hardest thing, especially with only two weeks of school left for me. Needless the say, I spent Sunday night almost sobbing because I was so worried about her. But, that same night, from one big sister to another, my Sister gave me endearing words of support and a hug to get me through the night. As much as that helped, I still wanted to hide under a rock and when I saw her two days later, she was feeling the same sentiment. 

    It seemed that as the days went by last week, I felt more and more worry in my heart for my little sister....and for my upcoming finals. I am grateful for those who let my introvertedness be fully expressed, namely my Sister. She wouldn't really say much, except ask a few questions, already knowing the full situation my heart was in, and give me something to smile about or to take my mind off of things for a while. She had become so gentle with my heart as if she was holding in her hands the must expensive and most fragile piece of China porcelain. She was honest, she was true, she was gentle; so, so, so gentle. It humbled me but it also let me embrace the emotions going on in my heart. By Wednesday, after mid-day Mass, I found myself wiping salt water off my cheeks as I prayed and prayed and prayer. And in that prayer I was given the image of that rock we had both wanted to hide under. Ironically, I was also given a choice. 

    There are plenty of days when we each want to hide under a rock. Last week, was my week of days of wanting to run and hide under rocks. Even in class, another Sister told me that I looked as quite miserable, even after she presented me with an A on my final paper. Anyway, for some people, their rocks could be their beds or their rooms where they hide away from the world, or maybe a secret place they go to on their own, like the beach or the park or a specific bench by the river. We all want to hide, because like Adam and Eve, we don't like to feel vulnerable; wanting to hide is part of human nature. However, just like Adam and Eve, we are given a choice. God will provide us with the rock when we need it, but we can choose to do one of two things with it: lift it and hide under it OR stand on top of it, throw our hands up in the air and let God take care of it. At that moment in Chapel, when I was presented with this image and this decision, I had realized that I wasn't wanting to hide under the rock; I was already under it. 

      I was given the choice right then in Chapel to either stay under that rock or climb out from underneath and stand on top. I still wanted to hide under my rock, I still was searching for a chance to sob about my life, I was still searching for a lasting hug. I mentioned all of this in prayer and was told, you can cry to Me, My Arms are wide open to hug you, My princess. So, slowly, I began to climb out. I cried because I knew I couldn't control anything that was happening in my life because losing control is so scary. However, I soon learned that losing control was also so freeing. The true climb out from underneath my rock began early Thursday morning when I realized that the lesson plan for the lesson I was supposed to teach my Honors Juniors class was not in my bag, but at home in my room at school. Oops. I had no control over the situation and so, I said, "Jesus take the wheel." 

     Later that day, I unpinned the bobby pins in my hair and let my curls go crazy as I rolled down the window in Cameron's car. Seriously, my curls, when UNCONTROLLED, are actually crazy crazy crazy. It may not mean much to anyone else, but to me, letting go of the little things I could usually control really helped with the letting go of things I couldn't control. Before I knew it, I was standing on top of my rock, throwing my hands in the air, proclaiming that God was wholly in control and there was nothing I could do about anything but pray. 

     On Friday, I was proclaiming to the world that I was the happiest I had been all week. At Mass that afternoon, my secret handshake peace giver shook my hand but instead of letting go, she held on until I turned back around. Laughing, I asked her for my hand back. But instead of giving me my hand back, said, "I just want to say that it's good to see your beautiful smile again." And in that moment, I felt somewhat infinite. And I guess that's what truly giving all control to God does for a person; it makes her feel infinite. 

     I can honestly say I learned an extremely valuable life lesson this past week. Well, actually a few. It's okay to cry, to sob and let people see you. It's okay to be human (shocker). It's okay that when you really need a hug so you can cry, to ask for a hug from your Sisters. And finally, when faced with a rocky road, you can choose to either hide under each of them or stand on top, conquering that rock, that mountain, and throw your hands in the air, giving all control to Jesus. Sometimes the road gets rocky, there's no doubt about that. But we get to choose how that rocky road affects us. It's always good to cry about things, to truly embrace the emotions God has blessed you with, but remember that hiding does no one any good. It's the standing atop your mountain and letting God take that control. Trust me, He's got this. And if you need a hug, He's more than willing to give you one. Promise. 

Loving Through The Hurt - A Reflection on Boston

"You have heard that it was said, 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,'

But I say to you, do not resist an evil person;

but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him.

You have hear that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy,'

But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

- Matthew 5: 38, 39, 43, 44

     Many of you know me as the loud girl, who loves to use her words for everything, but especially advocacy and justice, and who will not be silenced. (Ironically, as I write, "So It Goes" by Billy Joel is playing on my playlist and he is singing about silence...) You know me as a passionate young woman with many advocacies but the truth is, all those advocacies fall under Social Justice. And while I see that our country has a beautiful "justice system," I question the usage of the word "justice." 

    In the last week, I, along with my fellow Americans, watched the Terror befall the streets of Boston during a most prestigious marathon and the fight for what we call justice. One week ago today, I woke up to my phone going off with notifications about the Boston Marathon Bombings. I felt my heart become overwhelmed with sadness and fear, just as it had on the day of the Sandy Hook shootings not too long ago. The first thing I always want to do is hear the voices of my parents and my little sisters, just to make sure they are okay. In both cases, none of my family was near Sandy Hook or Boston, but still there is a panic that goes through my system and I worry about them. These events remind us that we are never sure what could possibly happen. 

    As I watched the news unfold Monday night at work (the motherhouse sisters can attest to the fact that this was the one sole time I ever watched the TV at work), I was struck by the phrase, "We had no inclining that this was going to happen." The Marathon was staffed by numerous first responders in the case that any participant needed help and to keep the running route safe. Not a single one of those first responders expected to go to the Marathon and end up dealing with a triple bombing. Not a single one of those runners expected the ground to shake out beneath them or to be leaving that day a physically changed person. When you run a marathon, you don't expect terror to ensue. When you work a marathon, you don't expect a bomb to go off during the race. It was not expected, it was not planned on, it was not a normal day therefore and will go down in history. 

    I continued to watch the news until it seemed that everything being said was already said. I found myself exploring social media and the internet for more information. I, just like every other single person in the United States, wanted information. Who was hurt? What was being down to help? How many people? Was it an act of terrorism? Was it an accidental explosion? Who was responsible....? In searching the internet, I didn't find any of that information. Instead, I found pictures of the heroes of the day, tweets from the Red Cross telling the world how many runners kept running straight to the hospital to give blood; facebook posts praising the first responders AND the civilian heroes. I was so proud of my country. I am a product of America, an American sweetheart as someone once told me, and seeing the positivity all over social media, made me proud. I was proud of all those who assisted the hurt, the helpless that day. I was so proud and I wished I could have done something more to help than smile and praise them. I felt also, compassion for all of those who were hurt and and killed, especially Martin Richard, the 8-year old boy. His death hit so close to home as my baby sister is eight years old, too. I found myself praying for those hurt, for their strength and for those who helped that day, in thanksgiving for their willingness to selflessly give of themselves. 

      Over the next few days, those stories of heroism continued as did the prayers of so many throughout the country. But as the week progressed, the focus turned from the actual people of the Marathon, the runners and the helpers, to those responsible. So many people were quoted saying that no matter what we will find the people responsible and they will pay. I believe that is the moment when prayer was forgotten. The focus went from "praying for Boston" to finding and serving justice to those responsible. Now, before I go on, I must say that I know how sensitive this subject is to many people all over our country. I understand that justice must be served as a wrong was performed. I am aware of all of this and so, what I may have to say could be hard to understand, it may anger a good amount of people, but under the terms of Social Justice, I am advocate for loving through the hurt.

      By the end of the week, I found myself watching the news with some of the Sisters at home. It was Friday, the morning of the MIT shooting which then progressed in the death of one of the Boston Bombing suspects and the capture of the other. I watched the whole thing unfold from the comfort of the convent community room and surrounded by a few of my sisters. The conversations were flying with every new update. One of my closest sisters was sitting next to me and often, we had found to be on the same thinking wavelength. Just as I was thinking what the nurses would be thinking if Dzhohhar was injured and had to be taken care of, Sister said it. Of course, this began a long justice conversation. In the end, we both decided that ethically, those nurses should take care of him and heal him, as he is suffering. Regardless of what he was responsible, he was first a human being. After that conversation, I realized there was a much, much bigger issue in our hands. 

     I began to see things on Social Media surface about wanting only justice for this man. Many were calling for a death sentence, or three lifetimes worth in jail. Others were stating that they didn't want to know his family history, his life story or even his name. They wanted to know nothing about him because as it seemed, it was only giving attention to an undeserved person. I disagree. I want to know his name. I want to know where he came from, who is family is, what his life was like. I want him to understand that what he did was wrong, but why teach that murder is wrong with murder? Why? Why do I want to know these things? Because for me, regardless of his wrong, he is a person. 

     All my life, I have been taught the lessons from Matthew 5. Turn the other cheek, love your enemies, etc. And yet, where is this present right now in our news and the media? I don't see it, I may not have twenty-twenty vision, but I'm not blind. It's not there. Prayer has been forgotten. When I heard on the news that Dzhokhar's father wanted justice for his son, I didn't at first agree with him radically coming over to the United States and wreaking havoc. I still don't, but he gave us something to really think about. This 19-year old man (if he can really be called that, as he, to me, is still a child) was HIS SON. Yes, he did something so very, very wrong. He so obviously hurt so many people; it was wrong. I cannot deny that. But, why must we hate him for it? Why is there so much hatred, such a calling for "justice," for the death penalty, for such harsh sentencing? Why? 

     What this man, this child, did was wrong. But regardless of this, he first came into this world just as any other human being, and so, he is a human being. Regardless of the wrong, he still shares my humanness. Regardless of the wrong, HE IS MY BROTHER. We must learn that while what happened in Boston was a tragedy and so many people were hurt, this man was obviously hurting, too. For, no one in their right human mind would want to hurt others of their same kind. We must not HATE the MAN, but HATE the HATE WITHIN THE MAN. I want to know his name so I can pray for him, I want to know his family so I can pray for them, I want to know who he was as a person, because HE WAS AND IS A PERSON. I want to love him, love him as a fellow human, love him as a brother. I hate the hate within him, but I love him. And so, perhaps this is a blog post not about social justice, but rather loving through the hurt. 

      I have carried in prayer all of my brothers and sisters who were hurt and killed during the Boston Marathon. I have prayed every single morning and every single night with them and for them and their families. I have carried in prayer all the first responders who were there and who came after to help even more. And now, I pray for Dzhokhar as my brother and sister. Because what makes him less human? Let the first without sin cast the first stone. And yet, we cast stones, despite the sin we carry in our own hearts. Dzhohkar was filled with hurt and pain, which he wrongly projected on so many helpless people. It was sin that he carried, just as we carry every day and so we must love past the sin, love the man within. Just as God loves us. 

Yes, These Are OUR Spoons

"Take my heart, O Lord, take my hopes and dreams,

Take my thoughts, O Lord, and my memory, 

Takes my tears, my joys, my liberty,

I surrender, Lord, all I have and hold. 

I return to you, your gifts untold.

Give me nothing more than your love and grace, 

these alone, oh God, are enough for me."

- "These Alone Are Enough," Dan Schutte

    A million and two thoughts were going through my head: what if I missed it? is today really April 20th? did that invite say 10 or 11 AM for Mass? who am I going to sit with? I'm going to be the youngest one here; what if my RSVP card never got there? did I mail my RSVP card? oh no. And then, I pulled down the visor in the truck, looked in the mirror and heard the voice, "Shush. Peace. You look beautiful in black and white." I smiled gently, talked some confidence into myself and then jumped down from the Driver's Seat. I walked the same walk from the back parking lot that I have always walked and it was as if every footstep I every took, was pulling me forth again in peace and beauty. I turned the corner and I was overwhelmed by the "OH MY GOSH. YOU'RE HERE!" and the image of black and white running (I use that term loosely) toward me. Suddenly, into the arms of my dear Sister Teresa I was huddled. With a sisterly kiss on the cheek, she told me that she had been really thinking about me lately and was hoping she would get to see me today. Ironically enough, I had tried to call her twice last week because she was overwhelmingly on my mind but I got no answer. You know I believe that everything happens for a reason and God definitely wanted this meeting to be of great joy. 

    After a few minutes of chatting with Sister Ter outside, I headed in where I was greeted by a plethora of sisters with various different greetings: "Bec, dear, so good to see you," "Welcome home, dearheart," "Did you get the black and white memo?" and of course, "We've missed you." Hugs and kisses were shared all over in the hallway where it seemed everyone was gathering. I couldn't help but smile as I saw so many faces of sisters I hadn't seen in such a long time, like my sisters from Chicago and my number one girl from Roma. But I still didn't see Sister David, the celebration girl who was the main reason I found myself once again at Infant Jesus. We share a similar spirit, so I wasn't surprised when I saw her bustling from person to person down at the other end of the hallway. Mass was to begin soon and so, we all found our seats in Chapel. Those few quiet minutes before Mass truly opened my heart to what was happening before my eyes. 

     It's not every day one gets invited to a Jubilee. Most often, we find ourselves at grand-parents' and parents' anniversary dinners and parties, but seldom do we find ourselves at Jubilees. Of course, it's not a common word in day to day conversation. So, what is a Jubilee? A Jubilee is that special word synonymous with Anniversary (synonymous is my favorite word this week!) and is used to describe a special amount of years in a Sister or Religious' life. A few weeks ago, I received another one of those fancy CSFN cards in the mail. This one was an invitation to Sister David's 50th Jubilee. That means, she's been in community...a really long time. Now, when one thinks of 50 years of marriage or in the convent, one often associates that with a very long life. But having entered as an aspirant (at the time, this was a young girl was looking to enter fully into the community upon high school graduation; she was aspiring...) after the 8th grade, Sister David has such spunk and life about her. She's a young golden Jubilarian! As she was bouncing through the hallway this morning before Mass, it was so obvious that she had spent the last 50 years of religious life happily, despite any struggles, and with her Beloved. 

      I felt so honored to be a part of her celebration today. There are many things I love about Sister David, as she was the very first sister to open up to me about the "mysteries" of religious life AND the first sister I ever opened up to about discerning these mysteries. I could always count on her to be happily singing in the hallways or praying in Chapel with me in high school. After high school, she turned my ring then hugged me off and sent me away to school, knowing that this was the best thing for me at the time. She has given up countless afternoons to share time with me and has spent so many hours praying those prayers she promised me. She's wiped tears, she's shared smiles, she's encouraged me with song, kind words and extra love. She became for me not only a confident, but a dear sister to my heart and of course, above all, an inspiration and sometimes the sole encouragement for me to continue on my own journey of discernment. To be with her this afternoon released such gratitude in my heart for her presence in my life. I, of course, began to think of my own celebrations, first when entering and then my own celebrations. I could easily close my eyes and see all my sisters hustling and bustling around Chapel and welcoming family members of mine on the day when finally I give a final, solid, forever YES to Jesus while I would be pacing in extreme nervousness. When Sister David recited her renewal of vows, I could not help but smile and hold down the butterflies of love in my stomach. It was so beautiful. Of course, the moment she brought up all those people who had helped shape her vocation, my own heart was making it's own list. My heart was ready to explode for happiness for her.

      That happiness continued downstairs in the dining room when surrounded by her sisters and her family and friends, she joyfully celebrated. There was much laughter, many stories and so much to be thankful for. In fact, it reminded me of a much (MUCH) smaller version of my family at celebrations. It felt like home. I had to sit back and soak it all in as my heart was experiencing such happiness. I watched as the sisters each helped each other out, making sure the day continued to be special for Sister David. Of course, my favorite part was that her family easily interacted with the sisters and vice versa, just as I had so often seen my family do with the sisters! To me, it shows such love and support; I couldn't help but thank God for that example. 

       A little after the meal was "dying down," I saw the same super exuberant sister subtly cleaning up. So, I sneaked away from my table and offered my hands. What happened next was literally the most hilarious series of events that could literally only happen in the convent. It first started with snuffing out Sternos with a metal spoon. I am never surprised when I am taught a new convent trick and it is one hundred percent effective and efficient. Quickly moving on, I found myself drying the dishes (as per tradition) (side story: in my house, when we do dishes, the younger sisters dry while the older sisters wash. Apparently, the convent follows this because without a doubt, I am always handed a towel). Every so often, while in the middle of drying a large chafing dish, I would feel a splash of water. Ironically, Sister Ter noticed and started laughing while telling a story of this happening previously. I mentioned that this was very Therese of her and so we continued to call the act of washing and drying dishes, practicing our St. Therese act. Half way through our "St. Therese Act" we came to a pivoting, puzzling point: whose spoons were whose. You see, the meal was catered and the caterer brought his own spoons, but because the sisters are efficient, they added their own. But now they were mixed. In my hand, I was drying a handful of spoons. Without really thinking about it, I said, "Well, these are our spoons for sure." Suddenly one sister said to another sister, "did you hear that?" I put the spoons away and Sister Ter goes, "Yes, they are OUR spoons, Bec. OUR spoons." Then, laughing hysterically, we unknowingly decided that in addition to washing the dishes, we were also going to mop the floor as suddenly a huge wave of water came up over the sink and landed on the floor. Yes, essentially, we were like a bunch of young sisters in the kitchen and I was part of the family once again. 

      Later, after all the dishes were washed, dried and put away, and the tables reset and the trash taken care of, we praised the gift of teamwork and community and headed in our separate directions. Sister Ter gave me a huge hug and told me that she thoroughly enjoyed my very casual usage of the word "our." I couldn't help but shake my head, laughing, at this woman who has literally stood by my side through every up and down in high school, just as so many sisters. From the very first math test I failed, to the moment on Kairos when I just couldn't stop crying, to these moments like today where we can share in the happiness of my future as a religious sister. Yes, every time I go home to Infant Jesus, I am welcomed in with warm arms, and reminded of how much I am loved and prayed for. When Sister David came up to me in the kitchen in the middle of our St. Therese Act to thank me for my help in cleaning up, I simply responded with, "Sister, I know that in a few years, you'll be doing the same for me. Just...pay me back later." There is always hope for my future as a religious sister. Sisters often remind me of how much I have grown from a little, awkward, Freshmen girl at NA to my young lady self. When I look in their eyes, I can easily see happiness and I wish only to have that happiness. I know that for my sisters, I am the baby, making baby steps day by day until the day I can stand before that altar and sing my vows out to God on high. 

      And so, at the end of the celebration, I had so much to truly think about and for which to be thankful. The truth is, I told many people today that next year is my last year of college. To them and to me that is a sign that I am so close to achieving this plan God has in store for me. Of course, many have asked, not only today, if I am entering right after college. And I can only give the honest truth that right away after college is not really an option as I must get some real life experience in my career field and pay off my loans. Who knows how long that will take, but to be honest, like my sisters, I can easily see my future straight ahead as a religious sister. It's as if it is almost in grasping reach and while that is terrifying, it is terrifyingly exciting. 

    Witnessing Sister David renew her vows today reminded me that this life is so beautiful and most definitely for me. I couldn't help but feel my heart so overwhelmed with love for the religious life. But most importantly, I could hear Sister David's words echo in my heart, "Jesus has been the Center of my Life for my whole life long." She instilled in me so much encouragement to keep on this journey. My dear Sister Teresa reminded me once again how much I am loved and that when the day comes, she will be hustling and bustling around making sure everything is perfect. Of course, in those moments right before Mass will begin and I will be a nervous wreck, they both, and I'm sure my entire entourage of sisters will be right there praying with me. I can see that day ever so clearly in my mind, but most importantly in my heart. Yes, my heart beats at it's truth. I know God is calling me on to sharing much more than spoons with these lovely women, more like an entire lifestyle, a life dedicated to Him and all He asks of me and a family, a family that is the entire world. So, to some up my day and my life in one phrase, "Yes, these are OUR spoons."

The Search For Dignity

"Every time you smile a someone, it is an action of love, 

a gift to that person, a beautiful thing."

- Mother Teresa

    A typical walk across campus: despite the weather, multiple people, students, faculty, sisters, walking. People are always around, always walking, always headed some place new, always dead set on a destination. People, most often then not tuned out of the world, either listening to music, talking on the phone, worrying about something. People, who will not stop but keep going. That is, unless someone stops them. Then, panic settles in. 

    I've seen it happen on a daily basis. A student may be walking, transfixed on something else rather than their surroundings and is most likely oblivious to other people walking near and around them. Suddenly, someone says hello or good morning or better yet, addresses them by name. Shocked, the student looks up and is not quite sure what to do, but by the time it hits them to respond, the other person is gone. It makes them think for a moment, but then, they go back to their routine of shutting out the world and ignoring the next five people they walk past. This actually drives me crazy. 

    For as long as I can remember, I was always talking to strangers. People tell me I could convince a brick that it's no longer a brick if I needed to. Every day, if I saw someone new, I'd say hello, how you doing? etc. I remember one day in particular, when I was about 6 or 7, in a Kmart. My Daddy was walking behind me and a man was holding the door for me. I was always taught to hold the doors for older people, and at age seven, everyone was older. So, I tried to hold the door for this man. He refused to let me and so, I followed up with a "Thank you, thank you very much" in the voice of Elvis, complete with bowing and curtsying. Of course, I embarrassed my dad, but the stranger was enthralled about my antics of gratitude. I very easily could have just walked through the door without saying a thing. But, no...I gave that man a full show of thanks for his merely holding a door. So many other instances I can remember walking or riding my bike through out neighborhood, waving and saying hello to people. I would always ask my Daddy, "who's that? do we know them?" and of course, he would answer, "no." I didn't really understand this interaction, but I grew to learn to do the same. If there was ever a person nearby, I would say hello, wave, smile, anything to acknowledge their presences. This was easy, because I was saying hello to other friendly people, other people who were acknowledging my presence in return. To love is easy when love is given in return. 

    I can remember another instance, this time, I was much older than seven. Okay...I was seventeen. Now I know that doesn't seem very old, but in my current scheme of life, it was four years ago. Humor me here. Thanks. Anyway, so it was after school one day when my friend Melissa and I were taking a walk in the park down the street from our high school. It was a beautiful day and so there were plenty of people out jogging, walking their dogs and enjoying the day. As the two of us were walking, I would casually interrupt our conversation just to say hello to the people who we were passing by. I thought nothing of it until she finally asked me to question I always used to ask my Daddy, "Do you know all these people?" I laughed as I told her know. Besides these people were easy to acknowledge as they acknowledged me in return.

     When I came to college, I made it a point to say hello to every single person I knew. Or, if they couldn't hear me, to at least smile and wave obnoxiously in their direction. Most people would give a half-hearted hello in return. Unless it was a sister, they always got really hype about someone saying hi....they always do. Occasionally, if I knew the person, his or her response would be a little more lively. Now that I've been here for three years, and have successfully scared the underclassmen with my excitement, it's expected for Becca to say hi. It's her life goal. In fact, she could probably go around all day just saying hi to people and be able to call it a successful day. That's the truth. There's something about acknowledging people; for me it's all about the love. Like Mother Teresa said, a smile is a gift of love. I'm about giving the love, my friends, all about it. 

     This acknowledgement, this life mission of mine all took on a deeper meaning a few weeks ago. Most of you, if you've been reading for a while, know that I am pretty honest, with myself, with my God and with others. So, why not be honest now? For a few weeks, I have been harboring a hurt in my heart. It may seem so small in the scheme of things, but here's the main idea of what was hurting my heart. I am used to always saying hi and quite often being ignored, most of the times because I wasn't heard (it's because of the earbuds not my lack of loudmouth). And it's ok, I smile and move on. But what was truthfully hurting my heart was when a close friend of mine would ignore every hello, how are you, or smile I gave her. It would be returned with a glare, or even worse, the acknowledgement of the other person with me but an ignorance of myself. Finally, it got to me. It broke me down and I cried a good deal about it. When I finally talked about it, all I could say was, "I don't get it. How could one human find it in them the capacity to degrade another human by not acknowledging their presence?" Then it hit me.

     How many times have I been walking in the streets of my beloved Philadelphia and ignored the homeless or the needy or even those who may have needed a simple smile? So. Many. Times. I began to think in the larger scheme of things about these people who are deliberately ignored every single day. Every day of their lives, they long for someone to reach out, not with money, but with love and every day they are denied that. As human beings, we desire and deserve the love from other human beings. In fact, we were made to love one another, not ignore one another. Humanity doesn't work when we shut out others. We have a right as a human to be acknowledged by other human beings. Some people love their dogs more than they love other humans. It breaks my heart, especially because I myself am guilty of it. It's easy to love when love is returned, but with these people, the people who need love the most, they cannot return the love. And so, it makes it harder for us to love. It's not easy to love when love cannot be given in return. 

     The situation taught me two things: first, that I need to begin acknowledging ALL people, regardless of who they are, what they are doing, and how much they can love me in return. Second, that I need to kill people with kindness. Yeah, that's a thing. I'll be honest, it's hard to ignore me. I'm loud, I'm obnoxious, I have a "cackle that can light up any room" and I put myself in the way of others unknowingly. Let's be honest, if you're not acknowledging me, it's most likely on purpose. But, I will continue to love through that. Like I said, it's easy to love when love is returned. It's not so easy to love when love is not returned. It has taken so much of me to continue to love those who have hurt me by this minor act of human degradation. However, I am grateful for it, because without it I never would have realized how much this truly goes on in our world these days and how much I take part in it.

      The other night at the Mothership, I was talking with one of the Sisters who I so often find myself contemplating the mysteries of the universe with. This is true. We have been known to spend hours past my portress duties just talking about life. This weeks mystery of the universe: human dignity and the acknowledgement of other humans. Just as I have on the college campus, I do at work. When a sister walks through the door, "Hello, Sister. Welcome home, Sister. Happy day, Sister. Have a good night, Sister." Every single person that walks through that door, regardless of whatever homework I am in the middle of not accomplishing. When she walked through the door, a welcome home was given and a conversation started. I began to tell her about my heart struggles and how I've been learning from them. She is a firm believer that we hurt so we learn. I have seen this proven true. I told how I was sitting there crying because I felt that as a human I deserved to be acknowledged and not degraded, when it hit me. I, who have been blessed with so much, have one person in my life who does not acknowledge me when so many in our world are ignored daily by every single person who walks past them. Crying, sobbing, over one person. Yet these people who have no one, especially not a Sister to complain to, to cry or sob with. They put up with being degraded every day and yet they deserve the SAME amount of human respect as I do. HELLO. What a wake up call for me. She agreed saying, all religion aside, there is not one human being on this earth better than another human being. Therefore, each human being, should address every other human being with respect, regardless of whether you like the person or not. And then I told her, Sister, Christ is in you, Christ is in me, Christ is in every single living human being on this earth. If I fail to recognize or acknowledge a fellow human being, I fail to acknowledge my Beloved. 

     And so, all of this being said: we not only learn from what has hurt us in the past, but we also must choose to acknowledge every human person we come in contact with. Now, I'm not saying, run into the nearest grocery store and go up to every single person in the store, shake their hand or hug them. No, that's a bit ridiculous. But what I'm saying is, if when shopping in the grocery store, you see you are sharing an aisle with another person and will soon be passing them, you say hello or at least smile. I'm saying, unplug with whatever it is that is plugging you up: music, cell phones, worries. UNPLUG. Acknowledge and be acknowledged. And let's face it, whether we know what is going on or not, we are all each experiencing something at any given time and who knows what a simple hello or smile could do. Of course, let's not forget those who are ignored and not acknowledged on a daily basis. Put yourself in their shoes momentarily and think to yourself, could you really handle being ignored all day long? I would go nuts. And so, my challenge to you for today/tomorrow (whenever this actually posts....) is to make it a point to acknowledge every single person you meet throughout your day, whether old friend or new, whether love is returned or not. Just do it. It will not only make someone else's day, but you day, too. And trust me...it's a good habit to get into. 

Dare to Love You More (Than I Love Myself) - Part Three of a Three Part Series

"There must be a stronger foundation than mere friendship

or sexual attraction. 

Unconditional love, agape love, will not be swayed by time or circumstances."

- The Love Dare, Stephen Kendrick

     Well friends, here it is; the final part of this series. First, my apologies that it has been over five days since the last one, but as you can imagine, with little less than four weeks of school left in the semester, my teachers are having a field day with assignments! There are some days I quite honestly ask myself why I have not yet created a writing career for myself but then again, I love being in the classroom. So, anyway, thank you for your patience as attempt to be both writer and student! Now, onto the last question of my Christian Marriage and Family interview: What is marriage in one sentence?

     My favorite answer is a tie between Mooney's and Sister Kathleen's. First, Sister Kathleen's, because I am sure you are thinking what could a nun possibly know about marriage? Having been a Sister for so many years, she simply answered, "Well, honey, I could write a book about marriage, it's that beautiful." One sentence and so beautiful! And then there was Professor Mooney, who has been married for so many years, has plenty of kids and grandkids (that often he digresses about so many times in class) and loves life. His answer: "Marriage is loving even when common sense tells you not to." 

     Now, you might even be thinking as you're reading this: what can this girl, merely 21 years old, know about marriage? Well there are a few things I could tell you about marriage. If I based my knowledge off my generation and the generation before me, I would say: "Marriage doesn't last like it used to." However true this may be, that statement does not embody what I believe about marriage. I can tell you that by the examples given to me by my parents, my grandparents, my family members, and my parish family, marriage does last and it's beautiful because of the reasons why it does.

      When I look at the beautiful and numerous married couples in my life, I cannot help but beam with love and pride. I get giddy at the sight of the older couples holding hands in church, of exchanges of signs of peace lasting more than a few seconds, of moms and dads taking turns holding baby in church, of husbands and wives pushing the other's wheelchair up the aisle for communion and of course, when no matter what has happened throughout the day, there is a whisper of "I love you" right before bed. 

      I have always been a hopeless romantic. I've already told you that any boy or man who wanted to capture my heart had to be just like my Daddy. I had dreams of going fishing with my boyfriend, going for long hikes in the mountains, burying each other in the sand, being carried piggy back style down any road, planting gardens together, and of course, holding hands a little while after the Our Father was said and done at church. Later in life, we would get married, raise and family and live simply, serving others. But like I mentioned previously, Jesus stole my heart! However, that doesn't mean that I don't regard Marriage with the same respect I used to believe it deserved. If anything, I give it more respect now than I had before, because it's not all about the happy, go lucky moments in a relationship. In fact, it's more about those times of trial.

     My generation, unfortunately, has seen so many marriages "fail." I can look at my grandparents and my friends' grandparents and see such beauty in marriages long lasting still. When I sit back and look at why, I see a level of respect that has long disappeared and a lot has to do with how much you give away. By their example, I have been able to spot my top three reasons for "failing" marriages. Let's look at my grandparents for example: girl wasn't getting in the car unless my grandfather was opening her door and then shutting after she sat down; girl wasn't dressing without her four b's covered (back, booty, belly, and breasts); and finally, girl wasn't spending the night at my grandfather's house. Now, if the first date doesn't end with a long lasting kiss, or even better a sleepover, he's not boyfriend material. Girl...are you girlfriend material? The truth is girls give away so much more now-a-days before a first date is even established. In my grandparents' days, the body was a prize to be cherished and gift not to be given until the day of one's marriage. Now that gift is used as an advertisement; a ploy to get a good date. What mystery is left these days if we use the gift of our bodies as an open advertisement. Not only is the gift now not given to only one person, but rather is now advertised for the whole world to see. It's not even wrapped in wrapping paper anymore. 

     Think about it this way: you're five years old and your best friend gives you a toy, that's not only not wrapped but has been used multiple times by other five years old. And the best part is that after your party is over, your best friend takes back that toy to give it to someone else. Now, is that fair? Are you happy with that gift? Is it even worth calling a gift? You probably didn't even enjoy it because it wasn't really your gift, but rather it belonged to the first person who used it. That's what happens with our bodies today. When we are younger, our parents wrap us in the most beautiful gift wrap possible, but then slowly but surely we become unwrapped. Maybe we've been unwrapped by the media, by rotten example, by another's false hopes. It is almost nearly impossible to remain wrapped until one's wedding day these days. And that my friend, is reason number one why marriages seem to "fail;" the body is no longer gift, but rather object. And that is said for both the body of the woman and the body of the man. 

      Reason number two is clear as day. Our society these days lives by the philosophy that "if it's broken, get a new one." How many times have we thrown something out because it's "broken" when all we needed was a new battery? How many times have we gotten a new sink, when all we had to do was use a little Draino? How many times have we gotten a new car when all we needed was a little brake fluid? How many times have we thrown a paintbrush out when all we needed to do was wash it? How many times? How many times? The same I have witnessed in marriages. One little spat about working too much has forced Divorce Court when all it needed was a simple adjustment of scheduling. One spat about not spending enough time together ended in separate bedrooms (I mean...come on...) when all you needed was family dinner together daily. Don't we see it? One little argument, the marriage appears broken, so we throw it out. Forget the 10, 15, 25 years you spent building the marriage. It broke, get a new one. That's like saying, you spent 15 years building your house and a shingle fell off in the hurricane. So, you knock the whole thing done, break everything else in the house and get a new one. Now, I'm not saying that in a marriage, if the entire second floor blows off in a hurricane that you shouldn't build a new floor. But what I am saying is re-build, fix it, not with someone NEW but with the same man or woman you have been married to for the past x amount of years. But society today says....get something, someone, new. It's not worth the effort to rebuild. 

      Finally, here is reason number three in my mind. The marriage and the family is a direct example of the Trinity in the flesh. Each person of the Trinity parallels with each person in the marriage and the family. It's a lot to comprehend and I am still wrapping my head around it almost a semester later, so I can't really explain it with clarity and simply enough for a blog post. But what I want you to think about is the sacrifice and love found within in the Trinity. Out of love for the world, God sacrificed His Heavenly Son to the earth. Jesus, out of His Agape Love for the world gave His life. And then, together God and Jesus gave us, the people the Holy Spirit just as a Mother and Father give a child. If within a marriage there was enough sacrifice and AGAPE love (stemming from the Greek meaning unconditional, I would do anything for you, even die for you, love) for the other, if we loved the other person more than we love ourselves, marriages would work. I see it in so many marriages, a love from the husband that even at the middle of the night, if his wife is sick, will get out of bed, drive to the nearest 24/7 store (which are pretty hard to find....) and pick her up cold medicine, a hot/cold compress and then drive to the nearest McDonalds for a milkshake just to make her smile. After husband takes care of wife, he tucks her into bed and then goes upstairs to rock baby back to sleep. I've seen moments when wife cooks dinner for husband and baby after watching baby all day. When dinner is done and enjoyed, wife and husband do the dishes together while baby draws her newest art project on the wall. Sacrifice and AGAPE love means loving the other more than one loves him or herself. It means even though one is tired in the middle of the night, or tired after a long day of being Mom, you still sacrifice for your beloved. 

     Marriage is so simple and yet so complex. I am not married, I do not have a family, but I know that marriage and love involves three main concepts: respect for your significant other and yourself, willingness to fix, not discard, the broken and love beyond all sacrifice. In order to make a marriage work, one has to be willing to take the bullet, jump in front of that speeding train, love beyond all telling, modeled just after our Heavenly Father and Earthly brother. I see this in all the married couples I am blessed with in my life. I see the respect for self and others, the Mr./Mrs. Fix-It attitudes and the sacrificial love. It's there, it's possible to achieve, I know it is. You, yourself must believe it. 

or 

The Men Who Can't Be Moved - Part Two of A Three Part Series

"Every man I meet wants to protect me. I can't figure what from."

- Mae West

     If you are reading this sentence and have not read Part One of this Three Part Series, go back, read it. Trust me, it will make this blog post (and the next one) make so much more sense! But just in case you only have time for one blog post, I'll give you a little background as to what I'm doing here. Thursday night in my Christian Marriage and Family class, we were sent out on a mission: ask the first five people you meet three questions. Those three questions: what is femininity in three words? what is masculinity in three words? and what is marriage in one sentence? So, we went around and questioned people from our professors to the nunnies to random students and what a wide variety of answers we collected. This later prompted me to question what my views on femininity, masculinity and marriage are. So, Part One described my views on femininity. This, Part Two, will take you on an adventure of a lifetime: me, a woman, trying to explain, masculinity. Are you ready? Let's see how much I know!

     He was my first kiss, my first love, my first friend: my Daddy. I saw this quotation on Pinterest (that place is actually extremely addicting....) and fell in love with it! How true! I also saw one that went sort of this like: be the man you'd want your daughter to marry. My Daddy is the number one full embodiment of those two quotations. I was always Daddy's Little Girl and I still am. Daddy taught me everything from how to ride a bike to how to fish to how to work a pony tail (not by example, of course) and of course, how to pray. I have distinct memories of riding in the back seat of the bike down to the marina just to feed the geese bread. Of course, there was also that time Daddy bought me a pink fishy rod kit complete with a target that you laid down in the grass and tried to hit with the hook; we would throw the line off the back deck. And I can remember tons of painful, laborious moments when Daddy tried to pull my CURLY hair into a ponytail; well, I still work it today! And how to pray: well, one night I was all dressed up in a beautiful dress and for some reason had on my white gloves (every little girl was in love with those). He was sitting on the couch, tying his church shoe when I came over and asked him how to fold my hands to pray. He stretched my hands open and then pushed them together saying, "Hands folded in prayer always point up to Jesus." 

     As I got older, he'd bandage up my knee when I skinned it falling off my bike trying to ride right over a giant pothole (this happened more than once because I thought I was...invincible). He'd let me stir the pot before dinner as long as I didn't eat it (which stunk...). He'd sometimes drop me off at school in the morning and as I'd exit the truck (the BIG truck), he'd shout after me, "Make good decisions!" Then, eventually he'd let me DRIVE THE TRUCK. Of course, there were plenty of times when he'd pick me up from my dates with my boyfriends, movie dates with my girl friends, walk in the park with me. But the thing he did the most and still does the most that I absolutely love, is when he drops me off at the convent...and then stays a little while just to chat with my sisters. It's just like those scenarios when the boy is picking up the girl and while the girl is still upstairs getting ready, Daddy is just casually shining the barrel of his shotgun. Except, he was sitting in the community room, laughing and telling story after story to the sisters (yeah..I get the story telling from my Daddy). That's when the convent feels like home; when I know my Daddy is proud and comfortable knowing that this is my life.

     Every since I was young, however, my Daddy, by the little things he did, protected me (and my sisters and mother) as his most important cherished people. I remember asking him once after work, if he'd have rather had us be boys not girls. Because, you know, every child thinks when they are young that Daddies want sons and Mommies want daughters. He said, "No. I love my princesses." Daddy did and still does all he can do to show us the simple happiness, the happiness that most of mankind can't find. One because they don't have my Daddy but two because they are so filled with ideas that happiness lies in money. It's the happiness that comes from road trips and long bike rides. Because even if we're not really doing anything like taking vacations in Cancun or buying a sailboat, he still makes us feel loved by his laborious sandwich making before an adventure or long nights spent planning the perfect day or the laughter that can be heard from miles away. My Daddy has proven to me that in order to be loved, one must sacrifice for his loved one.

     My Daddy is no body builder, that's for sure. He's no business who wears a suit a tie every day. He's no gourmet chef (although, he probably could be). We don't live in a huge house, actually we're all smushed together in three bedrooms. We don't have luxurious cars, although I'd beg to differ; the mom van is stylin'. We don't have a vacation house in the south of France. Nope, we have each other. And we are happy. My Daddy may not "provide" like so many think a man should which fancy dinners and fancy cars and fancy houses, but rather, he provides his daughters and his wife with an irreplaceable love. He gives us the time of day to listen when we're upset, he watches us struggle for a little bit before stepping in to help, just to prove that we each need to struggle first before learning that we need another person, and he shows us that happiness in the littlest of ideas is the best happiness.

     Because of my Daddy, I have become a thick skinned, raging feminist. Okay, not really. I'm a feminist in the sense that I know I am a woman, I am proud of being a woman, and I know what being a woman entails (we disgusted this in Part One!). My Daddy has taught me that being a woman, embodying God's love, demands the utmost respect from all. That is, a woman should be listened to and heard as an equal, not talked down to, not shouted at, and not, be any means, degraded. And so, I have always been a very strong advocate for woman's respect. Have you ever seen the phrase, do not walk ahead, I may not follow, do not walk behind, I may not lead, but instead, walk beside me so as to grow together? That is what my Daddy has essentially taught me about human interaction. While I am fully aware that in many situations like work and school, there are authoritative positions, that does not give anyone the right to disrespect someone who may not be in as high a position. We are all human beings to be treated by other human beings with the same love and care that we, ourselves, demand and desire. All this from my Daddy...woah. 

     Disclaimer: This paragraph is hard for me to write and may be hard for you to read. One night, I was driving with my sisters after having a horrendous argument with my best guy friend. I can still remember that moment with such clarity as it truly was the moment, I knew I had become a woman in all her strengths. Throughout the "conversation" I kept my voice calm, cool and collective, and asked for the possibility of discussing the matter in a more adult time and place. But, there was no backing down. The worst thing for me was to have my little sisters right behind me, almost as if I was shielding them, and listening to the entire "conversation." With every sentence, his voice got louder and louder until finally, I was being yelled at and accused of many falsehoods. I simply, nodded my head, and told him, that I was going to give the conversation a chance, but that was until I realized he disrespected me so much that he would raise his voice at me. Never in his whole life has my Daddy ever raised his voice at my mother. Never. So, immediately, I knew that it was wrong, that is, what was happening to me. I took both my sisters by the hand and walked out the door that night and the first thing I said to my sisters, "Don't ever get involved with a guy who doesn't respect you as much as Daddy taught us a man should. Don't ever get involved with someone who isn't just like Daddy." Of course, my older little sister said, "So....he has to be hairy?" 

      My Daddy has taught me that as a woman to demand respect while still being respectful. He has taught me how to provide for myself but that when a man who loves me enough comes around, to let him provide for me (cooking is NOT women's work....). He has taught me how to be strong, but to let my womanly emotions be the back bone to that strength. He has taught me how to struggle and depend on others because as much as I may know, I am always learning and I will always need others to depend on. My Daddy has taught me all about what it means to be a woman by being the utmost number one example of what it means to be a man. He has provided for me my whole life and will always do so. He has protected my heart, soul and body. He has been the man I need. 

     Of course, this means that any man who wants to try their hand at winning of my heart has HUGE standards to live up to. Let's be honest, if I have to teach you that opening a door for women, old people and children is respectful, forget about trying. I know that may sound harsh, but my Daddy taught me what to look for in a man. And I guess that's why Jesus won my heart over. The only thing that Jesus did that my Daddy hasn't done or can't ever do is....go to Hell and back for me. My Daddy could and would give his life for me and my sisters and mother if he needed to, just like Jesus. But Jesus, when He gave His life for me, traveled the ends of the earth, to Hell and then back again. So yeah...Jesus won my heart over because He's just like my Daddy. Or is it, my Daddy won my heart over because he's just like Jesus. Well...after all is said in done, and you have just read an entire blog post of me bragging about my Daddy, I can sum up masculinity in three words: My Daddy's Love!

Man, I Feel Like A Woman - Part One of A Three Part Series

"Women have had and still have a special role in opening doors to the Lord, 

in following Him and communicating his face, 

because the eyes of faith always need the simple and profound look of love."

- Pope Francis

    I've been desiring to write for the past week. I've tossed around ideas for a new blog post for the past for days. I've gone from blogging about a new poem I wrote this week (which is...wait for it...in two languages!) which has become my new favorite piece of literature to writing about the Sound of Music (which I've watched three nights in a row this week....I know, pathetic). But I could never get enough words out. I've started at least a blog post a day, but nothing felt right. So, I let it go. I stuck to writing my latest poem "las monjas de una monja" (one of my favorite Spanish phrases) and letters, lots of letters. Oh and watching the Sound of Music. I will be honest and admit that this week has been an emotional one. And well...that's the perfect place to start.

    Ladies. Did you ever have a day where you wake up, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, it's nice outside, your back doesn't hurt from a night of tossing and turning, and yet, you want is to cry. Nothing bad happened to you and as you go throughout the day, it literally seems that everyone is actually going out of their way to be nice to you. You smile, but you're still sad inside somewhere. All you want is to just cry and if someone, anyone is so nice as to just give you a random hug, you would actually burst into tears for no apparent reason. And on those days, often you want someone to ask you how you're feeling just so you can talk about why you're not sure why you want to cry and so you can cry, but yet, when someone does ask you how you are, you get defensive. Ever have those days? I've been celebrating almost 48 hours of being emotional. Most would complain about us being emotional, but guess what ladies, it's actually one of the most beautiful parts of being a woman.

     Tonight, in my Christian Marriage and Family class (which focuses mainly on my favorite, Theology of the Body!), my professor, the world renown, BIll Donaghy, made us go out on a excursion. This excursion consisted of us asking random people we found on a half hour walk three questions: Describe Masculinity in three words. Describe Femininity in three words. Describe Marriage in one sentence. After doing and asking people from my English professors to the nuns to random students passing by, I decided I needed to talk about this on my blog. And so, I present to you Part One of this three part blog series. Part One - Femininity.

     The first person we met on our excursion was someone I had quoted last semester in my blog about feminine beauty, Professor Mooney. He is someone who I absolutely adore. He is a literary genius, has a beautiful family but most of all is raging feminist (but you didn't hear that from me). He is constantly telling us "college women" to higher our standards, demand more of the men on campus and so on. Tonight he told us that femininity in three words is "strength, gentleness and clear thinking." Well, that of course got me thinking. After talking to quite a few more people, we went back to the classroom and talked about the results. I began to really but into emotion what femininity is for me. Like what really is being a woman?

       I began to think of the strongest women I know. I don't mean physically strong nor really emotionally strong either. What I mean is who truly embodies womanhood, femininity, and knows it. I thought of my nunnies, like Sister Marcille who is so proud of being a woman and Sister Cathy who takes sweetness to a whole other level to my Aunt Mary Ann, mother of seven, gorgeous and rambunctious children, to the saints like Teresa of Avila and Katharine Drexel. And then, I walked to the bathroom, did bathroom type things and as I was brushing the fly-aways of my hair away from my face, I realized, I, too, am a woman and proud of it. But is there a difference between the definitions of woman and femininity? Certainly.

       Most of the people we interviewed about femininity told us that it consists of being loving, caring and maternal. I would agree. A mother's love is a love not everyone can give. I may be able to "work" a dress that expresses my every womanly curve one day and a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, the next. I can also dress myself up, smother make up all over my face, or let my hair go for about three days and embrace the fly-aways. But is that femininity? Nah, that's being a proud woman. Femininity is being emotional, that is embracing our deep emotions, because every man knows we have them. Femininity is me acknowledging that I am having an emotional day and being okay with it because that's what females do, they embody emotion. Femininity is embracing our inner moms, or if you are a mom, embracing those motherhood skills even when you're not around your own children, even complete strangers. Femininity is, just as Pope Francis said, embodying Christ's love. 

     We, as women, are called to a higher calling. We are called to be the face of Christ's love. I've reflected many times on hands, hands of Christ, hands of us, hands, hands, hands. Next time you are around a mother, look at her hands, or if you yourself are a mother, look at your own hands. Remember all those times those hands held a baby, nursed a sick child back to health, mended skin with an awesome bandaid, wiped away tears of many a child, parent or friend, cooked dinner for a surplus of people, handed out another dollar bill for lunch money, lit candles on a birthday cake, played pretend with the little ones, became all dried out after washing hundreds of dishes in hot soapy water, but most importantly, were folded in prayer. Imagine all those hands have gone through. Those hands have loved, have literally embodied Christ's love for the world. Those hands are meant to be revered by all!

     Now, you may be thinking, well this blog is about discerning religious life...so like, that's perfect for us non-nunny women, but like...how does that apply to the nunnies? Someone once told me that in order to make a great nun, one must first make a good mother. FREEZE before you get ahead of yourselves. I'm not saying one should get married, have a ton of kids and THEN be a nun. No, no, no. What I'm saying is that one must have the qualities of a good mother in order to make a great nun. So, let's take it to another level. Every time someone tells me I would make a great mother (of like a hundred kids) I smile and thank them. I think of Maria from the Sound of Music with the seven von Trapp children. She knew them better than anyone else knew them and she wasn't even their mother. Of course...she became their mother. How many of us can honestly say that we know a sister who was gentle, loving and extremely maternal? I'm sure so many of us! So many sisters have embraced their maternal instincts and cared and protected children who are not their own. So many have taken on the role of motherhood more than one would could ever imagine. 

     As women, we are called on from femininity. Women are meant to be Love, that is, to be Jesus and love and care for all. What is it to be a woman? To embrace those maternal skills of love. Mothers love their children despite their children's faults. Women are called to love all despite one's faults. To me, being a woman is a beautiful thing. We are each so filled with emotion, we can have those emotional days, but without a doubt that's what makes us beautiful! Because we are "emotional," we can love. Our loving beyond all measures makes us strong, makes us feminine. That, my lady friends, is what being a true woman is. So whether, you're a mother, a single woman, a teenager, a sister, know that when you love yourself and love others so much, you are embracing the depth of what it truly means to be a woman. You have embraced God's beautiful gift of who you are! Be not afraid to cry, to love and to wear your heart on your sleeve, because we were intended to do that. In appearing "soft" we become so strong. Amen? Amen!

ps stay tuned for parts two and three tomorrow and Saturday!