A Stable Presence

"Remember, the storm is a good opportunity

for the pine and the cypress to show their strength

and stability."

- Ho Chi Minh

   As Christians, we have often heard the phrases, "there was no room in the Inn," and "born in a stable." If you ask any grade school student they would tell you that Joseph and Mary searched and searched for a place to stay, but there was no vacancy anywhere (okay, they might not use the word vacancy...). This isn't something that we don't know. It's a part of us. Some may give the following interpretation. Maybe you have heard it. 

     The Inns were crowded, much like our hearts. There was no room in the Inns and no room in the hearts of the people for a Savior. Our hearts are so often crowded with the wrong things and much like today, many turned away the Holy Family. They wanted nothing to do with these two poor, young people about to give birth. Was it because of scandal? Was it because it was too late in the night? Was it because no one wanted to deal with a new born baby? No one can say. But what is known is that Jesus wasn't wanted in the Inns. Joseph and Mary found a stable and later that night, Jesus was born there, among the lowly. He was born into poverty and thus, has always been the poor people's Man. How true that the crowded Inns can be symbolic of those who have too much and no room for the Savior! How true that Jesus was friends with the sinners, the poor, the forgotten. Heck, no one was celebrating the night with the animals, were they? How true that today, it is the same, that those suffering of poverties of all types, have seemingly more room for the Savior. 

     As a child, teen and young adult, I have become so accustomed to this interpretation of the story. I have learned to love it and make it a part of who I am. I have adopted the phrase, "Manger in My Heart." I have believed that my heart, though it may be little, may have room for the Savior if I open the doors. I do know this to be true. I have made room for the stable. But it wasn't until this last Christmas that I realized I was only half way there. 

     I was sitting in a half full church on Christmas Eve with my family. All afternoon and into the night, people had posted statuses about full and packed churches and so, I was wondering where all the people were. One of my favorite memories of Christmas Eve is looking down from the Choir Loft and seeing so many people - a church packed. Yet, this Christmas, there was plenty of room. I thought to myself, well if Mary and Joseph came here that first Christmas Eve, there would be tons of room for them in this little lowly church. (Turns out, I missed the memo that there was an earlier Mass at the other church...oops.) Yes, I was thinking, even then, as if I had been trained to, about the room in the Inns. 

       The readings were yet again familiar to me, ones that I have eternally etched in my heart. There was seemingly nothing "new" about this Christmas Eve celebration. That was until Deacon John began his homily. "Inns were meant for people who come and go; people who only are visiting," is a line that has stuck with me since and will be the mantra of my lifestyle this year. I am amazed at what that little realization has done for my heart:

     Deacon was so right when he said that Inns are meant for those only visiting. Think about it: we don't live in hotels. We rent a room or two when our families go on vacation, when we are visiting in a new area for a days, when we are away on business. But, we don't stay for a very long time (probably because it would be very expensive). You check in and check out. Deacon went on further to explain that Jesus didn't come just for a visit. He came to save the world. He came to stay for a while and change the world while He was here. That's why the Inns weren't suitable for Him; they are for visitors, one of which He was not. At the end of Deacon's homily, I felt enriched. Of course, my heart and mind were reflecting on this notion for the rest of the Mass. But at one moment in one of the Eucharistic prayers, Father said something about being born in a stable. Jesus, that is, being born in a stable. STABLE. 

     As a lover of words, my mind suddenly realized an AWESOME play on words. There are two definitions of the word, stable. First, a noun, the place where animals are kept. Two, an adjective, not likely to change or fail; fully established. Deacon said that Jesus didn't come as a visitor; He came to stay. HE WAS BORN IN A STABLE BECAUSE HE CAME TO BE A STABLE PRESENCE. Now, admittedly, sometimes beautiful words make me cry. The word stable suddenly had me in tears at Communion. Jesus came to be stable, always present. Suddenly I realized that little kid me, who had made a manger in my heart was only half way there. Adult me realized that the manger in my heart needed to stay all year long; Christmas isn't just a "visitor," it is a stable celebration. 

     Now, some may ask why I waited until two weeks post-Christmas to write this post, but the truth is, Christmas isn't over. According to the Church calendar, Ordinary Time doesn't start for another week. So if someone says that Christmas is over...boom, no it's not. But also, here's the thing: I went to the food store a few days after Christmas and I was disturbed by the amount of chocolate filled hearts and teddy bears in red and pink ribbons that surrounded the entrance to the store. Valentine's Day? In the commercial USA, Christmas is over on Christmas Day and Valentine's Day takes over the very next day. Christmas has become a visitor when Christmas is meant to be stable. 

      Today is the Feast of the Three Kings. I love this feast as it is sometimes referred to "Little Christmas." It is on this day we remember the relentless searching for the Child by the Three Wise Men/Kings. What is the time lapse between the birth of the baby and the finding of the Child in the Stable, I'm not sure. But we know that it wasn't right immediately after the birth of Christ. Christ was visited by the shepherds first, then the kings. Just like any birth, we don't stop celebrating the baby the day after their birth. It doesn't go: "Oh congrats, new baby....moving on." It goes more like this: "Oh new baby...oh new baby...oh new baby....oh new baby." The Kings remind us of this notion: that Christmas is meant to last a while. Christmas isn't meant to be a visitor holiday. It's meant to be something of stability in our hearts. 

      Jesus wasn't born in an Inn; there was no room. There was no room for another family of visitors. Yet, there was room in a stable, where the Savior would be born. The Savior, who intended not to come for a visit but rather to stay, the be stable. To be the source of stability in our lives. We have those days when we wonder what is stable. For me they happen all too often. But I know these things to be true: my family and my faith are my sources of stability. Jesus is my stability. Has been from day one and will continue to be. He is my stable presence. 

The Long Awaited God Wink

"Everyday we find something new,

well this day I found you. 

I found love and joy all in one. 

You sent me back to where I once was.

There just ain't nothing else that compares."

- Trevor Hall, "You Find Me."

It has been over a month since I've written, and while some bloggers might apologize to their followers, I have to apologize to myself. Writing is often a form of prayer, a form of thanksgiving for blessings received, and I haven't stopped for a month to write. Of course, I know how long it's been since I've written because technology tells me. But what technology can't tell me is how long it's been since I've gone to daily Mass with the Sisters or how long it's been since I've prayed Morning Prayer with them. All I know is that my heart says it's been too long. 

    I told my students the Friday before I left that I had been waiting months to leave for Peru. In fact, my count down app told me that it was 74 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes the day I bought my ticket. It was so close but it wasn't close enough. However, to be completely honest, my job had me so busy that I really didn't have time to count down day by day. Occasionally, I would check the app and get giddy at the shortened length of time I had to wait. I got more and more excited as the days passed. Suddenly, it was the last day I needed to wait. I found myself telling story after story to my students. I found myself counting down the hours before I could leave the parking lot. I finished packing when I got home and started my adventure by going to the Mass for Our Lady of Guadalupe in Spanish. There was no better way to begin. 

    As I walked through the security at the airport after having checked my bags, reality began to hit me. In a few hours, I would be on a plane destined for my favorite country in the world in which lived a plethora of my favorite people. I sat in the airport waiting and waiting. I was surrounded by people who were waiting. All of us were waiting for something: to go home, to see loved ones, for a plane to arrive, for lunch to be served, for a business deal to be made, for a phone call, for a birthday wish. Waiting is always something that permeates airports and it was definitely permeating my heart. However, while I thought I was waiting for the plane to arrive to take me to Peru, there was a different waiting hiding in the deep crevices of my heart. 

      There is so much that happened on my adventure to Peru. I offered so many hours of service to various schools, I spent time with my dear Sisters, I met the families of some of the Sisters at the Christmas Gathering, I went shopping with a new friend, I attended the graduation of my CSA Students, I took a bus and got a little lost in a city I have loved for so long, I convent-hopped like a champ, I did so much more. But I also had many conversations with my Sisters, I joined them for daily Mass, I joined them for prayers, I walked arm in arm with them, I walked hand in hand with them, I held their hands during the Padre Nuestra, I celebrated life with them and I discerned with them. I served right next to them. I was a part of their love, their service, their lives. I was home. 

     Life has taken a road of different scenery in these past months. Now, don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful scenery, something familiar, yet untouched for so many years. Yes, I've ventured out and experienced a lot of things different than what I have been used to. Yes, it's been worth the journey. But there always has seemed like there was something missing. The literal scenery changed when I got to Peru, but suddenly, I was back with my Sisters. I had been away from them for so long and finally, I was back, I was home. There was nothing more than that that I needed. Even if days were short and I did nothing more than go to Mass, pray, eat lunch with them, that was all I needed. My heart had been waiting the simplicity of their lives. 

     While so much had happened on my trip, there are two experiences that will always remain with me. Number one: my Montenegro adventure. There really are not enough words to describe the love that permeates the streets there. I got on an unfamiliar bus, rode to a place I had only visited twice, and walked the streets as if I had lived there for years. When my feet hit the dirt roads, there was something so overtly wonderful about the place. I looked to the hills and felt love. Sister George told me to go find my heart, the heart which I had left in Peru. I find it, Sister. I found it once again. But unfortunately, I left it there again. Between the bilingual conversations, my appreciation for the silence in my heart, and seeing the beautiful children at the posada, I couldn't have been happier. But I think the happiness was also present in the small convent community room while enjoying popcorn and homemade hot chocolate while watching CNN with the Sisters. It was present in the extra blanket left on my bed because it got chilly. It was present in the little chapel on the second floor with a beautiful view of a lit village on the hill. It was present in the front rose garden with it's freshly cut grass. It was present in the causa for lunch. I was happy there. My heart was so happy. 

      When I left Montenegro, there was a sadness in my heart. I was very quiet on the way back to Miraflores (and no, not just because Spanish was the main language in the care that day). I watched the hills fade behind me. I was still so filled with happiness, not just from my visit there, but from my time spent in all of Peru with so many of my Sisters. Before I knew it, I found myself in a little chapel I had never visited before - the one at Villa Maria, Miraflores. Sister Liz, my dear friend, ushered me to the chapel, just as she had many times before. I sat in the Chapel and within seconds, I had tears streaming down my cheeks. All my fears, my happiness, my doubts, my worries, my signs and confirmations came swelling out of my heart at once. I spoke right to Jesus...and even though it's been a while, He still listened. Suddenly, Sister Liz was back and with a gentle arm around my shoulders, she held me close like the big sister she is. She took me to the tabernacle, but my hands on the door, put hers on top of mine and prayed as so many of the others had - for my discernment. Of course, I didn't stop crying. 

       We went from there to Mass in the church down the street. I was sandwiched between two of my Sisters who graciously held my hands during the Padre Nuestra. I was exactly where I was meant to be because it was there that I had realized what I had been waiting for: God's confirmation. I hadn't prayed with my Sisters in such a long time...I was back where I was meant to be. It was the most perfect place to be. I had felt a change in heart, a change in scenery, back to the familiar and the amazing.

      I still had two nights in Peru at that point and those next two nights were the perfect nights. They involved pj parties with the nuns over two great movies, more prayer, more discernment in the day to day life. It was a busy time for me to visit because it was Christmas and the closing of the school year. At the airport before I left, one of the Sisters said she was sorry she couldn't have spent more time with me because it was such a busy time. I had no idea what she was talking about. I came not asking to be entertained, but to serve where God needed me to serve and to share the life of my Sisters for the week. What I needed was a week of prayer with my Sisters. What my heart had been waiting for was those simple moments of small conversations, daily hugs and kisses, the knowledge of permeating love. There was nothing more that I could have asked for. Those small moments with each of my Sisters were what my heart needed - a reminder of what I have been called to do. 

    I didn't cry when I said my good-byes, I cried when I woke up and saw the most beautiful sunrise from the window seat 25F. I cried then because I realized how much love I had just left behind. I had left my heart in Peru again. In fact, I think it has a permanent spot there with my Sisters. I cried because of how much God had spoke to my little heart in such little time. It was simply amazing how wonderfully blessed I felt. The reverse culture shock, that is, the shock of not having five beautiful women of God right next door or down the hallway, was the hardest adjustment. Even now, I am suffering from the reality that they are not with me. Yet, I know they are always in my heart. I love them each so much, more than can ever imagine, and I am grateful for the prayerful week they gave me. 

      In all my waiting, I felt a small solidarity with Mary and Joseph who had awaited the birth of their Son for so long. However, the difference was that they were blessed with the birth of a baby. Me on the other hand, experienced a re-birth of God in my soul, happiness in my heart and knowledge of the future. I could not thank my Sisters enough for being the pathway through which God reach me. It was a long awaited God wink and it only took me 9 days in a country, almost 4000 miles away, for me to realize that not only had God always been there, but that I needed a re-birth. And now, to live for Jesus with this renewed spirit of mine. 

     To all of my Sisters in Peru, thank you for the gift of your hugs, kisses, time and words. I could not possibly thank you enough for all the love you showed me this past week. It was a perfect discernment week in a perfect place with some perfect people. I love you each so much, and yes, I already miss you. Feliz Navidad y Prospero Ano Nuevo. 

Due Date: December 25th

"You know what the great thing about babies is?

They are like little bundles of hope. Like the future in a basket."

- Lish McBride

Baby Ella
Born: 12/19/2013
2:03 AM 6.2lbs 19.4 inches

     In the past year I have witnessed many families welcome a new baby into the family. My next door neighbor welcomed a little cherub into the family the week of Thanksgiving. My god-daughter celebrated her first year of baby life. Many others celebrated new births in their family, including my friend, Heather. She awaited the birth of her little girl with so much energy, none like I had ever seen. Every day I could look forward to opening Facebook to see a post from a very excited Mama. I felt so blessed to watch her journey of pregnancy bloom into something so beautiful: a lovely baby girl. Ella came a day earlier than expected and I laughed knowing that she's going to go up to be just like her Mama; excited about life and anxious to do anything God asks of her.

     While I clicked through the pictures of baby Ella on facebook, I remembered back to Thanksgiving 2012. The very next day my family got a phone call. Baby Emily was born. A few days later, another phone call, this time asking me to be the godmama of the little cherub. How could I say no? I remembered the excitement surrounding the birth of this baby, number seven in a long line of brothers and sisters. I remembered back even further to when my little sister, Lizzie, was born. I was sitting in the sixth grade classroom with Mrs. Rocco when the secretary got on the loudspeaker to announce that my little sister had been born. I couldn't wait to go see her. It seems that in my life, there is a running theme. Whenever there is a new baby born, immediately the world is notified. Phone calls are made, pictures are taken, text messages are sent, facebook statuses are updated, tweets are tweeted, everyone knows. 

     The birth of Heather's little one reminded me of all the joy surrounding a baby. She was always uploading pictures of her ultrasounds, of her belly and of her favorite little girl quotes. It was easy to catch her energy surrounding her baby that even I found myself counting down the days til Ella's due date. Ella was supposed to be born on a Friday very early, but instead, on the day before her due date, I woke up to pictures of the little one. I actually cried out of excitement that the cherub had finally graced us with her presence. It made me so happy to see the pictures of the angel, mama and daddy. I was beaming with happiness when suddenly it hit me...Jesus. 

     Around this time 2000 some years ago, Mary was anxiously awaiting her little one...while riding a donkey...while traveling to Bethlehem...while not being able to find any room at the inn...while hunkering down in a cave with some farm animals... I find it that often we focus on the poverty and humility of Mary, Joseph and Jesus that we tend to miss the happiness of the birth of the baby. Jesus was born into poverty and by humble means, but not so much on her joy. Father Mooney, at the Spanish Mass on Sunday, the last Sunday of Advent, mentioned this in his homily. He spoke about the joy that surrounds the birth of a baby. 

     We remember what Mary said when the angel came to visit her: "My Soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit REJOICES in God, my Savior." SHE REJOICED! SHE WAS ECSTATIC! Then she went and visited her cousin, Elizabeth. It was then that John the Baptist, the babe within Elizabeth's womb, LEAPT FOR JOY! Like, hey girl, baby's a comin', better get excited. The joy, the happiness, the expectancy of the child of God. I often imagine what Mary was going through in those hours before the birth: pain, desire for the test to be over, and yet, JOY. Tired, exhausted, yet rejoicing at the birth of the babe. 

      While there was no phones with which to call Mary or Joseph's family with the news, no emails to be sent, no tweets tweeted, no facebook statuses updated or even pictures taken, the world still knew of Jesus' birth. The star shone bright in the sky and the shepherds came to adore Him. There was celebration; quiet, humble, beautiful celebration. Jesus was still celebrated, not in the same way as Baby Ella, but with much joy from his parents. 

     Last night, at midnight Mass, I thought once again of Heather, Ryan and Ella. I imagined the beautiful little babe sound asleep and then I looked at the manger where Jesus was laid. I felt a bit of grief for the child who came to save us. This year, His birthday seemingly hasn't been celebrated with great joy. This beautiful birth wasn't marked by selfies with the birthday boy, snap videos of singing happy birthday, shout-out tweets or statuses. The world has seemingly forgot the joy this child brought 2000 some years ago. However, I thought about how many little churches were marking the birth of the child by celebrating Mass. We were celebrating it last night, the same way Mary and Joseph did. He was brought into the world with a quiet, excited joy and that's how he was celebrated last night. 

     While the celebration was small at Midnight Mass, I couldn't help but laugh at the one single baby in the back of church who shouted and clapped his hands throughout the Mass. This kid was celebrating Jesus the same way Heather, Ryan and their families celebrated Ella: WITH GREAT JUBILATION. I smiled and felt in my heart, a kick of joy. Oh hey Jesus, there You are...I felt Jesus in my heart, crying, shouting, like a cutesy little baby. I was reminded that, while as a Parish community, we quietly commemorated the birth of Jesus in the humble style of Mary and Joseph, it was my turn to celebrate Jesus like Heather and Ryan. Perhaps, back then, when Jesus was born, there was no means to proudly celebrate the child (and in truth, they couldn't because of King Herod...). But now, there is such means and I plan on celebrating Jesus loud and proud in the style of Heather, Ryan and Ella: loud, proud and with GUSTO!

      Congrats on your new little one, Heather and Ryan. Know that baby Ella has reminded me once again how I need to celebrate Jesus, the little one. Thank you for letting me witness the beauty of your journey of giving life. Truly, that was my Christmas miracle. 

Caroling Around the Crib

"Servants of the Lord, 

Bless the Lord."

- Daniel 3:85

      It was the night before the last day of student teaching and all throughout the Rotunda could be heard the sounds of songs from The Sound of Music. I was seated next to a beautiful woman of God awaiting the arrival of my three friends and Baby Jesus. Throughout the Rotunda came more friends chattering about in the spirit of Advent and hustling and bustling about the end (of the semester) being near. Wait. What?! Of course, one would be confused if he or she wasn't standing there at that exact moment. So let me give you the background...

      A few weeks before the end of the semester, an email went out to the Senior class asking for submissions of essays of those wishing to carry Baby Jesus on Carol Night. I remembered back to my Freshmen year, while working with Sister Cathy, going into the VP's office to get the new baby Jesus. What?! My exact reaction. I looked at the dear woman and asked how there could be a new baby Jesus and she just laughed. A few minutes later we were unwrapping the box in which was the new baby Jesus statue needed for Carol Night. Having never been to a Carol Night before, I was still confused. But, later that week I found out. I remember looking at the statue of the infant and falling in love the same way a mother first falls in love with her new child. I remember only wanting to hold that little infant statue for ever and ever. A few days later, I witnessed my first Carol Night and as I saw the Seniors carry in the baby, I knew I wanted to do that one day. So, a few weeks before the end of the semester, I handed in my essay. 

       In my essay, I spoke about Mary's yes. I spoke about the symbolism of carrying Jesus during Carol Night meant for me: embodying Mary's yes. I imagined the overwhelming feeling of love in my heart. And as God would have it, I was one of the four who carried the baby in through the rotunda. The funniest part of it was that I was, by far, the shortest carrying the baby. Hey, even the small can do their part. 

       As we were kneeling there, waiting for Steph to take the Child and put Him in the manger, I thought, how perfect. God works in funny ways, you see, because I had written my essay with the intention of desiring to put Jesus in the manger. However, God knew that I needed to CARRY the baby like Mary did. Mary didn't just simply lay the babe in the manger, but rather she carried him for nine months during her pregnancy. Then, she carried him throughout his childhood. Then, she carried him during his first miracle and all his miracles. She carried him as he walked the way to the cross. And finally, when He died she carried him off the cross and to the tomb. Suddenly, all of that hit me as I was kneeling at the foot of the manger. I had Jesus on my shoulders (with the help of three of my friends) and I was carrying him, not exactly like Mary, but in the spirit of how she carried him. 

       I reflected on that through the night. As I stood there around the Christmas tree with my fellow seniors, I thought of not only the nostalgia of this being my last Carol night as an undergraduate, but also of the encapturing beauty of Christmas. I remembered what God had always asked me to be: a servant to the Lord. That night, I realized that Mary, too, had been asked to serve God as a true servant. She carried the King...I got to carry the king. I was overwhelmed with the notion, with this beauty revelation. So often I reflect on how I serve Christ by serving others, but now I was reflecting on how I got to literally serve Him. It reminded me to continue to serve Christ through others. It reminded me that I was meant to be a servant of the Lord.

      This past weekend, I was on retreat and at the end of the retreat, we were given one of the courts of the Lord. I truly believe that God's timing is so perfect as I was given "the Crib," the place where Jesus rests. This was the second part of my Advent gift from God. First it was the realization that I am called the be servant. This weekend He showed me that I am meant to also carry Jesus forever, making the heart the crib. Of course, I believe this will continue on because we know that from the wood of the crib comes the wood of the cross. There is much joy in watching a child asleep in the crib and there is much suffering in watching a man die upon the cross. If I truly accept this call to be servant of the Lord, there will be great joy, such as the joy of Jesus resting in the crib of my heart, but there will always be suffering. I am called to be a servant of the Lord, just as Mary was. I am called to carry the Lord, serve Him and let Him reside, take rest and refuge in my heart. I must prepare my heart to be a resting place for the Lord. Jesus, I say "Yes," like Mary said, "Yes." I give myself to you, sweetheart. Please, take a rest in my heart. 

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.

Why I Still Believe - Working Under Cover for the Big Guy

"A hug is the best gift - one size fits all and no one cares if you exchange it."

- Irvin Ball

Jingles, Santa and Frankie the Reindog

     At twenty years old, yes, I still believe in Santa Claus. Let that sit in for a second. Some of you are now confirming the fact that you believed I am so innocent, while others are gasping, thinking "how can she be so innocent." Let's be honest, folks, I've seen a lot of turmoil in this world. And that is why I still believe in Santa Claus.

     My little sister is eight and a half, and she's seen above dressed as an elf, with me, dressed as Santa. Did she know it was me? Of course. She watched me get dressed. She knows we own a Santa Suit. But the magic was still there. I'll let you in on a little secret of mine. A few years ago, Santa was looking for some help. So, I hooked him up and gave him my number. Now, I'm on speed-dial. That's right folks, I work under cover for the big boy. He called my cell phone late Sunday night, right before I was going to bed. The week before Christmas for Santa is like finals week for college kids. That means...he will literally call at any moment because he has no awareness of how late it is. He also doesn't sleep. Anyway, he called me and begged me for some help. He needed four little elves to go visit a family in West Philadelphia the next day. Well, we were short an elf, so I asked Santa if it would be ok if I told Lizzie our secret. This is what he told me: "I think she's old enough to understand that some families, I can't get to. Their neighborhoods are too dangerous for the reindeer or some families don't have real homes that I can leave presents in. I think she'll understand that sometimes Santa needs to send in back-up. Yes, you can let her know you've been working for me for a few years now. And just as a reminder that I do exist, I'll stop by later tonight when she's asleep." 

     The next morning, I was partly dressed as Santa and painting my cheeks rosy red when Lizzie walked into the bathroom. I asked her and right away she said yes. In fact, she ran upstairs and grabbed her fancy elf costume (I'm serious...we have those laying around. We're a theater family...) and put it on. I was so proud! I finished dressing as Santa to the point where the beard and hair were safely bobby-pinned to my real hair. We were ready. As we drove through the cities to get to pick up another elf and get to Nazareth, people were honking and waving and laughing and smiling. Wow, the Christmas Joy was upon us, I thought. Then I remembered I was dressed as Santa. So, of course, I played it up! We started waving and honking and yes, giving out candy canes! One man told me I was crazy and yet, because of me being crazy, he now had Christmas joy. Our job wasn't over yet, however.

     With one more elf in the back seat, and a sleigh full of toys, we drove down in the depths of the city to a little neighborhood called West Philadelphia (...born and raised.) We parked the car, pulled all the toys out and walked to the house. People in the neighborhood were shocked silly to see a literal Santa and her/his elves. When we rang to doorbell, Mom answered and the oldest son, but the little ones were out at the store. So, we set the toys and candy up, and snuck out of the house. Santa had come. I could only imagine the joy that would be on their faces when they got home. How could it have happened? I imagined the 13 year old saying. If Mom has barely enough money to pay for the apartment, how could this have happened? Santa must be real after all. And this, my friends, is why I still believe in Santa. Not only because he calls me every year and asks for my help, but because the Santa I believe in, is a symbol of hope. I saw more toothless smiles yesterday driving back through Kensington than I had ever seen in my life, but they were smiles. And you know why they were smiling, because Santa, who is an instrument of God, smiled first. 

      My belief in Santa is a little deeper than that so don't worry. You see, even though I work under cover for the big guy, the big guy actually works under cover for God, who is the real reaso for the seaso. After a long day of working as Santa's helper, I changed my outfit from red to green and drove to Mass in a whirlwind of white snow. I literally felt so beautiful! You see, snow is always a sign that I am exactly where I am meant to be. The very first time I told anyone (Sister David) I was thinking about religious life, it snowed. From that moment on, snow had a special meaning. In the car, I called my dear Sister Bernice way, way up in Connecticut to wish her a Merry Christmas Eve, before heading into Mass. Since I've been unofficially diagnosed with Nerve Damage in my knee, I haven't been able to kneel (as per nurse's request) and yet, I couldn't help it. I knelt. I know, all the nurses are going to be yelling at me, but I had to, my little baby was there in the manger and I needed to kneel. As I looked up to the ceiling of St. Christopher's Church in prayer, I noticed how much it looked like a stable roof. How perfect.

      Not before long, four of my Nazareth Sisters walked in, sitting a few pews ahead of me. I snuck into the pew and surprised them all. There were two sisters in front of me and one on each side of me. While we all sat in prayer, two of our other sisters sat down behind us. So there I was, surrounded, literally, by my sisters. Of course, with my sisters who know me so well (and I know them so well), there were moments during Mass where I just had to giggle. I know at some points, we each had tears in our eyes, too. 

      You see, my AE was so happy to be in a place she called home for so long. In a few days, she'll be moving to Chicago for at least the next six years. I haven't let myself get upset about it yet, but I am. I'm going to miss her so much. Of course, Sister Evey was tapping her foot and swaying to every beat of the music, singing her heart out, just like a little child. She is the essence of childlike spirit for me. Then there was Sister Teri on my left, who shared her missalette with me but couldn't see the words. That's alright, I couldn't either. Of course, when I laughed, she elbowed me like a perfect big sister. On my right side was Sister Mary Annette who sung in perfect harmony with that. I love that about her. She's harmonious with everything, but especially God. Her soul is beautiful. Behind me was Sister Mary Joan, that's right my high school principal. I am so blessed to be able to call her my sister these days, because she truly looks after me like a big sister should. And finally, Sister Daniela, my matka (which means mother in Polish). She is the superior (the mother) of St. Katherine's Convent and since I'm there so much when I'm home, it's like I live there, she has become my mother, too. But why matka? She's Polish. Like from Poland, Polish. She is someone I miss so very, very much when I am away from home. We quietly share a connection of souls. 

     As I knelt (my knee was screaming...I didn't care), I realized how much in the last few weeks that I had needed a hug, and so my Christmas miracle was having a Mass long, group hug from my Sisters. At the end of Mass, one sister was pulling me into a hug, while another was holding my hand. I got all the hugs and kisses the youngest little sister usually gets and more. For the first time in a while, I was aware of God's love for me. I was so aware of His love, I was brought to tears. Yes, the love was so present. This is why I still believe. 

      The night was far from over after my first Christmas Mass. At midnight, Mary, my Daddy and I headed to Midnight Mass after a Christmas Eve dinner with some family friends. It is my most favorite Mass of all times (Good Friday is my favorite liturgical day, but there's no Mass...). There is what some people call magic, but what I call miracles. As I listened to the Homily, Father Mike had such a beautiful view point. Jesus became a messy human. Being a human is so messy because we love, but we cannot love perfectly. If we could love perfectly, it would be perfectly mutual. However, most of us love and love and love and love without that love being mutual. I thought immediately back to my circle of Sisters. That love was mutual. So mutual. I felt a sense of belonging and home with them. I thought back even further to being Santa's elves. I loved that family probably more than they could ever love me. I thought to the smiles I received in response to the love I was giving to the hopeless (and sometimes toothless) people of Kensington and West Philadelphia. I love them more than they knew! This is why I still believe.

       And so, the Santa I believe in, isn't exactly the guy who climbs down chimneys, but rather a symbol of hope. Working for him under cover is the best. But I know, in truth, we both work for the even bigger Guy and I can't thank my Father enough for blessing me with such beautiful sisters and smiles and family. I got to admit, working under cover for the Big Guy is awesome!

Jesus Look-a-Like

"He lives in you, 

He lives in me.

He watches over everything we see,

into the water, into the truth, 

in your reflection, 

He lives in you."

- "He Lives In You", The Lion King

 or 

     On Tuesday, I said what I thought would be my last goodbyes to the Nazareth Academy crowd before the New Year. But after wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, I had one final stop: the Main Office. As soon as I walked in, Sister Mary Joan wrapped her "big sister" arms around my neck (literally my neck) and pulled my head under her chin. "What do you mean 'Merry Christmas'?" She asked. "I mean..uh..Merry Christmas?" Right away the ladies in the Main Office, Mrs. Versino and Mrs. Cardamone chimed in: "Yeah, aren't you coming back this week?" "Uh...no?" I answered, now unsure of my plans for the rest of the week. I was still in a loving headlock from Sister Mary Joan when she said, "You are always here for Mass. You never miss Christmas Mass." I agreed. And then the three of them in unison said, "So you're coming right?!" "Of course..." I mumbled, "Of course." 

      Having gone to my alma mater once a week for the past two and a half months, and then twice this week already, I was starting to feel like I was wearing out my welcome. And I can't lie, I needed my own little break from Nazareth. As much as I love my school a million, I'm there way too much for having graduated three years ago. And yet, something always drags me back in.Whether it's the people I love, the girls who are my sisters, my heart needing a little bit (or a lotta bit) or love or God just wants me there, I always get dragged back in. And the curse for anyone who goes through those front doors is: You can never just stay for a few minutes. You stay forever.

     And so, there I was this morning, trying to pick out something other than yoga pants and a t-shirt to wear to Mass. After baking my little sister four dozen brownies for her classmates at six this morning and getting her ready for school, I dropped her off and then headed to the great Naz Acad. With two minutes to spare, I pulled into the parking lot. Not one, not two, but ALL THREE (yes, I have three unofficial, official parking spots there....) were filled. You know what that means, those two minutes to spare were spent running from the back parking lot to the front door. Of course, nothing ever starts on time, so I spent that "extra time" catching up briefly with my A.E., Sister Michele. Before I knew it, those I had said "Merry Christmas" were now "harassing" me about how I "just couldn't stay away." God does some funny things, I told them. And boy was today just an emulation of that!

      Father began the homily by asking us what we thought Jesus looked like. He suggested Chase Utley, and the Brawny Man, but I couldn't disagree more. In my mind, I began to compose what Jesus would really look like: scruffy; dark, sun-tanned skin; dark, dark, wild brown hair; dark brown, almost black eyes; he wouldn't be too built, but he would be strong; his hands would be rough from carpentry work; and of course, he'd have blisters on his feet from his shoes. I smiled at this image in my head, but then I tuned back into the homily. "A baby..." I heard. Oh wait...Jesus did come as a baby at first. Immediately, I tried to picture this grown man I just drew in my head, as a newborn baby. 

      Ask anyone and they will tell you, I love babies. I love holding them, rocking them, singing to them, feeding them, playing with them, smiling at the them, waving at them, playing peek-a-boo with them, even changing their diapers...I don't even mind that. I love babies. They bring such joy to anyone's life with their innocence and their little-ness. Their eyes are wide, ready for the world and yet they are so fragile. I have so many babies in my life, that describing this makes it easy...and yet, I couldn't imagine Jesus as a baby. 

      As I went through my day at Nazareth (like I said, you can't leave.....), I caught up more with my AE, I crashed Sister David's second period and watched The Nativity Story with her class, bonded with Sister Teri over Special Education courses (ironic how we took the same class...) and finally, popped in to aid my dear Sister Mary Anthony. I tried to keep my profile low while I was in the building; the less people who knew I was there, the better. And yet, that never happens when Becca is in the building. But that's ok. God had me there for a reason.

      That reason was soon to be revealed to me as I sat in the Community Service Corps office with Sister Mary Anthony trying to fix the CSC Facebook Account. She is always multi-tasking, and so while I was fixing it, she was trying to call her Operation Santa Claus delivery spots. She was supposed to drop some presents off today, but she just wasn't going to make it. Without even fully knowing what was going on, my heart volunteered for the job. Right away, I said, "I can do it, Sister." Both of us were shocked at my abrupt volunteer, but God was in it. As we quickly chatted, I found out more and more information. The drive was a half hour away, in a different state and completely out of the way of home for me. But, oh well. When she told me where I was going, I knew right away that God was working in my visit to Naz. The place was called "Our Lady of Sorrows," and I have a huge devotion to her. 

       I quickly printed out directions to where I was going and we headed downstairs to get the presents. We filled up my front seat and then we hugged good-bye. As I drove, it was as if I didn't even need the directions; my heart was leading me to where I was going. I got there a lot sooner than I had expected and dropped off the packages. Just like I did every year, my eyes started to water as the lady gave me a huge hug and thanked me. She told me that Makhai would love the gifts; I knew he would. When I got into the car to drive home, that's when I got it: the reason I couldn't picture Jesus as a baby is because He is not a baby anymore. 

      I reflected back on my day and realized, Jesus doesn't look like a baby, nor does He look like that Middle Eastern man I described. He looks like Makhai. He looks like the lady who opened the front door at Our Lady of Sorrows. He looks like Sister Mary Anthony, Sister David, Sister Teri, Sister Michele and Sister Mary Joan. He looks like the ladies in the main office. He looks like my favorite teachers. He looks like the homeless men and women I saw on my drive through the poor neighborhoods. He looks like my little sisters and their friends. He looks like the tired, worn and exhausted parents. He looks like the parents of the 20 children killed in Connecticut. He looks like their teachers and principal who stood in the line of fire. He looks like the kids in Jamaica that I think about everyday who have no family but each other. He looks like the families in New Orleans who live in the houses I once helped build. Jesus looks like all of these people and so many more. This is why I couldn't picture Him as a baby, because He lives in them and you and me. He looks like us. We are Jesus look-a-likes! 

      

We're Greek Now....HOOPAH!

    Any sister will tell you that FAMILY plays a huge part in one's vocation. And I can tell you that my family, especially the extended part on my Dad's side. My dad, you see, grew up in the HOLIEST OF HOLIES family with eleven children: ten boys, one girl (my poor aunt). My grandmother, a very stubborn, IRISH woman, made EVERYONE pray the Rosary every night after supper and go to Mass every SUNDAY! Yeah, she rocks! Too bad, I never met her and I seriously wish I knew what she was like, if she'd support me in my vocation and such. But I guess she lives through her sons and daughter who openly support me! They have shaped me into the person I am today. 

    First things first, it's always an adventure when the Gutherman family gets together. Our adventurous day started with one too many persons than seats in our LARGE van. Someone had to sacrifice...and since I need to practice sacrificing, it was me. No, I didn't stay home. No, I didn't share a belt. No, I didn't ride in the trunk. And no, I didn't ride the roof racks. Instead, I merely sat on the floor. I know, dangerous. I just tend to live life on the risky side at times. Today was one of those times. 

     Anyway, we finally get to the farm, my absolute, all-time favorite house to visit. As a kid, there was so much room to run around and there was the tire swing. As an older kid, there is still so much room to run around and the tire swing is still there. I can't tell you HOW MANY BONES HAVE BEEN BROKEN ON THAT THING. Anyway, I love the smell of the farm, the look of the farm, the sounds of the farm. EVERYTHING ABOUT THE FARM. I just love it. We walked into the quiet little farm and it was very obvious we were the first cousins to arrive. However, as soon as we got there, all the other cousins started filing in and we started shouting HOOPAH for no reason. We aren't even Greek; we're German. Every uncle was picking up every cousin and hugging them and shaking them about. You had to go through a receiving line of family members before you could even get to the food. It was great!!!

     After we all prayed together, everyone ate, and kids ran around. I ate the most beautiful chili in the world, and then ran after my million little cousins. You see out of 27...28....29 cousins, I fall ninth in line. So everyone is littler than me...or shall I say, younger since I'm only five foot. I was pushing the tire swing, riding the tire swing, giving piggy back rides, feeding kids, playing manhunt, going barn exploring, you know, normal stuff for an older cousin. Some of my little cousins I haven't seen in years and others I saw just a few days ago. That's just how the family works. 

     As we played and took numerous pictures (check them out on my facebook), I once again imagined my life a few years down the road, visiting the family party, not with kids of my own, but with a veil and habit. I'd bring one of my kid loving nun friends and we would play all day with the kids. And Lord knows this is most likely VERY accurate. Even the little ones were joking today, Sister Becca, where's your veil? Too cute for words.

     Like I said, my family shaped my vocation, by openly supporting me as the FIRST NUN IN THE FAMILY (YAY!) and asking me for my story. It must be so weird to hear the part of my story where their name comes into play. We laugh about it and carry on the story. Today, I was telling my Aunt Angie a bit of the story and she told me that she was taught by the same sisters as I was in high school but in Chicago. She told me she spent every waking moment with them and really thought she wanted to be a nun. But she correctly discerned the vocation and somewhere along the way met my crazy Uncle Paul. And thank God she did, because she doesn't even know how much of a HUGE influence she is on my life and my vocation!! 

    Family is so important to me. Especially this family. I can't thank God enough for them because they have been more than I could ever ask for. It's the biggest support group out there for a girl like me. With 20 aunts and uncles, almost thirty cousins, and some second cousins, it's a crazy but functioning family who would do anything for me and I in return for them. I've been so blessed.

We Are Family

Current Facebook Status: Can't wait to make pancakes with my AE for Holy Family Day.
Current Tweet: Blogging it up about the Holy Family #yourhomeismyhome

   I have decided that there is no better way to celebrate a feast day than with the community who celebrates it. I've done it on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception and now, on the Feast of the Holy Family. It just so happened that the sister who runs a summer retreat program every year (this year, I got to help!), invited us all back for the Feast; Mass and visiting and Breakfast. And so, at 8:30 I found myself en route to the convent; a drive I don't have to think about; my heart just takes me there.
   As I walked into the Chapel where we spent every morning of our retreat, even as a student helper-outer, so many memories came flooding back. Especially of our last day when tears streamed down my face after knowing in my heart that this is where I belonged; among this family. As the sisters prayed and I knelt listening to their voices, I recalled those moments of pure comfort. I joined those memories with thoughts of the Holy Family. Mary, Joseph and Jesus; all they had were each other. When I'm with the sisters; all I have is them. I don't have any worries, no anxieties, nothing at all. They are my family.
    My reflection on the Holy Family continued with Father's homily during which he said, "Just as Mary, Joseph and Jesus had themselves as family, we must take each one of our sisters as family. We must feel like family here." And yes, as tears built up in my eyes, I knew; these sisters are my family. I am treated like family; like the little sister. And no matter what part of the community I visit, I feel loved like family.
   After Mass, we went upstairs to visit the older sisters who can not necessarily join us for Mass whether from age or sickness. We sang Christmas carols for them which made my heart leap for joy. I hadn't sung in a while and when one of my favorite sisters requested my favorite Christmas song, I almost cried. I sang for her with my friends and the other sisters with us with all my hear. Seeing the sisters smile at our quick little visits was enough for me to know, once again, how perfect I felt there.
    After Mass and visiting, the sisters and the other girls and I went over to make breakfast which consisted of the most deluxe pancake bar I had ever seen. There was fruit, chocolate chips, cinnamon, sugar. You name it, we put it in our pancakes. As we cooked and worked together, it was easy for me to imagine what it would be like five, ten, twenty years down the line cooking together with these sisters and with the girls that I taught in school. It was easy to feel right at home and among family.
    The whole spent celebrating the Feast with the sisters was so perfect. While it was a smaller celebration for us, it was still a celebration of the family we have become and the family I've made with the sisters. And so, as I reflect on the HOLY FAMILY, I am grateful and ever blessed for the holy family I have among me. How many more years, AE?

A Glimpse Into The Future

    Hanging out with your high school principal while you're a student is weird. Hanging out with her after you've graduated; even weirder. Except for me. Over the summer, during some renovations of my high school, all the sisters moved out and into various different convents in the area. My high school principal just happened to move into my favorite convent and the one I happen to be the most comfortable in. It's the house where I truly feel like family, in a real home. And when she moved in, even though I had already graduated a year, I wasn't sure how we were both going to adjust.
    The thing is, Sister and I were close. She always called me, "Becca, my love," and had no problem giving me random responsibilities around the school. She was even on my Kairos. We were close, but never in the sense that she knew about my vocation. I mean, she knew, but we NEVER talked about it. I had her read my college essay that was all about my vocation, but nothing else was ever mentioned about it. But at the house she lives in now, the sisters are ALWAYS talking about how they can't wait til I live with them for real, or am their sister, fo sho. And so, I wondered and wondered how it would be.
    Even though I had visited so many times since she moved in, we never all really hung out. Most of the time, I would be over for dinner and she wasn't home yet from school, or we would be watching a movie and we'd all pass out on the chairs that just suck you in. Tonight, however, we hung out and it was a glimpse of my future for show.
    The sisters always joke that my family is so used to visiting the convent with me that it will be no transition when I actually join. Tonight, we called up the sisters to see who wanted to go Christmas light looking. One of the sisters automatically said YES! And so we went, picked her up and went on our way. When we got back to the convent, of course, we were invited in for hot cocoa and that's when the party started. My family is so comfortable with the sisters that it's scary sometimes. But my dad right away starts conversation with the sister closest to him, my littlest sister is running around playing tag or hide and seek and me? Well, I'm there in the kitchen pulling out all the ingredients for hot chocolate since I know that kitchen better than the sisters themselves. Finally, we were all seated around the kitchen table, the sisters, my dad, my little sister and me, drinking hot chocolate. We were laughing, sharing stories, singing, tossing napkins and marshmallows and so much more. I sat there, watching the moment before me thinking, that truly that's how I imagine my future except with one difference: I'll be in a habit, too. I imagined my family visiting with the sisters and all of us, just sitting around the table, like one big family. It felt like perfection.
    At the end of the night, I hugged all the sisters good-bye, saving my principal for last. She gave me the best hug you could ever imagine, saying, "Good-night, Becca, my love. I love you, my sister." Yeah, now I know I'm part of the family.

Christmas Week, Carol Night, and Cotillion, OH MY!

    There is nothing more that I love than tradition. OK, well maybe traditions with nuns. Christmas has always been a time of tradition in my family; however, not the same traditions. When I was little we had the tradition of going to the convent for Christmas Eve Mass (I'm bringing that back this year!) and then going to my Dad's parents' house Christmas Day. Now, it's Mass at my own parish on Christmas Eve and my Mom's brother's house the day after. The few traditions that have stayed are decorating the Christmas tree with each other (they wait for me to come home from school) and going to downtown Philadelphia to see Dicken's village, the Christmas Light Show, and the Christmas Villages. Last year, however, we started a new tradition: Carol Night. 

     Now what is that, you ask? It's a night when the Chorale and all the students at our school gather in the rotunda around the Christmas tree that reaches to the second floor. Family and friends are welcome, too, as well as all the sisters from EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!! We all sing Christmas Carols, we pray together, and there is a procession of the Baby Jesus from the Chapel to His Manger in front of the tree. It is one of the most beautiful and longest standing traditions we have at school. I love it. This year, my Dad and my littlest sis came to visit and I could hear her voice from the floor above me. She could see me directly and was sending my hand signals and mouthing words to me during the whole performance. The best part is that I understood everything she was trying to say. Our connection is deeper than that of sisters; she is my soulmate. 

     After Carol Night, the next tradition in Christmas Week is Cotillion. It is the semi-formal winter ball and almost everyone comes out for it. Since my class (the class of 2014) was running the show, I got roped into helping set up for one more thing. It was beautiful, I must say. With lights and arts and crafts and snowflakes and mistletoe and streamers, it brought so much excitement to my heart. All the girls got ready in my room in a cloud of perfume, hairspray and Christmas music while the boys simply threw on the shirts and ties and were good to go. We had a ball, dancing our night away until it came time for us to stand back and watch the rest of our schoolmates embarrass themselves slightly. 

    And now, onto finals week. Here's to hoping we all survive!